Page 108 of Ex Marks the Spot

Me: She and Rhett should start a true crime podcast.

Me: What was her reaction?

Jessica: That as long as I’m happy, she’s happy. And then she said I looked really happy.

Jessica: She also asked if I’d need any help driving my stuff to Green Valley after the show ends. *facepalm emoji*

Me: It’s frightening how well she’s connected the dots. On second thought, we should never introduce her and Rhett. They’d probably take over the world.

The microwave beeps. I retrieve my lasagna and pop the lid back on so I can eat in the privacy of my classroom while I chat with Hartley. When I turn for the door, everyone is staring at me.

“What?”

“Who are you texting?” Mari asks.

I feel the tips of my ears turn red. “A friend.”

“Mm-hmm.” Clara’s amused smile tells me she’s not buying it.

Apparently Nick isn’t either, because he holds up his palms and says, “I’m not making assumptions, but I don’t grin like that when I text my friends.”

I clutch my chest on the way to the door. “Et tu, Brute?”

They laugh at my Shakespeare reference and wave me out, going back to what I’m sure will be a riveting discussion about my “friend.”

I return to my classroom and shut the door for the last ten minutes of lunch.

Me: You free for a quick call?

In lieu of a response, my screen lights up. I accept the video call and prop my phone against my computer. Hartley’s in her Billings Painting coveralls with her hair in a messy bun and a streak of light blue paint on her forehead. In other words, fucking adorable. Thank god we only have one month left.

“Did you see the email from Wendell that just came in?”

“No,” I say around a bite of lasagna.

“They’re flying us to LA the morning of the finale. They’re calling it the Xtreme Reunion and we’re supposed to watch the final episode with a studio audience and do follow-up interviews with Paul.”

“Everyone or just us?”

“The whole cast.”

“Weird,” I say after swallowing another bite. “They’ve never had a reunion show.”

“Mom thinks they’re playing up the showmance between us since our season has had the highest ratings so far.”

“That makes sense. Did you already respond?”

She smiles mischievously. “I told him I’d be there as long as they let us share a room.”

You’d think after being filmed nearly twenty-four seven for three weeks that I’d be used to cameras, but knowing I’m about to be on live TV takes things to a whole new level. It doesn’t help that the producers are playing up the tension as much as possible by keeping the contestants apart until the last minute.

That means I’ve been in the same building as Hartley for the last four hours, but I haven’t seen her thanks to the merry-go-round schedule of hair, makeup, and wardrobe. Now I’m pacing the floor of my makeshift green room as I watch the last five minutes of the finale along with the studio audience and the rest of America.

Reliving it on the screen brings back all the emotions I felt that day, with anger rising to the top of the list because Big Mike and DeAngelo have talked shit about us and the Bombshells for the entire episode. DeAngelo was even impersonating Gianna’s panic attack at Edge. What kind of asshole makes fun of something like that, especially knowing it’ll likely end up on national TV?

At this point, it’s a good thing they’ve kept us secluded from each other. Or maybe it’s why they had to do that in the first place.

When the final commercial break ends, the show starts back with a clip of us running out of Prospect Park with the Wise Asses on our tail. The next sequence plays out like a bad dream with DeAngelo blocking our taxi, us getting stuck at red lights, and us sprinting down the final stretch of the boardwalk only to cross the finish line fifteen seconds too late. The only solace I have right now is realizing that everyone was cheering for us in those final moments. When the Wise Asses got to the mat, the cheers dropped dramatically and picked back up as Hartley and I arrived.

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