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A bell rings out, calling the runners for dinner.
‘Are you coming?’ he asks.
‘No, you go ahead.’ Then I second-guess myself. Boones might make an appearance at the meal. Give a speech, like a proud father offering a toast at a wedding.
The thought of my dad giving a speech at my wedding to Pete makes me chuckle and Matteo gives me a strange look. No way. The only place he’s gregarious isat the starting line of his precious races. Sometimes not even then.
‘Good luck tomorrow,’ I say.
He gives me a wave as I turn away.
I’m not alone, though. A tall man stands behind me, mirrored sunglasses covering his eyes. He’s wearing a race number – 21 – and above it reads ‘Jason – GBR’. My stomach flips.
‘Excuse me, aren’t you Stella Mamoud?’
‘Who’s asking?’
He extends his hand. ‘I’m Jason, fromThe Ultra Bros Podcast,’ he says, confirming my suspicion. ‘I was wondering if you had a few minutes? I’d love to ask you some questions?’
I recoil from his touch. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Off the record then?’
I duck my head and walk away, in the opposite direction to the crowd heading to the dining tent, hoping that he’ll ignore me, give up. But I also know that’s wishful thinking. He’s nothing if not persistent.
‘Are you going to take over when Boones is gone?’ Jason shouts at my back.
I stiffen but keep walking. With my head still down, I almost bump straight into Dale, the photographer I’d met earlier.
‘You OK? That guy’s a prick.’
I let out a snort of laughter – that happened to be exactly what I was thinking. I unclench my fists; I’d been ready to knock that guy out if he’d come near me again.
The sky darkens above us. Clouds of dust obscure the sun, casting the bivouac in a mustard haze. Tentdoors flap furiously all around us, and Dale and I exchange a look.
Something is brewing that even Boones won’t have control over.
And we don’t want to be exposed when it hits.
8
Adrienne
A strong breeze rattles the tent posts, adding to my nerves. I’d managed to avoid answering too many questions on camera to that journalist – my bland responses not making for great content. Jason is nowhere to be found – not in his tent or near the dining area. Watching everyone tuck into their food makes my stomach rumble, but I don’t want to eat something I haven’t prepared myself. Gastric issues can spell the end for any runner’s race; it’s just not worth the risk. I head back to my tent, where Mariam is sitting on her foam mattress, headphones in, frowning.
She spots me and her eyes open wide. ‘Have you heard this?’ she asks.
‘Heard what?’
She doesn’t reply. She just takes her headphones out, puts them in my ears and presses ‘play’. It’s the latestUltra Bros Podcast.
‘What are you going to do?’ she asks, when I’ve finished.
‘I have to find him.’
‘Why? He is no friend to you. He has made sure everyone knows who you are.’
She’s right. Now I won’t be safe, even amongst the fun runners.