Page 39

The question breaks my heart. “Then they’re not the right person for us,” I tell him with certainty. “Because you, August Burke, are the best kid in the universe. And anyone who can’t see that isn’t worth our time.”
He nods, straightening his glasses and turning to face the first contestant. I squeeze his shoulder gently, a silent promise that whatever happens in this bizarre reality TV experiment, we remain a team.
As Annabelle steps forward, preparing to be the first to face August’s chess prowess, I find myself holding my breath. These next few hours could change everything—not just for my journey on this show, but for August’s sense of security and belonging in a world that’s already taken too much from him.
13
Strategic Moves
BRIELLE
Watching Annabelle approach August feels like she’s stepping into a lion’s den. Everyone’s holding their breath, wondering if this red-headed fire juggler can connect with Hayes’s mini-genius, or if she’ll get intellectually mauled like Gabby did minutes ago. I adjust my sundress—the navy one with tiny stars that feels appropriately cosmic for meeting a nine-year-old obsessed with astrophysics—and try to quiet the drumming in my chest. Because here’s the truth: I’m more nervous about impressing this bespectacled chess prodigy than I’ve been about any date with his father.
The photography challenge from two days ago still stings—watching Hayes guide Gabby’s hands on the camera whileshe leaned back against him, batting those Disney princess eyelashes. The way she monopolized the entire session, strategically dropping her lens cap so Hayes would crouch beside her to pick it up. The way she went in and kissed him, long and sloppy for all to see. The satisfied smirk when he announced she’d won the one-on-one date. The whole performance was as subtle as a billboard in Times Square, but the worst part is, after knowing Hayes got physical with Luna, I’m worried that he had sex with Gabby too.
And as much as it makes me sick, it’s also the game we’re playing.
I’m trying to be okay with it, but I’m not, or I don’t think I am. But I’m staying here because I want to be sure, and right now, I’m not.
I glance around at my competition, all of us arranged in a semicircle of anxiety dressed in casual-but-camera-ready outfits. Luna catches my eye and gives a nod of solidarity. Since our kitchen bonding session four days ago, we’ve developed a friendship, especially since we’ve been roommates after Taylor left.
“Do you think the kid actually likes chess, or did production force it on him?” she whispers, leaning close enough that her perfume—something expensive and French—tickles my nose.
“Look at his face,” I murmur back. “That’s genuine passion.”
And it is. Even from here, I can see August’s eyes light up behind his glasses.
Then my observation is proved as August leads all the contestants through a brief chess tutorial, explaining how each piece moves with the patience of a professor addressing particularly slow students. I notice Hayes watching from the sidelines. Our eyes meet briefly, and something passes between us—recognition, maybe, of the effort we’re both making to connect with his son on his terms.
The game board is spectacular—giant black and white squares painted on the lawn where we will be the pieces. August directs us with the authority of a tiny general, his voice clear and confident as he calls out moves.
Facing Annabelle as he explains something, his small hands move in precise, excited gestures. There’s an intensity to him that reminds me of myself at that age—the focused absorption of a mind that runs several steps ahead of everyone else’s.
Hayes stands nearby, watching his son with a mixture of pride and protective vigilance that makes something flutter in my chest. The softness in his expression, so different from the camera-ready smile he wears during Lock & Key ceremonies, reveals the man beneath the show’s façade.
Luna sighs. “I was terrible at chess as a kid. My brothers always beat me in like four moves.”
“The Scholar’s Mate,” I say automatically. “It’s a common trap for beginners.”
Luna raises an eyebrow. “Of course you know that.”
I smile, flashing her a knowing look. But I don’t have time right now to explain that chess was a game where being smart was an advantage, not a social liability.
We become pieces on the board, and Annabelle seems to be holding her own with August, her natural warmth good for a child. They’re both laughing now, August’s serious demeanor cracking just enough to reveal the child beneath the prodigy. When she stands to leave, she high-fives him, earning an approving nod from Hayes.
“That looked... not disastrous,” I say as Annabelle takes her place on the board.
“He’s so smart,” Annabelle whispers, eyes wide. “Like, scary smart. I tried to talk about my baby goats back home, and he started explaining the genetic modifications that could theoretically produce a glow-in-the-dark goat.”
“But he smiled,” Serena says. “That’s what I’m aiming for. One genuine smile.”
One by one, the women take their turns. Kavita tries to impress with stories about meeting celebrities. Luna discusses her travel adventures. Serena actually manages to engage him in a conversation about chemical reactions, earning a rare moment of animated enthusiasm.
Then it’s Gabby’s second attempt. She sashays toward August’s chess throne with the determined strut of someone who will not be bested by a nine-year-old, not even one who corrected her during their first interaction.
“August, sweetie,” she coos, loud enough for us all to hear. “I brought you something.” She produces a candy bar from her purse with a flourish. “Every little boy loves chocolate, right?”
August regards the offering like it’s a suspicious laboratory specimen. “Actually, I’m allergic to peanuts,” he says, pointing to the wrapper. “That contains traces of peanut oil. It could potentially trigger anaphylaxis, resulting in compromised breathing, cardiovascular collapse, and death if not promptly treated with epinephrine.”