Day Three on Jaguar Ridge began with a scream.
It wasn't a scream of terror. It was a scream of existential despair.
"A spider!" Lucas shrieked, scrambling backward on his hands and knees through the mud. "It's on me! Get it off! Get it off!"
Aria unzipped her tent, sipping the last of her lukewarm coffee. She watched as Lucas slapped frantically at his own leg. There was, indeed, a spider. It was the size of a dime.
"It's a garden spider, Lucas," Aria called out lazily. "It eats mosquitoes. You should be thanking it."
Lucas stopped thrashing, breathing heavily. He looked wretched. His designer clothes were stiff with dried mud, his skin was sunburnt, and his eyes were wild with lack of sleep. He looked less like the "Prince of Showbiz" and more like a castaway who had lost his volleyball.
