“But Iamyour friend!”
“No, youwere. Well played as always, Seyoon.”
And just like that, she’s gone in what feels like the blink of an eye.
CONFESSION TAPE—Vendredi Tengku, Contestant
Sorry. I wish I had more to say right now, I know you want something eloquent for my outro tape. Something like, “This has been the opportunity of a lifetime, I’m going to cherish these memories.” You know. Shit like that. And it’s all true, but…
But it’s hard to feel grateful for any of it right now. I really wish I wasn’t leaving like this.
Best of luck to the final three.
Garrett closes out, introducing me, Carter, and Dean as the finalists to the cameras. When he wraps up, Dean gets up and walks briskly away. I trip over my own feet running after him, uncaring of the camera crew that scramble to follow.
“Wait, Dean!”
He turns around and I stop before him, panting for breath. I chafe under his intense, confused gaze.
“Why would you do that?” he asks. “Why would you give me your points?”
“I didn’t want you to go home.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” I don’t know how to answer that. I don’t know what this twisting, turning, sting inside me means. But it feels tender. Raw. Exposing it to air, to Dean, to the cameras—would burn.So I just give him a half-truth, something safe, and say, “Because you’re my friend.”
“Am I? Or am I your backup plan?” he responds, curt. “You teamed up with Vendredi behind my back, Seyoon. I heard what she said back there. You betrayed our alliance. You betrayedus.”
“It’s not that simple! She asked me to, and I agreed, but only if you went home before her. Which I knew wasn’t going to happen, because I wasn’t going toletit happen.”
“Oh. Okay. You wouldn’tletit happen. Thanks for believing in me.” I wince at his bite. “Sorry I got in the way of your plans.”
Dean turns to leave. As I watch the distance between us grow, reality sinks in with serrated edges and saws a piece of my heart out in the shape of his handprint.
Oh.
This is why I gave him my points. This is why I didn’t want to lose him. This is why it hurts so much.
I’ve fallen for Dean. And it’s too late.
Desperate, I chase after him and grab his hand. His fingers twitch in my grasp, and I feel a phantom squeeze around the beating organ in my chest.
“Please,” I say.
But then Dean snatches his hand back.
“Don’t worry. You’re going to win, Seyoon,” he spits bitterly. His face crumples now, features aching. “It’s what you do.”
I realize, finally, that no, noteveryoneleaves me.
Sometimes, it’s me who pushes them away.
38
THE MOST CIVILITY CARTER HAS EVER DEMONSTRATED, AND HE WAS STILL PRETTY RUDE
DEAN
