Chapter 9 Carter
Carter
“Kick It Carter.” Fitzy said her name with a hint of awe, making her want to crawl beneath the metal lab table that stood between them.
You’ve got the wrong girl, she was tempted to say. I’m the impostor. Can I go home now?
Instead, she tried to smile as the stage lights glared down on her. “Hi, Fitzy.”
A gruff voice burst through her earpiece. “Where are the glasses?”
“Oh! Right. Sorry.” She dug the round glasses from her lab coat pocket and put them on, even though they pinched her nose.
“A lot of our viewers are squealing right now,” said Fitzy, gesturing at the camera. “To be honest, when I heard that Kick It Carter, the Domain’s highest-ranking Solve Specialist, was going to be on this season, I might have squealed a bit myself.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks. “You did not.”
“I did! I’m a fan. Your analysis videos . . .” He chef-kissed. “I don’t usually have any idea what you’re talking about, but man, do you make me feel like I could!”
Carter’s shoulders started to relax. She supposed this was Fitzy’s magic, and what made him such a good host, despite his utter cluelessness when it came to ciphers and math equations and basically all the things that made the show incredible.
It didn’t hurt that he was so flipping attractive, especially with that dreamy accent. Not Carter’s type, of course. She was more likely to swoon over cerebral than hot. But still. She could see the appeal.
“Thanks, Fitzy. That’s kind of you.”
“Speak up!” yelled the director.
She flinched. “I’m going to try my hardest not to disappoint.”
“Not even possible,” he said.
It was a blatant lie, no matter how genuine he sounded.
Her viewers were going to think she’d been abducted and replaced by some Carter-clone.
Who could blame them? When she should have been taking charge and getting her team organized, she’d instead been distracted by trying to place why her teammate’s voice was so familiar, when surely, surely it couldn’t be Sierra.
Robotic cameras swooped and zoomed. Carter didn’t know what to do with her hands. She wished the producers could use her be-spoke Kick It Carter avatar for the final edit. She never spoke meekly when she knew she’d be behind her cartoon. Why was it so hard to pretend to be that girl now?
“But you’re not a Solve Specialist anymore,” said Fitzy. “How was being in the game in real time?”
Something in his demeanor changed, and it took Carter a moment to realize he’d started reading off the script running across a blue screen—canned dialogue for a typical post-round interview.
“It was . . . horrifying, frankly. I felt like I’d never solved a puzzle in my life.”
“Then your team entered the laboratory and you met your team-mates face-to-face. What was going through your head in that moment?”
Carter thought back. “Sierra Angelos,” she said simply. “Over and over. That’s Sierra Angelos.”
“Something tells me your fans might be crying foul,” said Fitzy. “I mean, none of the other teams have quite so much”—he shot a mischievous look at the camera—“baggage.”
Carter hadn’t thought of that before, but he was right. It was sort of unfair.
“What about your other teammates? Beck and Adi?”
“We’ve hardly had a chance to talk. But Beck seems great. He solved that last puzzle so fast.”
“True, though some might call that overly impulsive. Shouldn’t he have communicated with his team?”
Carter bit the inside of her cheek. “Maybe,” she said slowly, “but Adi and I were pretty shell-shocked. I appreciate that Beck listened to his instincts. It paid off.”
“It certainly did. What about Adi?”
If this was a video for her channel, her avatar would be staring straight into the camera, unimpressed. Adi had been uncommunicative, irritable, and wasted way too much time on that Dmitri Mendeleev thing. And in the stairwell, he’d been downright dismissive of Beck’s concerns.
But Carter wasn’t going to say any of that, no matter how much the producers wanted her to spill the tea. Instead, she shrugged. “I’m looking forward to getting to know him better.”
“How diplomatic.” Fitzy’s voice dropped conspiratorially, like they weren’t mic’d up and being filmed from three different angles. “Believe me, not everyone would be so generous. But if anyone can handle this unlikely group of teammates, I think it’s you, Carter.”
