Chapter 14 Beck
Beck
“What do you think of your team?” asked Vera. She had her smartphone propped up on a tripod and was looking into the screen, not at Beck, and he wasn’t entirely sure how she could make such an innocuous question sound like a threat.
“Oh—they’re great,” he said instinctively.
But then, after pausing to consider it for a moment, he felt it was close enough to the truth.
“Carter’s a dynamo in the fandom, and incredible at math.
Adi’s obviously the cool one, and he seems to be into anagrams and word puzzles.
And Sierra . . .” He glanced past Vera’s shoulder to where he could see Carter and Sierra together.
“She’s the only contestant who’s been here before.
She knows what to expect from the game. Anyone who watched last season knows how brilliant she is. ”
He figured this wasn’t the time or place to point out that Sierra was still under investigation for murder.
It also wasn’t the time or place to point out that being in a room with Sierra was like trying to decode one of the Game Master’s clues.
He could tell she was hiding something. But was that something a soft, squishy interior that longed to be loved and understood?
Or was that something the fact that she was a psychopath who could at any minute start stabbing people with tiny olive forks, like the one she was holding now?
Wait—where had she gotten an olive fork?
Vera cleared her throat.
Beck jumped. It was hard to concentrate in here. There were too many sounds and, consequently, a horrendous buffet going on in his mouth. The cocktail shakers tasted like Coca-Cola and shaved ice. The buzz of conversations was like chewing on grass. Vera’s voice was tart, like cranberries.
He struggled to remember her question. “Er . . . yeah. We’re getting along great.”
Vera made an exaggerated show of falling asleep. “Are you always such a Gary Stu, or are you playing nice for the cameras?”
“What does that mean?”
“Never mind. Helsing was an interesting choice for your team name.”
“It was Sierra’s idea.”
“How do you think it would feel, finding your sister dead in a coffin?”
His mouth opened and closed a couple of times. “I . . . don’t have a sister.”
Vera stared at him.
“I’ve got a cousin I’m pretty close to. Does that count?”
Still no response.
“Are we even allowed to talk about this?”
“It’s a free country,” said Vera. “Freedom of speech or whatever.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Someone got away with murder last year. The police still aren’t sure how they did it.
It would have taken a criminal mastermind to pull it off, and here we are, surrounded by”—she took the phone off the tripod and swiveled it to show the crowded restaurant—“actual masterminds.” She turned the camera back to Beck. “What do you think?”
“I—I don’t know,” Beck stammered, his hands getting clammy beneath Vera’s intense stare.
“Do you think Sierra could have pulled off something like that?”
“Um.”
Vera’s left eye began to twitch, the movement more noticeable with the fluorescent blue eyeliner. “She has a reputation for running her mouth at every opportunity. Has she let something slip?”
“I really don’t . . .” He looked at Sierra again as she stole a cherry out of Carter’s glass and popped it into her mouth. “She’s my teammate. I’m trying to give her the benefit of the doubt.”
“So you think she’s innocent?”
“I don’t know what I think. Look, are you okay? You seem stressed.”
This only made her angrier. “You referred to Adi as the cool one. Do you think the producers are setting him up to be this season’s dreamboat?”
“Dreamboat? This isn’t the type of show for that.”
“Isn’t it?” She flicked at her single dangly earring. “It must be tough. Adi’s hot. Carter’s got the followers. Sierra’s already infamous. And you are . . . no one.” She clicked her tongue. “I bet you wish you could knock the popular ones down a peg or two.”
“Not . . . really,” said Beck.
“Oh, come on,” said Vera. “A little cosmic justice would be nice now and then.”
It would. Beck could think of a few people who deserved cosmic justice. But he refused to take the bait, and instead grinned into the camera. “I’ll leave cosmic justice to the universe. I’m just here to solve some puzzles.”
“Vera terrifies me,” Beck said, sidling up to Sierra and Carter. Carter looked relieved to see him.
“Tell me about it,” she said. “She’s so . . .”
“Morose? Surly? Churlish?” Beck supplied.
Carter laughed. “All of the above.”
“You say these things like they’re insults,” Sierra muttered.
“Is she new?” Carter asked.
Sierra shook her head. “She’s been around for a while. Since, like, the second season, when the show was still on YouTube. I think she was in high school at the time. Pretty sure she’s related to one of the higher-ups. Nepotism is big in Hollywood.”
“Why make her the social media manager?” asked Carter. “She doesn’t seem happy doing it, and there are loads of people on the Domain who would love to have that job.”
“Like you?” said Sierra.
“That’s not what I meant.” Carter hesitated. “But, I mean . . . I think I could do it better than her.”
Sierra made an unconvinced noise in her throat. “The show has a huge following on their socials, so she must be doing something right.”
“I’m thirsty,” said Beck, his root beer long gone. “Anyone want to head to the bar with me?”
Carter frowned and looked around. “Actually, I had a . . . Oh, there.” She grabbed a glass half-full of juice that was sitting on a nearby table and quickly sucked the rest up through the straw, before shaking what was left of the ice. The sound made Beck’s teeth go cold. “I’d love another.”
Beck expected Sierra to disappear again and was surprised when she followed them to the line. Her spine was taut, her attention roving the room, scoping out the cast, the crew, the other contestants.
Beck followed her gaze. The entirety of Team Dread were at the bar, posing for a photo with Fitzy and Louis, while Vera kept barking at Jarius to stop making lewd hand gestures every time he was on camera.
Classy.
