“You look sad. It must be over.”
I scowl. But like with his uncle, I know if I try to ignore Carter, he’s only going to get more irritating. Begrudgingly, I resign myself to hearing him out instead of hiding in the shower stall until he leaves.
Carter lowers his voice. “Tomorrow, the final challenge is going to be a treetop obstacle race. Similar to the one your dad and my uncle competed in. Just like last time, there’s going to be a fork in the road right before the finish line. Take the path on the right. Anddon’ttell Seyoon.”
All I can do is stare quizzically down at him, waiting for him to elaborate or go away. “What are you talking about?” I eventually manage to string together. “How do you know that?”
“Are you serious? What’s my last name? And what’s the last name of the host?” Carter rolls his eyes like it’s me who’s being ridiculous here.
The blood drains from my face. “Garrett is helping you cheat in the finals?”
“You’re not stupid, Dean, don’t pretend like you are.”
My head pulses with an oncoming migraine. Obviously, I assumed that Garrett would be vying for his own nephew to winForest Feud, especially after how he defended him in the first challenge. If I hadn’t already come to terms with losing at the semifinals, maybe this confirmation would be more life-shattering. At the moment, it’s just another loose thread to try and hold on to in thespinning wheel of my mind. I have enough energy to ask one thing, though. “Let’s say I believed you… why would you tellmethis? Now we both have a leg up.”
He has the gall to laugh, and I think for a second about kicking him in the shin, but that feels like something Seyoon would do, so I force the thought away.
“We arenoton equal footing, you and me. I could give you a five-minute head start and still beat you.” I rear my foot back to kick, but Carter steps away in time. “It’s not ideal to have both you and her with me in the finals, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to win. Whatcanchange is who places second.”
Carter steps back and heads toward the door. While clipping his mic back on, he throws over his shoulder, “I’m telling you this because I hate Seyoon more than Idon’tcare about you. So, congratulations.”
“That’s…”
“Oh, save it,” he snaps. “She’ll be fine. Third place isn’t bad.”
He leaves before I can respond. The spoiled pit rotting in my rib cage pangs for Seyoon.Ishould tellher.
And then I remember how she betrayed me. Us. How she was so convinced I would lose that she formed an alliance with Vendredi behind my back. I trusted her. I was vulnerable with her. I thought she saw me as an equal, a partner. A friend. Friends don’t treat each other like stepping stones to the finish line.
She decided then that she didn’t need me to win. Why should that change now?
I don’t see Seyoon for the rest of the day, and I pretend I’m fine with that.
39
MUFFINS, MOXLEYS, AND MURDEROUS INTENT
SEYOON
Garrett sighs and pockets the list of questions he was reading off to me. “You’re exceptionally bad at this.”
I cross my arms and glare. Somewhat because of the sun filtering into the confession booth around his silhouette, but mostly because I hate him. “Maybe you’re a bad interviewer.”
To be fair, my answers to questions likeWhy did you promise to team up with Vendredi and then change your mind?andWhat happens if you lose tomorrow?have been more strangled than spellbinding.
“We’re obviously not going to get any good footage out of you right now,” Garrett says, “so you might as well help me out with something else.”
Anything to get out of answering more questions about how I feel now that Dean’s mad at me. I follow Garrett away from the confession booth and to his cabin, which surprises me. He lets us in and then heads straight to the kitchen.
“What do you need my help with?” I ask.
Garrett rummages around his cupboards, pulls out a box of Moxley Muffins mix, and throws on an apron. This time, it’s a paleblue one that says in a fancy cursive font:I Cook as Good as I Look.Why did I come here?
“Baking!” Garrett chirps. “I’m hungry.”
I balk. “Your assistant couldn’t help you with this?”
“It’s Luke’s day off, and unfortunately, tasty little treats don’t qualify him for overtime. Plus, I don’t have to payyou. Go on, there are extra aprons in that drawer over there.”
