The villa had a waterfall in its sweeping acreage, complete with a leafy alcove to spur romance. I’d forgotten the sunglasses Barnes gave me there—at least that was where he said he’d last seen them. They’d likely slipped off my tank top when we’d been kissing there earlier, the endless party raging inside. I probably had a gallon of dime-store vodka in me when I traipsed back to the waterfall, only to discover low voices within the leathery bromeliads, two mic packs abandoned on a stone.
“Arjun, the only thing I’d trust Yeats with is inciting a prison riot,” Imogen whispered, oblivious to my approach. Yeats “the Bad Lad” Fitzmorris was an Irish kid Helena imported from the singing competitionPopRocks!A wiry punk with a pitchy bari-tenor, the Bad Lad had already caused five drunken skirmishes, proving Helena’s investment worthwhile.
“Well, Yeats may be the only guy who’ll get rid of Barnes,” Arjun answered hotly. “That smug little worm’s transforming Luke into some twitterpated zombie—”
“And whose fault is that? Fucking Helena played him your interviews. That bullshit is going to air, you idiot. Hisfatherwill see it. What were you thinking?”
His voice snagged. “I had a bad day, and I’ll fix it… But don’t act like he’s innocent.”
“He’s been reeling for months.Alone.People make bad choices when they’re alone.”
“Then snap him out of it. Throw the next Tribulation so Yeats can eliminate Barnes.”
“And if Luke finds out I’m part of your stupid assassination attempt?”
“A runaway train could pass Luke, and he’d miss it. Must be the lingering concussions.”
“Stop.Do not talk about him like that.” At least she was finally standing up for me.
“Last year you called him a saltine cracker with a weight-lifting routine,” Arjun snapped.
I felt like I’d been punched, the waterfall masking my guttural exhale.
“No!” she fired back. “I worried hemightbe when we met. I never—”
“Imogen, you’re the one who told me not to date him.”
And there it was, what had been simmering underneath all along. How was I such a fool?
“Because it could hurt both of you,” Imogen hissed. “And I was right.”
“You said if I indulged his crush, it might fuck with our money. Well, the person fucking with your money now is that hellscape version of Alex P. Keaton, so will you throw the Tribulation or not?”
A long pause. “It depends what the game is.”
I fled inside, too emotional and drunk to notice Helena Malloy swoop from the shadows with a cameraman. I dragged Barnes to our room, the camera a vulture perched just feet away, as I recited everything I’d overheard but sidestepped the thornier details of my past with Arjun. Even plastered, I kept that one secret off camera.
“So she failed the test,” Barnes finally said, studied disappointment in his voice.
“What?”
He sighed. “Yeats and I are protecting each other. He went double agent on Arjun to plant the idea of throwing a Tribulation. If Imogen took the bait, I’d know where she stood.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He pulled me close, a coach handing off a play. “I didn’t want you to get your hands dirty, but I’ve been hearing stuff around the house. How Imogen hates me because I threaten your loyalty to her, that you’re her horse to ride to the finish… like last time.”
Barnes had orchestrated an entire dumb show (down to hiding my sunglasses, which he handed me later that night), all to incriminate Imogen. However, I didn’t stop to consider why he would. “We have to vote her in,” I insisted. “To protect you.”
He shook his head. “We’re not throwing our cards on the table just because we saw the other player’s hand. All the more reason to keep bluffing.”
So we let it play out for the cameras. Imogen did throw the Tribulation, protesting she had a cramp that sank our time in a relay race. However, the other team didn’t vote in Barnes. The Bad Lad made sure of that when a lividArjunwas sent against Rocco Yager, a stocky wrestler from Providence, Rhode Island. Before the Trial began, Imogen stood silently beside me. “How’s your cramp?” I eventually asked.
“Better,” she replied. I wondered if it would burst out, some explanation or confession, but all she said was: “Crazy they turned on Arjun.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a crazy game.”
26
