Chapter 4
Harlow
I stare at Sky’s Edge and feel like I’m going to throw up. My stomach churns. I didn’t sleep much last night, which doesn’t help. I pull in a deep breath, trying hard to center myself.
It’s time. There’s no putting this off any longer.
I can do this.
Everyone is here – all the remaining Tributes, all the trainers.
Everyone. At least, everyone who is left.
I try hard not to think of Jack and his agonized screams. I’m certainly not going to think about what happened with Vanessa.
Around four Tributes are gravely injured or lost each year. The odds are not in my favor.
I can’t think like that!
I take deep breaths, trying to focus on the first obstacle. The walls. I’m ignoring the loose semicircle of people gathered around the starting line.
Not looking.
Eyes on the wall!
You’ve got this.
“Harlow.” Smoke’s gruff voice cuts through my thoughts. “Come over here for a second. We need to have a talk.”
A talk.
The very last thing I need.
I force my legs to move and walk over to where my trainer stands with his arms crossed. His face is set in its usual stern expression, but I catch a flicker of something softer in his eyes.
“Are you ready for this?” he asks, his voice gentle, which is worrying. He’s normally gruff and shouting orders at me.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I tell him, though we both know that’s not saying much.
Smoke studies my face for a long moment. “Listen to me, Tribute. You’ve made it through this course plenty of times. You know every obstacle like the back of your hand. All you need to do is shave one or two seconds off each element, and you’ll make it. Easy, right?”
I let out a bitter laugh. “If it were easy, I would have done it by now.” My tone is clipped.
“Do they all have to be here?” I say under my breath, looking over at…
everyone. I can feel their eyes on me, and heat creeps up my neck.
Bad enough that I’m probably about to fail spectacularly – do I really need an audience when it happens?
“It’s a rule,” Smoke says with a shrug. “You know this, Harlow. It’s how it’s been since we got here. All trainers and Tributes have to witness attempts.”
“It’s a stupid rule.” The words slip out before I can stop them. “It just adds to the pressure,” I grumble some more.
Smoke’s mouth twitches like he might actually agree with me, but he doesn’t say so. Instead, he claps a heavy hand on my shoulder.
“Block them out,” he tells me. “Focus on the course. Focus on your breathing. You’ve got this, Santos.”
I nod, not trusting my voice. Taking a deep breath, I walk toward the starting line on shaky legs. The white line seems to shimmer in the heat, taunting me.
“Go, Harlow!” Jordyn’s voice rings out from the crowd. “You’ve got this!”
“Show them what you’re made of!” Carla adds, pumping her fist in the air.
Even Dani is trying hard to show her support. “I’m rooting for you!” she shouts.
I look over at my friends, grateful for their unwavering support, and that’s when I see him.
Drake stands slightly apart from the other observers; his arms folded across his broad chest. He’s watching me intently, which I hate.
He looks unimpressed, like he’s expecting me to fail, which I hate more.
Great. Another person to witness my likely humiliation.
Don’t think like that!
I force myself to look away, shaking my head to clear it. I can’t think about Drake right now. I can’t think about anything except getting through this course in under five minutes.
“You can do this,” I whisper to myself. “You will do this.”
The buzzer sounds, sharp and commanding. I have one minute to begin. The digital clock won’t start counting until I cross the starting line.
No use dragging it out.
I take another deep breath and do one final stretch, rolling my shoulders and shaking out my arms. My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears, but underneath the fear is something else.
Determination. I’m tired of being the weak link.
Tired of holding everyone back. Tired of being afraid.
After saying a silent prayer, I sprint toward the line.
The clock starts ticking the moment my feet cross. I don’t look at it because I can’t afford the distraction.
The first wall is exactly as easy as it’s always been.
I clear it without breaking stride, my confidence building.
The second wall is just as manageable. But then comes the third wall – the six-footer – and I have to dig deep.
I take a running jump, grab the top edge, and haul myself over, landing hard but steady on the other side.
The fourth wall towers above me, easily eight feet tall with no visible handholds.
This one always makes my stomach drop. I back up, take a deep breath, and charge forward.
My feet hit the base of the wall, and I push off with everything I have, fingers scrambling for purchase on the top edge.
For a heart-stopping moment, I think I’m going to fall backward, but then my grip holds, and I’m pulling myself up and over.
I hit the ground running, heading straight for the balance beam. The narrow surface stretches in front of me. I step onto the beam and move quickly but carefully, my arms extended for balance. One foot in front of the other, don’t look down; just keep moving forward.
I’ve fallen off this thing countless times. Done it so often that it isn’t a problem anymore. I force myself to pick up the speed a little and to breathe.
I leap off the end of the beam and run to the next obstacle.
Then, I climb up the footholds carved into the tree trunk.
This one always makes my palms sweat. I step onto the walking rope suspended between the two trees.
It’s as stable as it looks, swaying under my weight as I grip the guide rope above.
Halfway across, my foot slips, and I nearly lose my balance.
I yelp. My heart leaps into my throat as I sway dangerously to one side. A moment later, I manage to steady myself, gripping the upper rope so tightly my knuckles go white.
“Careful!” someone shouts from the crowd.
I don’t look down. I don’t look back. I just keep moving forward until I reach the other side and leap off the rope onto the platform, and then climb to solid ground. I’m sure I lost time on that one.
Crap!
I don’t think too much about it because the monkey bars are waiting – ten of them, spaced wider than necessary.
I reach up, grab the first bar, and start swinging.
