I understood that phenomenon. “We build those kinds of incentives into our games as well.”
“Always keep them wanting more, right?”
My eyes fell on his mouth, something I’d always wanted, just out of reach. I could think of any number of things I might do to make it to level one thousand with him. “Mmm-hmm.”
“Hey, if you ever need any input about gaming, I’d be happy to talk about it.”
“I uh—” I bit my tongue. That probably would never be necessary, but I wasn’t about to shut down any avenue of conversation that might lead to something more with him. I batted my eyes and flashed my best imitation of a flirtatious smile. “Yeah, sure.”
“Hey, do you have a card?”
Bingo.
I rustled through my backpack to find my wallet and dug out a business card that had seen better days. People didn’t usually ask me for something so impersonal, but I was more than happy to share it. It had my phone number on it. And my actual name.
He scanned it and then slipped it into his wallet. “Thanks. Could I call you sometime?”
Was he hitting on me? Tristan Spencer? Hitting on me. I couldn’t stop blinking while my brain tried to make sense of this insanity. I grabbed the gin and tonic on the bar and finished it in one swallow, then held up a finger to get Alfie’s attention and said, “Another, please?” I faced Tristan again with a coy smile. Maybe humiliating myself had paid off for once. Maybe for once I’d catch the hot guy’s eye.
Alfie set my drink before me. “I worried you might leave. We’re about to announce the results.” His eyebrows rose. “Good luck, both of you!”
Tristan leaned over. “So what are you going to do with the grand-prize money?”
Whatever I might have responded was cut short by Miranda’s voice over the speaker. “May I have your attention, please. We’ve tallied your votes and are prepared to announce the contestants who will be invited to move on to next week. We want to thank everyone profusely for coming out tonight. Let’s have a round of applause for all our participants.”
I golf clapped, feeling awkward applauding for my own self. My fingers had begun to tingle from nerves, and I honestly didn’t know if I wanted to hear my name called or not. On the one hand, it would be a relief to get cut tonight and have my decision taken from me. On the other, it would be a kick to the ego to fail to make even the top twelve.
“When I call your name, please come stand beside me. I ask that the audience hold your applause until the list is complete.”
She called out Bryce, and the crowd ignored the rules, cheering as he stepped forward. Miranda continued to read off Dana, Gary, Heather, and Hillary. I counted on my fingers, knowing it wasn’t necessarily a bad sign that nearly half the people had been called before she’d even made it to the M’s. My heart began to pound, and Aida laid a hand on my shoulder, like she knew the writing was on the wall. There was no way I’d been good enough to amuse a room filled with strangers.
Mike was called up, and I somehow recalled he’d been the sixth contestant. So far, nobody had been cut. I squeezed my fists, realizing I was rooting to hear my own name, but preparing to be disappointed.
Porter, Quinn, and Shannon were called up, boom-boom-boom. Only three more spots were left. My mouth tasted like ash.
“Sierra.”
My eyes sprang open in surprise. “What?”
Aida punched the sky. “That’s you! Get up there!”
Tristan whooped. “All right, Sara!”
As I took my spot next to Shannon, I fought back a stupid grin. I’d been picked. I wouldn’t think about next week. I’d make my decision later. For now, I savored the feeling of not being rejected.
Miranda said, “Tristan,” and that feeling of victory was doused by visions of confessing a decade-old crush to the same boy week in and week out. Maybe there was something else in that notebook. Maybe he wouldn’t assume my infatuation continued on today.
But when he slid in beside me, he leaned over and whispered, “Looks like you’ve got competition,” and a fire ignited in my belly. Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to hold my own in this contest. Maybe even win it.
When Zane was called as the final contestant, everyone cheered and snapped photos.
Miranda said, “Each night, the contestant with the most votes will be awarded a Get Out of Jail Free card.” She held an actual Monopoly card up. “Remember those twists Alfie mentioned? Here’s the first. This is good for one save, meaning if you get eliminated, you can play this to be reinstated in the game. However, nobody can win more than one of these during the competition. We don’t want someone”—she glanced at Tristan significantly—“hoarding them up and then skating to the win.”
The crowd murmured.
Miranda let the dramatic pause build and announced, “Tonight’s winner is . . . Tristan Spencer!”
He gaped as we all applauded his victory.
I knew I’d never win one of those cards, so it meant someone else would have better odds than me. Tristan had just made himself even harder to beat. Why was I even trying?
Immediately after the contest ended, without much fanfare, the other contestants dispersed, and the bar began to clear out. I pitied the three people who had felt the cruel sting of rejection, especially considering I’d likely forfeit my spot.
When I went to grab my backpack and finally flee the scene of the crime, I waved good night to Alfie and thanked him for his encouragement and the free drink. Aida fell in with me, but as soon as we exited onto the sidewalk outside, Tristan chased us down.
He held up my business card. “Mind if I call or text tomorrow? We could hang out.”
I hitched the strap on my backpack further up my shoulder. “Yeah. That would be cool.” My giddy smile advertised my own lack of cool. I forced my face back to nonchalant neutral. “Whatever.”
“Cool! See you around, then.”
I breathed in and held it while Aida and I turned right, the opposite direction from Tristan, and headed toward our town house. Once the coast was clear, I blew it out.
“Oh. My. God.” I stopped dead. “Did he just ask me out?”
“I thought we were mad at Tristan.”
Was she serious?
“Yeah, ten years ago, Aida. I think I can let it go.”
Did she not see the boy?
“I dunno. This is an eerily similar situation.”
“I guess. I mean, it’s another contest.” The school-sponsored event sophomore year had not gone so well for me, thanks to Tristan. “But this is for fun.”
“And one thousand dollars.” She grimaced. “That’s not nothing. He once sabotaged you for a lot less.”
“Noted. But he has more competition than me.” I reflected on how funny some of the others were. “How the hell did I make it through? What just happened?”
Aida laughed. “You killed it is what just happened. Let’s go home and celebrate.”
Oh, yeah. I planned to celebrate. I’d slain a dragon tonight and caught the eye of a prince. Game on.
Chapter 6
Aida’s idea of celebrating was a mug of hot tea and a foot massage, so I couldn’t blame her for my Saturday morning exhaustion. No, my late-night partying came courtesy of insomnia. I slept fitfully, woken by a series of stress dreams. I’d try counting sheep, but then visions of my diary reading would play like a silent movie across my eyelids. Only less documentary and more alternate-reality horror show, as I picked apart my performance, sprinkling in unedited bonus material of all the things that could have gone wrong.