Anxiously, I reorganized all fifteen pieces on our table. “Okay, the long pointy bits are probably the pagoda’s eaves, so let’s separate those out?”
Imogen was testing my theory when Shawn finally staggered in, Melange riding on his back, both in demonstrable pain. He had indeed carried her up the mountain.
“Shawn, Melange, you’re not out of this!” I shouted.
Ecklund interceded, our petulant executioner: “No helping other teams, not even cheering! Everyone earns their own spot!”
Erika and a wheezing Fortune trudged up last with Zara following. The lead we’d had was obliterated, and it was anyone’s game for about five minutes, until Erika yelped excitedly… Pieces swirled, falling magically into place. She stepped back, revealing a tiered masterpiece.
“Erika and Fortune, last to first!” Ecklund cheered. “Now dismantle it. No hints.”
I glimpsed enough to understand the idea we were chasing—three shallow tiers stacked above a square pillar—then Erika began clapping to get my attention. “Luke, below—”
“No helping!” Ecklund chastised. Erika’s eyes met mine, stymied. Did she mean the base? I’d seen four corners to what she’d constructed. We had three natural corners, so I arranged them together, abstract curves and edges erupting out. Imogen nodded, intuitively fusing the fourth corner by combining two pieces. We had the embers; now the fire.
It should have been easy after that. And it was for PB and Greta, who mounted the winners’ stand next. Only one more team would be safe, but Imogen and I still couldn’t get past that base. A little cavity in the center stared back, and none of our pieces would fill it.
A loudslamresonated. We whipped to PB stomping his foot, thrashing as if in a seizure. A perplexed Ecklund gazed at him. “Charley horse,” PB growled, eyes on me but nodding fervently at his feet.Below.Erika hadn’t meant the base. She’d meantthe damn ground.
I dove under the table to discover a piece had somehow fallen from our workspace. The strange shape resembled a teardrop, its round head sloping to a sharp point like a dagger, perfect for the hollow crevasse at our structure’s center. As I stabbed the piece home, the horn sounded. But not for us. Tatianna leapt joyfully into Camdon’s arms, their puzzle complete.
We’d lost, our unfinished pagoda mocking us. At the next table, Shawn’s heartbroken eyes found mine. It was official. We would face each other in the Trial, and the countdown to our separation had begun.
32
2015
SEASON 20, EPISODE 7:
“Ain’t No Mountain High Enough… (Part One)”
On the ride back to Shanghai, Shawn’s stomach started bothering him. After the suspect dried jerky at our first pit stop, food poisoning seemed inevitable. Between his stomach and Melange’s ankle, the prospect of competing against them the next day went from depressing to downright cruel. Upon returning to the penthouse, we learned a special nightclub outing in the trendy Pudong district awaited us as a farewell to China. Shawn, however, was barricaded in our toilet, the sounds of retching resounding within. I sought out Zara and Troy to request a reprieve from the club, only to find them in a heated debate.
“That I wasn’t told isunacceptable, Troy.”
“It was the network’s call! You’ve been so busy, I didn’t want to bother—”
“Don’t condescend to me. You might think the entire world is in your pocket, but I am not.” Zara registered I’d walked up, her face darkening.
By contrast, Troy’s megawatt smile churned on. “Ready to call home, bud?”
I marveled that he still found me so gullible. As tempting as it was to call out his bullshit, I couldn’t forget he’d have plenty of say over how all this footage would be edited. “With the time difference, the kids are already at their day camps. It’s actually Shawn. He’s throwing up, so can we be excused from the club?”
Troy looked to Zara, but she just threw up her hands, walking off. “Your call. After all, the ‘story’ isn’t my department, is it?”
Troy granted our pardon with surprising nonchalance, and I could only assume he was occupied with whatever he’d done to rankle Zara. I wished I could debrief it with PB, but for all I knew Troy was again concocting stunts based solely on something PB himself had engineered.
The bathroom door stayed locked until the others departed, all dolled up for the club. As I tried to discern whether room service had a Chinese version of crackers and ginger ale, Shawn blithely barreled into the kitchen. I reflexively recoiled when he kissed me, prompting him to burst out laughing. “I’m not sick. I overheard Troy on the phone complaining to the network. The hotel removed all the built-in cameras while we were in Huangshan because they had the wrap days confused. Look, the one in that corner’s gone.” He nodded to his left, and a tiny hole in the wall was indeed all that remained. “Troy’s only staging this ‘club night’ for filler.”
“Wait, you faked all that? I was starting to think you had dysentery.”
“See? I’m a great actor,” he teased, nuzzling me.
“But why the big show?”
“It’s our last night together, and we get to actually be alone, unrecorded? I wasn’t passing that up.” He unzipped my pants, but I instinctively stopped him, embarrassed.
“But your celibacy… Are you sure?”