Bar to bar to bar, my shoulders burning but holding strong.
The wide spacing forces me to really stretch, and by the seventh bar, my muscles are screaming.
This is where my height actually works in my favor.
I push through, dropping to the ground. I’m sure I made up a few precious seconds on that one.
There is no time to check as I reach the swinging logs. Eight huge-ass logs swing back and forth in their relentless rhythm. This obstacle has always terrified me, but today I feel different. More focused. I watch the pattern, timing my approach.
I can do it!
I take a few seconds to find the rhythm.
Then I dart forward, ducking under the first log as it whooshes past my head.
Then the second, the third. One almost clips my shoulder, but I adjust my path and keep moving.
The rhythm is everything. By the time I reach the other side, I’m breathing hard but exhilarated.
I’m sure I did that in record time.
The mud pit stretches out before me like a brown, disgusting lake with a tight net strung just above the surface.
I drop to my belly and start crawling, the mud immediately soaking through my clothes and covering every inch of exposed skin.
It’s claustrophobic and gross, but I push forward, keeping my movements steady.
At times, my face dips below the surface of the mud.
The net scrapes against my back, and more than once, I have to turn my face to the side to be able to breathe.
I can well understand how so many people had trouble getting through this particular obstacle. I’m not one of them.
When I finally slide out the other side, covered head to toe in brown muck, I don’t even pause to catch my breath. I can feel time slipping away, and I need every second for the final obstacle.
The three-story net stretches up into the sky like a twisted ladder to heaven. Or hell, depending on how you look at it. This is where Vanessa fell. This is where the majority of the Tributes die.
I push those thoughts away and start climbing. I have no other choice.
Hand over hand, foot by foot, I scale the net with more speed and confidence than I’ve ever managed before. I have to stay focused. One mistake and I’m dead. The mesh is sturdy under my grip, my muscles strengthened by months of training.
I’m doing it. I’m actually going to make it this time.
There is a crack of thunder, and the skies open up. This is the jungle for you. Sun one second, followed by a raging storm the next. I know it will be over soon, but not soon enough. Not for me, at any rate.
Crap!
The rain hits like a wall of water, soaking me instantly and turning the rope net slippery. It’s in my eyes. Mud drips in globs from my hair down my face and into my eyes. I can’t see. Within seconds, my hands are struggling to find purchase on the now-slick ropes.
I’m three-quarters of the way up when my left hand slips.
My body swings sideways, held only by my right hand and the precarious grip of my feet on the lower ropes. For a terrifying moment, I’m sure I’m going to fall. The ground seems impossibly far below, and I’m sure I catch a collective gasp from the crowd.
But somehow, my grip holds. Somehow, I manage to get my left hand back on the rope and steady myself.
The rain is coming down in a torrent, turning what should have been the easiest part of the climb into a nightmare. Every move has to be deliberate, careful. I can’t afford to rush, not when one slip could mean death.
I force myself to climb slowly, methodically, testing each handhold before trusting it with my full weight. I know I’m taking too long. I can feel the seconds ticking away, but I refuse to risk a fatal fall for the sake of making it today.
By the time my feet hit the ground on the other side of the net, I’m soaked to the bone and shaking from exhaustion and adrenaline. As if to mock me, the rain stops. I look up at the digital clock and feel my heart sink.
Six minutes and seven seconds.
I failed.
Again.
“That was bad luck!” someone shouts.
“You nearly had it!” another person screams.
“Next time, Harlow!”
Jordyn and Carla rush over to me, pulling me into muddy, rain-soaked hugs.
“That was amazing!” Jordyn says, her blonde hair plastered to her head by the downpour. “If it wasn’t for that rain—”
“You were so close!” Dani adds. “You’ll get it next time, for sure.”
But not everyone is so supportive. I catch snippets of other conversations as people start to disperse.
“How much longer are we going to have to wait for her to get her act together?”
“Some people just aren’t cut out for this,” Becca yells.
“Maybe she should just fall and get it over with,” one of Becca’s friends deadpans, and a few people laugh.
That last comment stings, even though I shouldn’t let those bitches get to me. I don’t even look over there.
“Hey, Harlow.” Smoke appears at my side. “I need to speak with you.”
Again.
Why?
I look over at my friends. Jordyn pulls a face. Then they step back as my trainer closes the distance between us. His expression is sympathetic.
I hate this.
“That was hard luck,” he says. “Not your fault. These things happen sometimes.” He glances up at the sun. It’s like that bout of rain never happened. “Mother Nature doesn’t give a damn about our timelines.”
“It was shitty luck, but thanks,” I manage, feeling like crap, even though I know he’s right.
“You’ll do better on the next attempt.”
“Yep.” I nod. “At least I have a couple of days to practice,” I mumble.
Smoke nods. “I believe in you.” He pauses, and something in his expression shifts. “Don’t be alarmed, but…Academy Leader Drake wants to see you.”
My stomach drops. “What? Why?” I frown.
“Don’t know,” Smoke says with a shrug. “He’s waiting in his office for you.”
My heart sinks even further. The last thing I need right now is a lecture from the intimidating new leader about my failures. What could he possibly want with me?
“Did I do something wrong?” I ask, though I can’t imagine what. “I mean, I know I didn’t make Sky’s Edge, but why does that warrant a meeting?”
“No idea,” Smoke says. “Just go clean up and then see what he wants. Don’t mess around; he’s waiting for you. Come and see me afterward.”
I nod, a knot tightening in my stomach. At this rate, I’ll have ulcers before long.