Page 93 of Alice Chen's Reality Check

Leah shrugs. “They’ve got to strike the set. Half of it’s going to be reused for tomorrow, but it needs a complete overhaul.”

I’ve watched enough detective movies to know this is bad news. Thescene of the crime is being disturbed. The back of my neck prickles as we walk farther and farther away from the place where Anton was killed.

Chapter Twenty

Hell Is a Fakeout Makeout with Someone You Maybe Want to Real Make Out with

Once we’ve been divested of our mic packs, we all retire to our rooms. I’m exhausted from the challenge, but also wired and jittery. My mind keeps playing my memories of the last few days on loop: The messy scrawl of handwriting in a notebook. Anton’s body, lying prone in the sand. The bandage snaking around Dawn Taylor’s leg. Seth and Mikayla arguing on the speedboat.

To calm my nerves, I force myself to take a blisteringly hot shower. I step out feeling a little bit more human.

“Shower’s all yours,” I call, walking back into the bedroom, and stop short.

Daniel is arranging some plates on the coffee table in our room.

“Hey, come and eat,” he says. He’s laid out an entire feast—a bowl of perfectly ripe honeydew and watermelon, fresh green Cobb salad, and fried chicken.

“Where did you get all this?” I marvel.

“Stole it,” Daniel says. “I engineered an entire heist from craft services while you were showering.”

I could kiss him, I think. I really could. Daniel steers me into a chair and I take a huge bite of the chicken. It’s perfection—just a little bit spicy and fried to a crisp.

Daniel says, “Okay, now you can tell me what’s on your mind.”

“How do you know there’s something on my mind?” I say between mouthfuls. I’m practically inhaling the food now.

“Alice, you’re always thinking about something, but even I can see that your brain is working overtime right now. Why do you think I brought you food? You haven’t eaten all day, and I know you don’t eat when you get stressed before a competition. Same principle.” Daniel pushes the bowl of fruit toward me, and I spear a piece of watermelon. “Now talk.”

“You know how the crew is taking down the labyrinth?”

“I don’t like where this is going.”

“I want to go take a look at where Anton died.”

Daniel rubs his face and groans. “Alice, that’s a big risk.”

“But we need to check the scene of the crime before it gets completely destroyed. We know someone out there killed Anton, probably because he was trying to blackmail them. The sooner we figure out who that someone is, the better.”

“I’m going with you,” he says. “No arguing.”

I’m about to do just that, but then I nod. “Fine,” I say. Having backup and another set of eyes could be helpful.

As I finish my food, a warm, contented feeling steals over me. My mind is no longer the churning whirlpool of questions and worries and to-do lists all clamoring to make themselves heard. Instead, I feel like I can take on whatever is ahead of me.

I look over at Daniel, who’s stealing bites from my Cobb salad. There’s something comforting about having him here. Why does it feel so good to be working together?

It must be because I trust Daniel.

I actually trust Daniel.

—

The sky is overcast when we make our way back to the labyrinth from the Wrath Challenge, and everything is eerily quiet. There’s only the lapping of the waves on the beach and the rustle of the trees as thewind picks up.

If the weather were like this back home, my mom would say that the wind was rising—a sure sign that it’s about to rain. We’d rush out to the balcony to pull the laundry off the clothesline, and hours later, a downpour would arrive—but by then, my mom and I would be settled in around the kitchen table. She’d be cracking watermelon seeds into a bowl and watching a K-drama with Chinese subtitles on. I’d be picking at a plate of sliced fruit and grading papers.

As Daniel and I step into the shadows cast by the looming wooden structure of the labyrinth, I wish I were home now, cozy and safe. But that’s not an option for me. I found Anton’s body. I tried to revive him. I saw the dark bruise around his eye, how his arm dangled lifelessly off the stretcher. Someone on this set is a murderer, and I can’t let this problem go unsolved.

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