Shanley is crying. We hear her before we see her. Her voice, which rings out over a scenic shot of a beautiful beach at night, is wavering. “I don’t trust anybody in this house,” she exclaims.
We finally see her. She is standing in front of a group of her peers, brown hair pulled back in a messy low ponytail, her face puffy and red, probably from some combination of emotion, exhaustion, alcohol, and sun exposure. She continues: “You’re selfish, you wanna win the money. I get it! I wanna win the money too. But I can’t. There’s another person I care about, whether you’re my perfect match or not.” The group stares back at her silently. “You guys are fucking assholes.”