Melange magically produced a giant fan and slashed it open, little fortune cookies painted across it. “Because I prefer props, and the bitch can’t dance.”
“Where were you even hiding that?” Imogen marveled. Grinning cheekily, Melange perched on an exercise bench, peeling off the wig to extract the hairpins scoured across her scalp.
As if on cue, PB furtively blew into the room, Troy and his camera team trailing behind. “Okay, I have a voting plan,” he began. “It’s Episode 6, right—”
“Actually, can I talk to you first?” I wanted to be as delicate as possible, pulling him into the hall to relay Jiamin’s message. Troy kept the camera tight on us, PB listening dispassionately until the revelation of her fertility obliterated the façade. “She toldyouthat after stonewalling me for weeks?” he asked bitterly. “Okay, if that’s how she wants to play this.”
“Slow down. Getting angry won’t make this better.” I carefully took him by the shoulders. “I know you love her. Youcanquit…”
He shrugged me off, eyes glazing over. “None of you can vote for her.”
“PB, just talk to her before—”
“JIAMIN!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, voice echoing throughout the penthouse. “MESSAGE FUCKING RECEIVED.”
“… You go nuts,” I sighed as he barreled back to the gym, rapidly updating the others.
Imogen watched me uneasily throughout his tirade before finally addressing him. “I swear this brings me no joy, PB, but I’m voting for Jiamin. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but this might be your chance at a fresh start,” she said. “Take it from someone who tried and failed: you owe it to yourself to at least try.”
I snagged on her words. How unhappy had her life been off the show to justify returning if she disliked it so much?
“All I do is try, Imogen. Never goes my way,” PB replied, all ice. “But since you’re jonesing to see me in a Trial so badly, then votemein instead. It’s Episode 6, anyway.”
I threw up my hands in frustration. “Why do you keep saying that? So what?”
“The Trial’s always trivia in Episode 4 or Episode 6,” Shawn said quietly.
“Didn’t see trivia in Italy, did we?” PB asked. “So I’ll do it.”
Imogen’s eyes narrowed. “And you’ll pick who to go against? Not Jiamin and Aspen?”
“No, I don’t negotiate with terrorists,” he fired back. “We have an opportunity here. Vote me and Greta, and we use the brain game to eliminate everyone’s biggest physical threat.”
“You mean Fortune and Erika?!” I gasped. “That’s not happening.”
Melange’s fist tightened around her collection of hairpins. “PB, Erika’s withus.”
“She’ll be fine,” he dismissed. “Jiamin’s leaving regardless, right? There can’t be an uneven number of men and women with the pairs. They’ll partner Erika with Aspen, and we’ll ditch the wrecking ball.”
I glanced at Troy, whose poker face betrayed nothing. “That’s a big gamble,” I said.
“Would you rather vote in Camdon and Tati? They’ll go straight for Queen Amidala and Cabbage Patch here,” he snapped, nodding at Melange and Shawn.
“We could take them,” Shawn said, but PB just laughed incredulously.
“Voting me in is the only way to protect the people in this room,” hecontinued, temper rising. “I am asking you all to do something forme, for once!”
“I’m not letting you risk Erika,” I said.
“Jesus, you’ve handled her with kid gloves long enough. There’s too much money on the line for you to worry about the optics of voting off the trans girl.”
“Do not go there!” I snapped, stepping toward him, stunned he’d make it about that.
His pupils flickered, evaluating me. “Oh, I’m an idiot. That’s not what this is about. Luke, it’s been ten fucking years, you have to move—”
“STOP!”
Melange darted between us. “PB, get out before you do something you can’t take back.”
