Page 98 of The Book of Luke

Hairs prickled down my neck, and even Troy’s face betrayed rare confusion. “What about Vanessa?” I asked.

“I saw online she was hospitalized in New York,” she replied, retrieving the article. “It says her landlord found her unconscious in the stairwell… Doesn’t go into specifics, but it’s a click-bait blog, not theTimes. If it was serious, I’m sure your producers would have heard.”

“Youwouldknow, right, Troy?” I asked after the call ended.

His teeth dragged over his lower lip, ruminating. “The network does usually alert us if something like this hits the press, but if family’s with her, they might be keeping things quiet. That said, Vanessa doesn’t really have any family. She still lists PB as her emergency contact.” He forced a half-hearted laugh, but his eyes flitted nervously.

“Has anyone called PB’s cell?”

“I’ll check, but Vanessa’s hardly a Jane Doe. Like your sister said, it’s probably tabloid bullshit, and Vanessa got a little too wasted. I’ll give PB a heads-up though.”

My stomach involuntarily bottomed out at this proposal. PB would never quit the show—his expulsion of Jiamin proved that—but thiswouldmake him spiral at the worst possible time. He was so close to both of us being in the final, the last requirement to satisfy his bargain with the network, and despite all the upheaval in our relationship I did feel I owed him that. Besides, even if PB left Queenstown that minute, he wouldn’t get to New York for at least a day. For all we knew, Vanessa was nursing a hangover on the A train right now…

“Can I tell PB?” I asked Troy. “It’ll be better coming from me.”

“Sure, I’ll get a camera—”

“Off camera.It’s the decent thing,” I said, and he actually scoffed. Obviously not the argument to use on Troy. “Plus, you want Vanessa back stirring the pot eventually, right? Zara said she was uninsurable for at least a year. Won’t putting more damaging info on camera just get her banned from the show forever?”

He crossed his arms, impressed. “And the suits were skeptical of how you’d reacclimate to the politics of the game… Okay, I’ll give you a wide berth.”

I left Troy and rushed to the empty gym, submerging myself in a furious upper-body circuit that no one would dare interrupt. This would buy me time until everyone else had eaten lunch and drifted off for the afternoon naps that had become customary in New Zealand. I had toavoid PB like the plague until the Trial, for his best interest… and for mine.

2005

SEASON 3, EPISODE 2:

“Misty Mourning”

In Alaska, I learned there are two ways to avoid someone: keep yourself totally inaccessible, or surround yourself with people to hide in plain sight.

We’d just filmed the second Trial of Season 3, and several of us were soaking in the lodge’s hot tub, the backyard so spacious it was practically a field. Barnes had purposefully drifted inside while I cradled a red Solo of rum and Coke, making nominal conversation with other stragglers.

As the cameras leered, Arjun ran his finger flirtatiously up the forearm of a vacant brunette named Misty who hailed from a home-improvement show. A volunteer carpenter had accidentally fired a nail gun into her Maltipoo (Snowbell lived), and in exchange for not suing, she’d been gifted a slot onEndeavor. No one expected her to last long, which was perhaps why Arjun had directed his attentions upon her.

Eventually Greta baited Misty into a fight (impressively, Greta actually made it about the maimed Maltipoo). Their screed carried across the lawn, boom ops flitting languidly after them like lightning bugs in the summer night. I was surprised Arjun remained with me, twisting his thin silver necklace around his fingers. “No more puka shells?” I finally remarked.

“So 2003.” A small grin escaped. “And they didn’t go with my beard.”

“Really? I bet she would have loved them.”

“Wow, coming in with the burns. I wonder who taught you that.” He paused. “Sorry.”

I brushed it off with a limp smile. “Barnes is admittedly a firecracker.”

“The word you’re looking for is ‘starter.’ Firestarter.” He chuckled. “He’d probably take that as a compliment. I can see the campaign slogan now: ‘Vote America’s Arsonist!’”

“You’ve always liked naming things. Did you soft-launch ‘ArMisty’ yet? ‘MisJun’?”

His smile dimmed across the churning water, any retort silenced.

“Sorry,” I muttered. “She seems sweet.”

“No, I’m sorry,” he eventually replied. “For real. I… am… sorry…”

“What for?”

“Bit of a grab bag, isn’t it? How I behaved in LA to start… but that’s still not as bad as the shit I said last season.” He leaned forward, hugging his knees beneath the surface. “I barely recognized us when the show aired. It was like they’d cast actors to play our parts.”