Carter giggled uncomfortably and scooted her chair an inch closer to Adi’s. He wasn’t sure why. He’d assumed an influencer would be excited to be recognized.
“Yeah,” said Carter. “That’s a good name. I like it. We, um, haven’t had a chance to decide ours yet. In fact, Adi, maybe we should—”
“So, hey,” Neil interrupted. “Jarius said you’re some sort of math whiz?”
Adi could feel Carter tense beside him. “I . . . like math . . .”
“Me too,” said Neil. “So if a rectangle is altered by increasing its length by twenty-two percent and decreasing its width by sixteen percent, by what percentage has the total area of the rectangle been altered?”
Carter gaped at him. “What?”
“Dude,” said Adi, “you’re literally just throwing out random numbers.”
Jarius swooped across the table to grab Adi’s book. “What have we here? A nerd?”
“Are you kidding me? Have you seen where we are?” Adi said.
He was used to this—the macho guys, the high school taunts, the hatred of literacy. He just hadn’t expected ithere.
He stood. “Keep the book. Maybe you’ll learn something. Thanks for the chat, Nadia. Carter, come on. Let’s go decide . . . team stuff.”
Carter bounded up beside him. “Yeah, um, nice to meet you all!”
“What a pack of hyenas,” Adi muttered as they passed the other tables of teams.
Beck intercepted them halfway to the door, a Pop-Tart in hand. “Great, I was coming to get you. Do you think we could talk? Somewhere less crowded?”
“Yes.Please,” said Carter.
“Sure,” said Adi. “Think we should track down our resident social outcast?”
“That’s actually what I want to talk to you about,” said Beck as they stepped into the hall. “This way.” Not far down the corridor, he pushed open another door, revealing a concrete stairwell. The door shut behind them with a heavyclunk.
“Are we supposed to be here?” Carter asked. “What if the producers come looking for us?”
“This won’t take long. I hope,” said Beck.
Adi sat down on one of the steps, long legs sprawled in front of him. The stairwell had an unusual scent—stale air and old concrete mixed with something . . . sweet? “What is it?”
“Sierra,” said Beck. “We can’t have her on our team. The episode won’t drop for a few more days, so maybe there’s still time for the producers to find someone else and—”
Adi held up a hand. “The producers aren’t going to find someone else. Do you know how many people will tune in to see Sierra again? Ranielle Russell knows exactly what she’s doing.”
“But shemurderedhersister,” said Beck. “Right here. Nothere, here, in the stairwell. But on the set.”
“She was never arrested,” Carter said, wrapping her arms around herself. “Although, isn’t the investigation ongoing? She’s still a suspect.”
“Innocent until proven guilty,” said Adi. “They don’t have the evidence to pin it on her.”
“You don’t think she’d hurt us, do you?” Carter said.
“Not unless we lose a round,” Adi said with a grin, but Carter looked so terrified he added, “I’m kidding. She knows she’s not going to get away with it again.”
Beck clawed his hands into his hair. “Look, I’m all for giving people second chances, but she’s a loose cannon. What if she ruins our chances at getting to the finale?”
“Her team made it to the finale last season,” Adi pointed out.
“A miracle, given how she was at Elijah’s throat the whole time,” said Beck. Then he waved his arms through the air, as if to clear away the distraction. “Here’s the thing. Jarius called Sierra a psychopath, and he might be right. I know people like to throw that word around, assuming all psychopaths are serial killers, but they’re a lot more common than we think. I researched them when I was designing my torture chamber, and it’s fascinating”—Beck caught himself and added quickly—“I mean, my torture chamberescape room. In case that wasn’t clear.” He pointed at himself with his thumb. “I swear I am not a psychopath. My brain is ninety-five percent empathy and five percent confetti.”