Adi appeared seconds later, clutching a fizzy yellowish drink and sliding his way into the group like he’d been there all along.
“What are you drinking?” said Beck. “You know if we’re caught with alcohol—”
“Relax, it’s Mountain Dew. Listen. We need to talk about the periodic table in the snag round.”
Sierra rolled her eyes. “Move on, Adi. There was no anagr—”
“Alicia Angelos.”
The name sent a shock wave down Beck’s spine.
Sierra inhaled sharply. “What?”
“It was an anagram, and it spelled your sister’s name.” Adi lifted an eyebrow. “Any thoughts on why that might be?”
For a brief moment, a crack appeared in Sierra’s guarded expression. A hint of vulnerability. But as soon as Beck saw it, she covered it up again, growing even thornier than usual. “Why the hell would I know anything about that?”
“I thought maybe you told someone to plant it in the episode.”
“Like who? The Game Master?” Sierra scoffed. “News flash, nobody liked me last season, and this season, they really hate me. If you’re right about this, I guarantee it was intended as some sick joke to throw me off my game during the round.”
“Maybe not,” Beck mused, while Carter ordered another round of drinks. “Maybe it was intended as, like, a memorial. It pays homage to her as a contestant, not just a”—he cut off suddenly, but then gulped and finished—“a victim.”
Sierra’s eyes blazed. “No one here gives a shit about my sister or her memory.”
“All right, fine,” said Adi. “That couldn’t have been an easy puzzle to orchestrate, with the numbers, the colors, the elements . . . It’s an awful lot of work to mess with one contestant.”
Sierra grunted. “All these people ever want to do is mess with us.”
“You sound very cynical,” said Carter, stumbling into Elijah as she reached past him to grab her juice. “Oops. Sorry.”
Sierra glared at the back of Elijah’s head. Then she glared at Carter. “Four weeks from now, you will be, too. If we last that long.”
Carter opened her mouth to retort, but then her gaze slid past Adi and Sierra.
Beck followed the look.
Fitzy and the Game Master were talking with Delphi and Gabriela. Gabriela had a martini glass in her hand—a mocktail? She tried to offer Fitzy a sip, but Louis scooped it up instead. He looked like he was giving Fitzy a hard time, although Fitzy took it in stride.
“I’m tired,” Carter said, loudly and unprompted. She chugged her drink and left the glass on a nearby table. “When can we go?”
“Agreed,” said Sierra. “We’ve paid our dues. Let’s get out of here.”
“Should we let someone know we’re leaving?” asked Beck.
Sierra waved the question away. “They aren’t our parents.”
“Yeah,” said Carter, taking a step toward the door. “Besides. We’re responsible teenagers, and—” She lurched sideways, her shoulder colliding with Adi’s chest.
Adi steadied her. “You okay?”
“Yep! Just fine!” Carter pulled away from him for a second, but then reached for his supporting arm. “Why is the room spinning?”
Beck traded looks with his other teammates, then glanced at Carter’s abandoned glass. “How many of those have you had?”
Carter frowned at him, confused, then counted on her fingers. “Three? I think? But it’s just pineapple juice.” Her words were starting to slur. Her brow glistened.
Adi picked up her empty glass and gave it a sniff. “I think she may have grabbed the wrong drink. Have you had anything to eat tonight?”
“Not really. I don’t eat much when I’m nervous . . . and I’ve been nervous, like, all day. Actually, if you must know, I pretty much exist as a big ball of tension. Better learn that now.” She laughed.
“Would alcohol really hit her that fast?” said Beck.
“If it’s strong enough,” said Sierra, “and she doesn’t have anything else in her system, and . . . I’m going to guess you haven’t built up much of a tolerance?”
Carter giggled. “I had champagne at a wedding when I was eleven. Shhhhh. Don’t tell anyone.”
“We need to get her out of here.”
“Yes, please,” said Carter, an almost-whine in her voice. “Am I drunk? Is this what drunk feels like? Oh god, Ranielle Russell will kill me.”
Adi took hold of Carter’s arm to guide her through the crowd. Sierra led, clearing a path for them.
They were intercepted halfway across the restaurant by broad shoulders, a square jaw, and a cruel smirk. Jarius.
“Whoa,” he said, eyeing Carter. “What’s happening here? Is it my imagination, or is Kick It Carter inebriated?”
Carter glared. “That’s Kiss It Carter to you, buddy. As in, you can kiss my—”
“Okay!” Adi shouted, and tried to shove past Jarius. “Fun times. Keep moving, Carter.”
Jarius laughed and refused to budge. “Nice. I bet Hitflix will love to hear how one of their underage contestants got smashed at the kickoff party.”
“I am not smashed.” Carter yanked her arm away from Adi so she could jut a finger under Jarius’s nose. “You know what? I have a finely tuned radar for bullies, and you are a bully! Which makes you . . .” She swallowed hard while she searched for the right word, finally landing on: “Not. Nice.”
“Aw,” said Jarius, “and here I thought we were getting along.”
“Okay, Carter,” said Beck, as they started to draw curious stares. He tried to coax her away. “Let’s—”
“Where’s my phone?” said Carter, fumbling to extract it from her handbag. “I need to take a video. The world needs to know he is . . . that Team Dread is . . .”
She didn’t finish. Instead, she hiccuped, then pressed a hand to her mouth. A look of panic flashed across her eyes.
“Carter?” said Adi.
“Oh god,” she moaned. Then she bent forward and spewed bright yellow pineapple juice all over Jarius.