Chapter 37
OH. OH NO. MY ACTIONS… HAVE CONSEQUENCES?
SEYOON
Even though I knew it was coming, hearing Garrett say it out loud makes it real.
This is the end.
Dean’s leaving.
I try to imagine being here without him.
Falling asleep without the easy rhythm of his breathing in the bunk above mine.
There’ll be no more bickering over something stupid, no more watching how the sun catches the gold in his eyes when he rolls them, making me forget what we were arguing about.
There’ll be no more stargazing together, or swimming in the lake, or playing card games until one of us accuses the other of cheating.
He’s leaving, and we’ll never get to talk about his confession, the one still tumbling around in my head. No—we’ll never talk again, ever.
I glance over. He’s already watching me. Dean’s eyes flicker in the firelight. The possibility of this being the last time he ever looks at me is so awful that the words spew from my lips without a thought.
“Wait.”
Heads turn my way. I’ve stood up without realizing. My heart races faster than my thoughts. I can’t feel my legs. I can’t hear anything over the rushing in my ears, the blood hammering in my head. I don’t know what I’m doing, all I know is I can’t—I can’t lose him.
I can’t.
“Can I give some of my points to Dean?” I blurt out, tripping over my tongue to get the words out fast enough. “I know we can’t split because we’re not in an alliance, but I’m not asking to split. Just—I just want to give him some of my points. Five. How about five? That should—”
Vendredi shoots up, her face twisted. “What?!”
And then, all at once, I realize what that means.
“Oh. Oh no,” I say, but it comes out as a single exhale, all the wind knocked from my sternum. Before I can do or say anything to fix this, Blake steps forward from behind the camera.
“Let’s do it!” she says. She has that same frenzied grin on her face that she did when Dean and I gave her the performance of our lives back in the Communal Cabin.
Gone is the smooth-talking, steadfast director keeping things running silently behind the scenes.
Back is the host who once offered bonus points to two of the contestants on Umma’s season if they aired out their drama with each other in front of everyone.
“There’s nothing in the rules against donating points,” Blake continues. “Roll from the top—Garett, say you’ll allow it, then ask for a recount of the scoreboard.”
A few cameras adjust to focus on Garrett’s shocked face. He shakes himself out of it like the seasoned professional he is. “Alright. I’ll allow it. Let’s recount the points to see who our final three will be.”
Luke scrambles to move the numbers around on the scoreboard. It doesn’t take him more than a minute, but it feels like an eternity until he unveils the updated standings.
1ST
CARTER MOXLEY
119 PTS
2ND
SEYOON SHIN
85 PTS
3RD
VEAN TARKER
76 PTS
4TH
DENDREDI PENGKU
72 PTS
I’m still on my feet, standing like an idiot, when Vendredi steps in front of me. It’s as if I’m viewing everything from a distance, suspended high above and watching everything unfold through a glass floor beneath my feet.
There are angry tears in her big, brown eyes, which is when the glass floor shatters.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out. I don’t know how to articulate it all. “Oh my God, I’m sorry, Vendredi. It’s just… Dean.” Like it’s an excuse. It’s not. But it’s my reason.
She raises her voice to make sure everyone hears. “You promised me, Seyoon. You said if Dean lost, you and I would team up.”
My stomach falls.
In the outskirts of my vision, I see the blood drain from Dean’s face.
Vendredi wipes her eyes. Her voice grows as hard and cold as her expression.
She’s making the same face Amelia did the last time we ever spoke.
“Know this: I don’t care about the prize money.
I don’t care that you won and I didn’t. That’s the nature of the game.
” She taps my sternum, her voice momentarily cracking.
“I care that someone I thought was my friend stabbed me in the back.”
“Vendredi, I—”
“Save it.” She looks me up and down and shakes her head. “Joke’s on me for forgetting this isn’t the place to make friends.”
“But I am your friend!”
“No, you were. Well played as always, Seyoon.”
And just like that, she’s gone in what feels like the blink of an eye.
CONFESSION TAPE—Vendredi Tengku, Contestant
Sorry. I wish I had more to say right now, I know you want something eloquent for my outro tape. Something like, “This has been the opportunity of a lifetime, I’m going to cherish these memories.” You know. Shit like that. And it’s all true, but…
But it’s hard to feel grateful for any of it right now. I really wish I wasn’t leaving like this.
Best of luck to the final three.
Garrett closes out, introducing me, Carter, and Dean as the finalists to the cameras. When he wraps up, Dean gets up and walks briskly away. I trip over my own feet running after him, uncaring of the camera crew that scramble to follow.
“Wait, Dean!”
He turns around and I stop before him, panting for breath. I chafe under his intense, confused gaze.
“Why would you do that?” he asks. “Why would you give me your points?”
“I didn’t want you to go home.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” I don’t know how to answer that. I don’t know what this twisting, turning, sting inside me means. But it feels tender. Raw. Exposing it to air, to Dean, to the cameras—would burn. So I just give him a half-truth, something safe, and say, “Because you’re my friend.”
“Am I? Or am I your backup plan?” he responds, curt. “You teamed up with Vendredi behind my back, Seyoon. I heard what she said back there. You betrayed our alliance. You betrayed us.”
“It’s not that simple! She asked me to, and I agreed, but only if you went home before her. Which I knew wasn’t going to happen, because I wasn’t going to let it happen.”
“Oh. Okay. You wouldn’t let it happen. Thanks for believing in me.” I wince at his bite. “Sorry I got in the way of your plans.”
Dean turns to leave. As I watch the distance between us grow, reality sinks in with serrated edges and saws a piece of my heart out in the shape of his handprint.
Oh.
This is why I gave him my points. This is why I didn’t want to lose him. This is why it hurts so much.
I’ve fallen for Dean. And it’s too late.
Desperate, I chase after him and grab his hand. His fingers twitch in my grasp, and I feel a phantom squeeze around the beating organ in my chest.
“Please,” I say.
But then Dean snatches his hand back.
“Don’t worry. You’re going to win, Seyoon,” he spits bitterly. His face crumples now, features aching. “It’s what you do.”
I realize, finally, that no, not everyone leaves me.
Sometimes, it’s me who pushes them away.