She blushed to the red roots of her hair. “Please. I was anything but impressive today.”
“Something tells me you’re just getting warmed up.”
“And cut!” yelled the director.
Carter slumped. She wasn’t sure she’d breathed at all during that interview.
“Whew,” said Fitzy, taking off his mic. “How are you holding up? Really?”
It was the really that caught her attention. Carter looked at him, then the cameras. The little recording lights were off.
“Honestly?” she said, ripping off the faux glasses. “This has been the most stressful day of my life.”
“They sure dumped you in the middle of it, hey? I felt like a snake talking to you before the round, knowing what Ranielle had planned.”
She gave a wry smile. “I figured you relished the drama.”
“Me? Nah, mate. I jumped at the chance to be on this show because it was supposed to be different. Getting to see Louis create masterpieces, watching people barely my age unpick the clues . . . It’s the best fun. Even if I don’t understand half of it.”
Someone behind the lights gave them the go-ahead to leave. Fitzy lifted a hand in acknowledgment and gestured for Carter to follow him off the stage.
“I’ll take her back,” he said to the intern hurrying toward them.
Carter was flattered, but— “You don’t have to. Surely you have better things to do.”
“Than talk to my favorite Solve Specialist?” Fitzy said. “Hard disagree.”
She ducked her head. “You’re much nicer than everyone else here.”
“There are a few grizzlies, I’ll admit.” He shot her a grin as he held open the soundstage door for her. “Can’t blame most of them. The team’s under a lot of pressure, you know?”
“I can imagine.”
“But Louis’s a teddy bear. You’ll see.”
“Oh god. The Game Master. I wanted to impress him today, and I totally blew it.”
“I feel like you might be slightly overreacting.”
“I stood there like a gaping fish!”
“At the end with Sierra, sure, but that was done to you on purpose. Before that, you were great. Looking through the textbooks, working out Demeter Mev-Meevmember?”
“Dmitri Mendeleev.”
“That’s what I said.” Fitzy laughed self-consciously.
It was a different experience talking to him offstage.
When he was in front of the camera, he held his shoulders straight, spoke with flair, threw in clichés and puns.
But in real life, he seemed unsure of himself .
. . sort of like how she felt without her avatar.
It was mind-boggling to think she could have anything in common with James Fitzgerald.
“Louis understands how much pressure there is on the contestants,” Fitzy went on. “He won’t judge you. Trust me.” His eyes brightened. “I have the best idea. Come on.”
He turned down a corridor, away from the greenroom.
Carter slowed. “Where are we going?”
“To see the Game Master!”
Carter stopped completely, nearly twisting her ankle in the knee-high boots. “Now?”
“Yep. You’ll see there’s nothing to be scared of, and you can give your followers an exclusive interview at the same time. How’s that for entertainment?”
Carter’s breath hiccuped. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“C’mon.” Fitzy was getting farther away. “I’m sure he’s keen to talk to you, too. He’s seen some of your videos.”
That had Carter hurrying to catch up. “He has not.”
“He has!” They veered around a crew member pushing a trolley full of rattling glass beakers. “I made him watch the one where you broke down our on-screen chemistry and why we’re such a stellar hosting duo. I’ve never been so flattered.”
“Oh my god.” Carter was mortified. “If I’d known you would watch those . . .”
His dimples flashed. “I meant it before. I’m a fan. And you hear things, right? Oh, the Game Master is irreplaceable, but Fitzy? Anyone can do his job.” He grimaced. “That video . . . the things you said. It meant something to me. Made me feel like I was more than the goofy sidekick.”
“You are more than the goofy sidekick. Everyone loves you.”
“Thanks,” said Fitzy, “but sometimes I wonder if the fans think the show would be better with someone else in the role. Someone smart—like you.”
“No way. You’re the heart and spirit of this show.”
Fitzy slapped a hand over his chest. “Lucky we’re here, so you can stop embarrassing me. My head will get too big to fit on the screen.” He gestured at a door with the name LOUIS AUGUSTUS RUSSELL on a plaque. “Ready to meet the Game Master?”
