Whoever’s in front puts their foot down a little too hard, wobbling the board and sending everyone overboard. My heart drops—until their heads immediately bob back up. The water’s deep but slow.
“Gah!” yells one contestant as the creek drifts him lazily downstream. “Fuck you… uh, what was your name?”
“Sid—” Another person, the guilty party, gargles as water washes over his face. “Sorry. Siddharth.”
“Oh, yeah. Fuck you, Siddharth!”
Speakers from somewhere in the trees crackle to life. Garrett’s voice fills the forest.
Contestants! Even if you fall in the water or one of the pitfalls, don’t give up. You’re not out of the race yet!
That’s my sign to get a move on. Doing my best to ignore what sounds like rapidly approaching footsteps behind me, and those in the water already swimming toward shore, I swallow down my fear and force myself onto the bridge.
You can do this. Be brave, Dean. Or at least, pretend that you are for the next tenseconds.
My foot slips, and I barely manage to regain my balance. My half-hearted optimism is not helping. Whatdoesget me all the way across the creek—albeit slowly and unsteadily—is the memory of Seyoon sighing and saying,Even though I’m going to win, I hope we can becomefriends.
Like hell.
Once I’m on solid ground, my breath returns to me more steadily than it has all morning. I glance over my shoulder, stunned to see the distance between me and the others.
Huh. I may not be the fastest, or the strongest, but I can think on my feet. It’s the one thing I’m confident about.
Or maybe I just have more common sense than everyone else here.
My earlier impending sense of doom dissipates. It’s happening. A two-bedroom apartment in Portland with my and Meredith’s names on the lease. Something for Dad to remember me by whenI leave, something that’ll ease the sting when he laments the distance between us. I’m doing it. I’m going to make them both proud. Because Icanwin. And nobody is going to get in my way, no matter how infuriatingly beautiful or athletic or annoying they are.
Without wasting another second, I take off down the path, adrenaline licking at my heels and fire burning in my lungs as I chase after Seyoon.
6
THIS SIGN CAN’T STOP ME ’CAUSE I HAVE DYSLEXIA
SEYOON
Pitfalls? I eat those for breakfast. A suspended bridge over the water? Balance beam was my favorite event in gymnastics. I was right. I have this race in the bag.
… Okay, I did fall in one of those holes, but I got out faster than anybody, so I still have every right to be confident.
“Cocky,” I spit, remembering Dean’s taunt. “I’ll show that mousy prick what cocky really looks like when I’m waiting for him at the finish line. That rodent-looking… blond… little…” Ugh, forget it. I’ll come up with a good insult later.
My feet hit the dirt of the hiking trail in a quick, rhythmic pattern. I revel in the reverberations through my legs and the humid, summer air filling my lungs with every breath. I’ve found my perfect rhythm. Nothing can break it, not even the sight of camera operators slinking out behind bushes to follow me. There’s no one else ahead of me, and only the boy with the sunburn was anywhere close to being on my tail.
I’ve hardly broken a sweat when the path suddenly diverges into three. A wide tree sits squat in the middle of the fork, and when I get closer, I realize there’s a wooden sign nailed to it. What is this?
I squint to make out the faintly engraved words.
TO FIND THE QUICKEST PATH TO FLEE,ANSWER THE TREE THESE QUESTIONS THREE:
1. THE WINDIEST ROADS DON’T OFTEN LEAD TO—
Oh, fuck me. It’s a riddle. I hate these.
It’s a herculean task getting through the whole thing. I use my full concentration, swearing when I mistake adfor aband when I finally get through a sentence only to realize I didn’t understand any of it. The letters seem to jump, so I do what Appa drilled into me and hold a finger below each squirming word, but it still doesn’t help.
“Shit, shit, shit, come on,” I mutter, staring harder at the sign like sheer willpower can cure my dyslexia. Maybe it will. Appa certainly thought so. Why the hell would we have toreadin the middle of a race, anyway? Okay, focus, damnit. I’m suddenly aware of a boom mic subtly shimmying over my head. When did that operator get here?
What’s the point? Even if you could understand it, it doesn’t mean you’re smart enough to solve it. Forgetit.
