“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter, hurrying after it.
A vision of it sliding all the way down the mountainside flashes through my mind. But even worse, somebody turns around the bend in the path at the exact wrong moment, and my neon weapon of destruction knocks them over with a heavyTHUNK. My heart sinks.
I’m a murderer. I’ll live the rest of my life behind bars.
I run the rest of the way and scramble to my knees next to the person. It’s a girl my age lying flat on her back. I shove the suitcase off her. “Shit. Please don’t be dead?”
After a moment, she cracks her eyes open to my relief. “I’m alive,” she groans. “I refuse to die an embarrassing death.”
The girl gingerly sits up. I examine her face for signs of a concussion. Her irises are dark, nearly black, which makes it difficult to tell if her pupils are dilated or not, plus her thick, straight eyelashes hide them. There aren’t any cuts or bruises on her face, which is good. My eyes trace over her soft, round cheeks, catching on the mole below her lips, and the long strands of black hair falling elegantly over her face.
My mouth dries. I swallow.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. Help me up, though.”
I stand and offer her a hand, which she takes with a wince. Once on her feet, the girl looks at me, then at the incriminating suitcase, then back to me. She raises a brow.
The idea of being yelled at by a pretty stranger is terrifying enough that I blurt out an unconvincing, “I have no idea where that came from.”
“No?”
What is wrong with you, Dean?“I meant—I have no idea how Idroppedthat. But, uh, yeah, that’s mine. I’m so sorry, it was an accident. I was on my way to the set when—”
“Set? TheForest Feudset?” she interrupts, lighting up. “You must be a contestant, too. That, or a really overpacked hiker.”
“I am. To the first thing. Technically both.”
She grins. “Don’t tell me you rolled that fugly ten-ton suitcase into me on purpose. ‘Knock your opponent off their feet, then their game’ kind of thing?”
I balk, not sure if she’s serious, until she laughs.
“I’m joking!” Then she thinks about it a second longer, and her brows pinch. “Itwasjust an accident… right?”
“Of course,” I squeak.
That satisfies her. She slings her duffel bag that got knocked to the ground over her shoulder. Her tanned bicep flexes with the motion. I forcefully avert my gaze. “Okay, good. Well, since you weren’t intentionally trying to take my kneecaps out, let’s walk the rest of the way together.”
She begins her ascent up the hill, a spring in her step despite getting the wind knocked out of her. I pick my suitcase up off the ground and hurry to wheel it over the rocks and uneven dips in the ground.
“I really am sorry,” I say, catching up. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
Apparently unruffled by my maybe-sabotage attempt, she goes on. “No harm done. Accidents happen. It’s playing dirty I don’t like.” She clenches her fist in front of her, as if strangling some imaginary cheater. Or me, had she not believed I was telling the truth. She drops her hand. “So, are you excited to be on the show?”
Making conversation with new people has never been my biggest strength. I usually find myself floundering. Or sticking my foot in my mouth. See exhibit A: that time I blurted “My mom's dead” in the middle of Applebee’s. The intensity of this girl’s eyes on me as she waits for an answer only makes my throat tighten. “Kinda?” I say.
God. That was pretty bad. Meredith would kick me if she were here.
My dry response and ensuing silence make her furrow her brows. “Oh?”
Except now I’m thinking about Meredith. And Dad. And how, once we get to the top of this hill, I’m going to be surrounded by amillion cameras. I’m going to be on TV. For some reason, my brain is finding it a good time to spiral over that fact now.
She waves her hand in front of my face. “Hey, you okay?”
I’ve been unintentionally ignoring her for nearly a minute. Feeling like a jerk, I mutter, “Yeah. Sorry.”
Silence settles in the space between us, but I don’t know what to say. She glances over a few more times, opening her mouth as if to try and start a conversation again, but then shuts it, seeming disappointed. Another minute passes. I should say something so she doesn’t think I’m a completeasshole.