He didn’t wait for an answer before pushing open the door.
Beyond it was a gray-and-black dressing room lined with brimming bookshelves and lit by brass lamps.
The Game Master lounged in a leather computer chair, one ankle kicked over his knee, halfway through a crossword book.
He glanced up. A hint of irritation shot through his eyes when he spotted Fitzy but faded the moment he noticed Carter.
“Well, well,” he said in his deep voice, tucking the pen behind his ear. “If it isn’t our resident influencer.”
He stood, swiftly and gracefully despite his size. Carter found herself inching closer to Fitzy.
“You got a minute?” Fitzy asked. “I thought you could do a one-on-one with Carter. Drum up some early buzz for the season?”
“Oh, um, thanks Fitzy,” she said. “But I don’t want to be a bother, and I should probably check with the producer before—”
“No, that’s a fantastic idea,” said Louis. “My wife won’t mind. What’s good for the show is good for her.”
Carter flushed. She knew that Louis and Ranielle were married, but it was easy to forget. He seemed so easygoing, so cheerful, so warm, and she . . . didn’t. But maybe there was some truth to that whole opposites attract thing.
“I mean . . . if you’re sure she won’t mind . . .” She reached for the phone in her pocket, hands shaking. Kick It Carter would never waste such an opportunity. An exclusive with the Game Master himself. She pictured her avatar jumping gleefully.
Fitzy’s phone vibrated. He checked it, his face falling. “Vera needs me to film some reels.”
“What?” said Carter. “Now?”
“I’d prefer to stay. But rule number one around here is—don’t piss off Ranielle. Rule number two is don’t piss off Vera.” His expression softened. “You’ve got this, Kick It Carter.” He slipped out the door, throwing her an encouraging thumbs-up on the way.
Carter turned back to Louis. He leaned against the desk, smiling patiently.
Suddenly, every question she’d ever had vanished.
“How did you like the room?” he said after the silence stretched on too long.
She opened her mouth. Nothing came out.
“The escape room,” he prompted.
“It was great,” she said, too quickly. She’d literally forgotten everything that had happened in the round.
Louis seemed to notice her panic. “I’m sure today’s been a lot, and I know I can be intimidating when people first meet me, but I swear I’m just a guy who loves puzzles.” He chuckled and adjusted his newsboy cap, then gestured at the mini fridge in the corner. “Can I get you something to drink?”
Something to do with her hands, something to concentrate on. A moment to gather her thoughts. “Yes. Sure. Thank you.”
But then the dressing room door opened and a woman in a bloodred suit walked in. Her expression was as severe as her slick black hair.
Ranielle Russell, executive producer. And Louis’s wife.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” she snapped to Carter.
“Um—”
“Relax, love, she was just going to interview me for the Domain.”
Ranielle’s glare toward Carter hardened. “All interviews with the crew and cast need to be preapproved. Or did you not read the contract?”
“N-No, I did. I’m sorry. I forgot. I was—”
“The bus for the villas is leaving, so I suggest you get moving, unless you want to sleep on set tonight.” Ranielle stepped sharply aside, gesturing toward the door. Carter couldn’t lift her burning face to look back at Louis.
“Sorry,” she whispered again as she slunk past the executive producer.
“Bye,” Louis called out behind her. “Maybe next time?”
Ranielle snapped the door shut and led Carter down the corridor, stilettos loud even on the carpet. “The Game Master is exceptionally busy. He doesn’t have time to chat with contestants.”
“Okay.” Carter would’ve liked nothing more than to take the first flight home and disappear under her comforter forever.
“We also maintain a strict media policy. If news outlets thought any teenager with a phone could interview the Game Master, they wouldn’t exactly be tripping over themselves to book him, would they?”
“I didn’t think about that. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“I highly doubt you were thinking at all,” said Ranielle. “I don’t want to see you talking to him again. Do you understand?”
When Ranielle glanced back, Carter swallowed the lump in her throat. “Of course. It won’t happen again.”