“Shake it off,” said Sierra. “We need to focus.”
Beck physically shook himself. “Aye-aye, Captain. Don’t worry about me. I’m focused as a laser.”
A line producer entered. “Who’s ready to get mic’d up?”
“Sierra and Beck are good to go,” said the stylist, putting away the safety pins and adjusting Carter’s vest. She swept her gaze from Carter’s shoes to her face, then frowned and said, “Can we get makeup in here to do something about these eyebrows?”
Carter raised a hand to her face.
“Yeah, sure, I’ll send someone,” said the producer. “Sierra, Beck, with me.”
“See you on set,” Beck said, giving Carter a high five as he passed.
Carter returned her gaze to the mirror, turning her head from side to side. Great. Not only did she have to worry about murderers and saboteurs, but now she had to think about her eyebrows, too.
“Don’t forget these,” said the costumer, handing Carter her glasses.
Carter groaned. “Could we not for this one? They’re uncomfortable.”
“Producer’s orders,” said the assistant.
“The glasses aren’t your idea?” Adi asked, doing up the buttons on his white dress shirt.
“Are you kidding? I hate these things. And the itchy designer clothes. If I could do it again, I’d make Kick It Carter a frumpy, legging-loving nerd with perfect vision.” She sighed. “Also, what’s the point of them fixing my eyebrows if they’re going to be hidden behind these ridiculous frames?”
He grunted quietly, still watching her.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Adi let an assistant help him into a red jacket with gold buttons. “What are these costumes, anyway?”
She shrugged. “Bellhops? Maybe we have to escape the Ritz-Carlton.”
“I’m pretty sure no one ever wants to escape the Ritz-Carlton.”
A guy arrived with a makeup kit and pulled out some tweezers and a pencil. Carter tried not to grimace at each pluck.
“How was your meeting?” she asked, glancing sideways at Adi, while another assistant put product in his hair.
“It was . . . fine.”
Carter peered at him from the corner of her eye. Clearly it hadnotbeen fine. “Did something happen?”
Instead of answering, he said, “Do you remember in the limousine, before the kickoff party, when Jarius said you have to want it so bad you’d do anything to win?”
“Sure.”
His stare bore into her, so intense it made her shiver. “How bad do you want it?”
It was, perhaps, the most real question he’d ever asked her. Here they were, mere minutes from the semifinals. Two more rooms and they could have it all. No longer would she be Kick It Carter— influencer, Solve Specialist, contestant.
She would be Kick It Carter—winner, champion, maybe even real-world detective. And she would have done it beside three of the coolest people she’d ever known.
Three people she was honored to think of as her friends.
“I want it,” she whispered. “I want it really bad.”
He held her gaze for one last beat. “That’s good to know.”
