“It’s, uh…” I clear my throat. “Nice? Thanks, Dad.”
He ruffles my hair, and this time, I don’t really mind that he’s frizzing up the curls.
“I’m so proud of you, Dean.” Dad smiles. “I know you won’t let us down.”
“I won’t,” I reply.
I can’t.
2
I GOT ROBBED AT A NATIONAL PARK AND I DIDN’T EVEN GET A LOUSY T-SHIRT
SEYOON
America’s favorite reality show is not only back… but better than ever!
What’s that sweet sound? Nostalgia? Better. It’s me, Garrett Moxley, your new host ofForest Feud—returning twenty years after the epic finale. But don’t think this is some lame reboot. No, we’re ramping things up. I’m talking high-stakes challenges and competition like never before.
So tune in next summer for the brand-new season ofForest Feud, where twelve brave teens will battle each other and the elements for a chance at one mill—
Jesus, not this guy again. How much advertising budget could one washed-up ex-star really have?
I reach over and click the radio off with more force than necessary. Umma, her hands stiff on the steering wheel, frowns at the highway.
“I was listening to that,” she complains mildly.
“I’ve had enough of Garrett’s nasally voice. I’ll be hearing it every day here pretty soon,” I complain, but I turn the radio backon, flipping to another station. A Christian jazz choir? Sure, fine, I’ll take anything that isn’t theForest Feudcommercial.
“MaybeIwant to hear his voice. Have you thought about that?” Umma teases, sparing a glance away from the road to give me a shit-eating grin. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard it. He sounds as handsome as he did when we were on the show together.”
I burst into laughter. “Umma! Gross!”
“What? I’m a single woman now.”
My laughter dies down. Right, she’s single now. The rattling of her busted car engine that we can’t afford to get checked out makes it impossible to forget how the ink on the divorce papers is still wet. And there’s also the fact that Umma—the most nervous driver in the state of Oregon—is driving me up to the set ofForest Feudherself.
When Appa was still in the picture, she never drove. The only thing I could reliably count on him for was driving me to and from school while she worked. Drives with him were always silent, though, no matter how many times I tried to start a conversation. He thought my “chatter” was distracting. But Umma doesn’t. Even though her knee’s bouncing with nerves, she’s still managed to crack jokes with me the whole ride.
At the thought, I look over at her and smile. “Fine, tell you what: When I win Garrett’s stupid show and that million dollars, I’ll give him your number.”And buy you a new car you feel saferdriving.
“Oh God, Seyoon. Please don’t. He seems like such a…”
“Shithead?”
“?. Language.”1
“Didn’t he betray you when you guys were allies? Is thatnotthe definition of a shithead?”
She huffs. “Fine, he was a bit of a shithead.”
I snort, and out of the corner of my eye I see her relax in her seat.
It’s barely dawn, so there’s no line before we reach the entrance of the mountain. Excitement sparks in me once I spot the woodenMount Rainier National Parksign. I still can’t believe I’m going to compete in the very same game Umma did when she was my age. We both freaked out when the network reached out to us with the offer. It was a no-brainer to agree to. Not only for the prize money but for the opportunity to avenge Umma’s legacy.
Because if Garrett Moxley hadn’t cheated her over, she would have won.
We roll to a stop at the park ranger’s booth. There’s a woman in shades leaning against the open window, chewing on gum lazily. “Do you have a pass?”
