No, no, no.
Alright, maybe this is a more challenging task than I first imagined. Probably explains why there’s no winner yet.
In the back of my mind, a specific post-it note is screaming at me, reminding me of its existence. I try to ignore it. To trick myself into thinking I would never find it again in these never-ending halls.
I heave out another breath, my eyes still roaming the wall. My mind is crashing so spectacularly that I can’t even think of a single Queen Ego song that pertains to romantic love, let alone songs that might summarise these specific wants. All the knowledge I claim to know is turning in on itself. I clench my fists tight. The footsteps echoing around me grow faster, louder.
Time is of the essence. I can’t waste any more. I turn on my heel and race up the corridor, heading to the right to find what I’m looking for.
My eyes snap to it with a sigh of relief and I snatch it off the wall, keeping it hidden in the palm of my hand. Without a sound, Elliot appears next to me.
‘Fuck!’ I leap back, my face flushing. ‘What are you, Batman?’
He looks me up and down, unperturbed. His eyes linger at my hand. ‘Did you find one?’
With hesitation, I nod.
His face lights up. ‘What is it?’ he asks, nodding at it.
‘No time, we should go.’
He matches my pace as I rush back down the corridor, calling out for the others to reassemble.
With the five of us back together, I march to our destination whilst temporarily dodging the boys’ enquiries of what the‘winning’ post-it is. They’ll find out soon enough anyway, and I don’t want to waste any more time when we’re down to the wire.
Meanwhile, the post-it feels like a burning lump of coal in my fist. The red-hot truth that has come from a part of me that I haven’t even become well acquainted with yet. And now I have no choice but to expose it.
37
When we arrive back at our destination, the man in the lobster shirt is nowhere to be seen. In fact, nobody is. The meeting room table looks abandoned, a few drinks left half-consumed dotted around the edges.
A nasty voice somewhere deep inside me whispers:you were too slow, you’re too late.
Hennie speaks first, blurting an outraged, ‘What the hell?’
My eyebrows knit together. ‘Why do I get the feeling we just lost?’
‘Hey, don’t lose hope just yet,’ Owen murmurs.
‘Yeah, maybe he just went for a bathroom break,’ Josh adds. He kicks the ground beneath him before taking a seat at the oversized table, throwing himself into it with a sigh. The others follow suit, leaving just Elliot and I standing.
We exchange a brief glance, charged with a mutual apprehension. If we don’t win, everything since Queen Ego on Friday has all been for nothing. The hand that is clutching my post-it shakes, and I cross my arms tightly to try to quell it.
Elliot’s eyes flick down to my hand and back up again, as if he’d looked at something he wasn’t supposed to. Like he’s somehow aware of its significance.
I mentally scold myself, realising how easy it would have been to play it off as someone else’s, if I just hadn’t been so cagey about it.
Hennie must sense my unease and hops up from her seat.
‘We might still have a chance,’ she murmurs.
‘I don’t know,’ I reply with a grim smile. ‘I have a weird feeling this might be over.’
She nudges her hand against my own, the one containing my post-it. ‘What does it say?’ she whispers.
I unfold it in silence, holding it out for her to read. I hold no qualms about showing Hennie.
Her eyes soften as she reads it. ‘What song?’
