Five identical table mazes sat in the Arena, each about ten feet long with handles on the end, raised relief maps covering their surfaces withminiature mountains and monuments. An art department lady was testing the handles on the closest table, tipping the surface a few inches from side to side. As it rocked, I caught familiar names on the map: Grand Cayman, Providenciales, Sitka… twenty seasons’ worth of locations, a pinball continent ofEndeavors past.
“Welcome to the ‘Holy Trinity’ Trial!” Ecklund proclaimed once cameras were up. “That’s what we’re looking for: the last three competitors to battle in the race for $5 million—”
“Hold!” Zara shouted from video village, and the set ground to a stop. She emerged into the glare of the lights, pale as bone, and everything in me sank as she jogged to a confused PB.
She handed him a phone, unmistakable dread in her eyes, and I heard: “It’s Jiamin.”
PB’s head almost spun off his neck he was so surprised. We’d all intuitively gathered around him now, bearing witness like the world’s most awkward Greek chorus. “Put it on speaker,” Troy urged quietly.
A mortified Zara gaped at this instruction, but PB numbly acquiesced. “Ji, I’m here.”
“Paul, it’s Vanessa…” Jiamin’s frayed voice trembled. “She was drunk and fell down the stairs at her apartment. When they found her, she’d… hit her head really badly. The hospital tried calling you off her insurance stuff, but they got forwarded to your mom, so she called me… I got here about an hour ago, and they’ve induced a coma. I don’t know if… I don’t know…”
PB crouched down, hands ever so slightly shaking… I’dneverdreamed it was this dire.
“Oh God…” Erika murmured at my side, tears welling. My eyes shifted around our silent circle but instantly snagged, Barnes holding my gaze. After all, we’d been conditioned to find each other in crisis. It was muscle memory.
“I’ll leave now,” PB told Jiamin.
“Good… I’ll stay with her. Your parents are flying in too.”
“Thank you.” And it escaped him, because how could it not. “I love you.”
I vividly pictured Jiamin, haunting a sterile hospital hallway in one of her oversized cashmere sweaters, trying not to draw attention, as she answered, “I love you too.”
A tortured smile shattered his face, his deepest wish granted through a nightmare.
“Paul, the doctor’s here,” she said quickly. “I’ll call back.”
He hung up, turning to Zara. “I need to go. Now.”
“Okay, I know this is awful, but let’s take a beat,” Troy said, stepping forward.
“I’m not taking a beat, you prick—”
“Troy,stop. He’s wrapped, nonnegotiable,” Zara said, calling over walkie for a van.
“You’re right, you’re right. Jesus, I’m sorry, PB.” Troy shook his head, seemingly chastened, and for one second I actually thought no one but me would ever know how terribly blinded I’d been by the game. One second. “Truly, Luke and I had no clue it was this bad.”
I felt myself go ashen, my brain fighting to craft an explanation, as the entire set revolved to swallow me whole.
“Luke, what is he talking about?” PB asked.
Troy’s pupils volleyed between us. “This morning Luke’s sister read online that Vanessa had been hospitalized. He said he needed space to inform you off camera—”
“She… she never said what happened, just that there was a stupid rumor,” I stuttered, and rushed to PB, refusing to let Troy steal this narrative from me.
“I swear I was going to tell you later, but I didn’t want to distract you before the Trial. You’re so close to the end, to the hosting gig,” I whispered intently at PB’s side. “I couldn’t jeopardize that for you when I didn’t know the truth—”
The phone rang in PB’s hand, bringing the outcome no one couldengineer. His hollow eyes left me and he brought it to his ear, denying us the live report when he stepped to the trees.
If anyone was going to berate me, they resisted. I thought of Vanessa under papery white hospital sheets, and I looked again to Barnes. The fact that he was virtually guaranteed a spot in the final now was the furthest thing from my mind. What struck me was how his face carried the same concern he’d worn when Mitch died, his hand in mine when we passed through the hospital’s sliding guillotine doors on that final day, the hand I’d clung to as the last threads of my childhood were pulverized to dust. No matter how much I denied it, I craved his hand even then. In the worst moments of my life, it was the only hand that had reached for mine every time.
PB stalked back a few minutes later. “The doctor said she’s through the worst. They’re keeping her in the coma a little longer, but they don’t think there’s… Christ, any brain damage.”
Relieved sighs echoed around set, and I saw Zara brush her eyes so swiftly it was almost imperceptible. “What do you want to do, PB?” she asked. “The final’s in two days. If you want to compete tonight, you still can.”
But he just stared at her, as if she were a portrait come to life. “No, I need to go.”
