Chapter Twenty-Three Maren #2
At least until Paige’s zone started getting attention.
It began with the wristbands.
A line formed near the sponsor tent. Paige had set up a simple game where fans scanned a QR code, chose between polished challenge options, and received a color-coded wristband with a team phrase.
Clean.
Fast.
Sponsor-friendly.
Highly shareable.
Maren hated every efficient second of it.
Then Paige added a surprise.
A photo station.
Not bad by itself.
But the backdrop read:
GOOD CHOICES. BAD IDEAS. PICK YOUR TEAM.
Below it, two arrows.
TEAM RESPONSIBLE.
TEAM CHAOS.
No names.
No faces.
But everyone knew.
Maren watched two girls pose under the signs, one pointing toward Team Responsible, the other making a heart with her hands toward Team Chaos.
The comments started shifting within minutes.
Team responsible is Griffin coded.
Team chaos is obviously Maren.
Wait are they doing a couples campaign?
The knot in Maren’s stomach pulled tight.
Ava appeared at her side. “Do you want me to say something mean quietly or helpful loudly?”
“Both.”
“Quietly mean, Paige knows exactly what she is doing.”
“Yes.”
“Helpfully loud, your content is still stronger.”
Maren looked at her phone.
Paige’s QR campaign was moving fast.
Maren’s Trust Wall post had excellent saves.
Paige’s wristband reel had comments exploding.
Fast attention versus lasting trust.
The exact argument.
Now live in numbers.
Maren swallowed.
Griffin crossed the lawn toward them, duck visor still on his head.
Under different circumstances, that would have fixed everything.
Under current circumstances, it made her want to laugh and cry and possibly bite someone.
He stopped beside her and looked at Paige’s tent.
“Ah,” he said.
“Ah?” Maren repeated.
“Controlled rage word.”
Ava nodded. “It translates.”
Griffin looked at Maren. “What do you need?”
Her first instinct was to say nothing.
Her second was to say a flamethrower.
Her third, better and extremely irritating instinct, was the truth.
“I need to not chase her,” Maren said.
Griffin’s expression softened. “Okay.”
“She is implying without naming. If I respond directly, I make it about her. If I ignore it, her frame spreads.”
“Then reframe.”
Maren looked at him.
He pointed at the Trust Wall. “Your strongest asset is over there.”
“The wall?”
“The answers.”
Ava’s eyes widened. “Oh.”
Maren turned slowly toward the board.
They say sorry.
They help you when you fall.
They do not laugh mean.
They keep promises.
Her mind clicked.
Not a pivot away from Paige.
A pivot deeper into Maren.
She grabbed her phone.
“Ava, get Denise. I need permission from three parents for kid quotes on camera. Griffin, I need you and Nate near the Trust Wall, but not staged. Tyler can bring players through one at a time. No jokes unless they are natural.”
Tyler appeared from nowhere. “Natural jokes are my habitat.”
“You are going to read the kids’ answers and ask the players what they think a team owes its community.”
Tyler’s face shifted.
For once, no joke came.
“Oh,” he said.
“Yes.”
“That is good.”
“I know.”
Griffin looked at her, duck visor and all, with something like awe.
Maren almost short-circuited.
No time.
“Move,” she said.
They moved.
The Trust Wall live began seven minutes later.
Maren kept it simple.
No big introduction.
No dramatic setup.
Just the camera on the wall and Tyler’s voice, softer than usual.
“We asked kids and families what makes a team worth trusting,” Tyler said. “They answered better than we do, because they are smarter and have not been hit by slap shots for sport.”
Cooper, just off camera, murmured, “Accurate.”
Tyler pointed to the first answer.
They help you when you fall.
The camera moved to Miles, who stood beside the boy who had taught him to skip stones.
Miles swallowed visibly. “I think that one is everything. You mess up. You get up. Someone offers a hand before they offer a joke.”
Maren held the phone steady.
The live numbers climbed.
Tyler moved to the next.
They say sorry.
Nate stepped into frame.
Ava went still behind Maren.
Nate looked at the wall, then at the camera. “Harder than it sounds. Important because little kids can tell when adults fake it.”
The comments sped up.
Maren barely read them.
She felt the shift.
Not viral spike.
Weight.
People staying.
Tyler read the next answer.
They keep promises.
Griffin stepped forward.
Still wearing the duck visor.
Still somehow devastating.
He looked at the wall for a second before speaking.
“I think trust means people know what to expect from you,” he said. “Not because you never change. Because when something matters, you do what you said you would do.”
His eyes flicked, very briefly, toward Maren.
Her hand almost trembled.
The camera caught none of that.
She made sure.
Some things could be true without being content.
The live held steady for twenty-one minutes.
Twenty-one.
In internet time, that was practically a committed relationship.
When it ended, Maren’s phone was hot in her hand.
So was her face.
Comments poured in.
This is why I follow.
Duck visor man just made me emotional.
Not me crying at hockey players and children.
This is so much better than the couple bait.
Maren stared at that last comment.
Ava read over her shoulder and whispered, “There it is.”
Maren felt her lungs open.
Then another comment appeared.
But are Maren and Griffin actually together or is this fake for the campaign?
The question got likes immediately.
Then replies.
Then more versions.
The knot returned.
Because Paige’s frame had spread after all.
Not everywhere.
Not enough to win.
Enough.
Griffin had come up beside her without her noticing.
He read the screen.
His expression changed.
Not closed.
Careful.
Maren looked across the lawn.
Paige was near the sponsor tent, watching the activity on her tablet.
Not smiling now.
Waiting.
Carter stood between the two zones, also watching.
Adrienne’s assistant was still on Denise’s phone.
The field test was still happening.
The comments were still moving.
And suddenly the whole afternoon tilted toward one question Maren had promised herself she would not let become the campaign.
Are you real, or is this fake?
A family approached the Trust Wall, giving Maren a second to breathe.
Then Tyler, unaware of the exact land mine beneath his flip-flops, lifted the microphone for the next mini segment.
“Okay,” he announced brightly. “We have time for one live audience question for Maren and Griffin before the alumni relay.”
Maren’s heart stopped.
Griffin’s eyes snapped to Tyler.
Too late.
A teenage girl near the front, phone in hand, read straight from the comments.
“Everyone keeps asking if you two are actually together, or if this is part of the Bad Idea Bet.”
The lawn went quiet.
The live stayed on.
Paige looked up.
Carter looked at Maren.
Griffin looked at Maren too.
Not panicked.
Not asking her to protect him.
Waiting.
Beside.
Maren felt the whole weekend balance on the edge of her answer.