Page 33 of Ex Marks the Spot

Miracle of all miracles, he doesn’t argue. We take the trail that skirts the lake since that seems to be the most direct path, but we never make it to theevent zone. We don’t even make it past the lake. Or, more specifically, past the gazebo tucked into a nook beside the lake.

Where Paul is standing.

Talking to Randall and Moe.

My legs (along with my adrenaline rush, my dreams of seeing the world, and my plans for a studio) come screeching to a painful, hopeless, going-home-to-Oak-Island-North-Carolina halt.

Don’t cry.

Do. Not. Cry.

I risk a glance at Court, whose face is oddly void of emotion. It’s reminiscent of the day he broke up with me, adding another punch to my freshly bruised gut.

Neither of us say a word as we continue on our path, which has morphed into a funeral procession for the death of our chance at a million dollars. Maybe I can ask the producers to overlay somber music so viewers get the full experience.

And look—I know the chances of us actually winning were slim, but I never expected to be the first team to be eliminated. Even after I learned Court was my partner, I figured we were physically strong enough to hang on for a few legs at least.

As we approach the gazebo, Moe and Randall shift over to the railing to make room for me and Court.

“Team Hartbreak,” Paul says with a conciliatory smile.

Yep, that’s us.

“I’m sorry to say you are the eleventh team to arrive at the checkpoint.”

I nod, not trusting my voice just yet.

“Court, it seemed like you two struggled with communication today. Was being teammates harder than you expected?”

He sets his jaw to the side and rubs his chin. “You could say that. She certainly didn’t make it easy to work with her.”

My eyes bulge, then narrow, because seriously,what the hell?

Paul must sense Court’s imminent peril because he turns to me and says, “Hartley, what would you have done differently if you could go back to the starting line?”

I’m not worried about crying anymore. Now I’m just focused on not maiming Court in front of the camera. “I would’ve been the one in the ball pit, for starters.”

“For starters?” Court challenges.

I laser a glare at him. “Your inability to find a football is the reason we got so far behind the pack, so yeah,for starters.”

“What else would you have done?” Paul continues.

“Left him in Dallas, locked him out of the hotel room, and/or duct taped his mouth shut.”

This draws a laugh from Paul and the crew.

The silver lining in this whole mess is that at least I won’t be held to the twenty-foot-radius rule anymore. Eliminated contestants are sent to another destination—usually tropical, from what I’ve gathered online—for the duration of taping to avoid giving any spoilers before the season airs. I can handle nineteen days on Elimination Island if I’m not in a forced proximity situation with the human equivalent of a rain cloud.

“Court, do you have any regrets from your experience?” Paul asks.

“Not auditioning with a friend from college ranks up there.”

I agree with him, not that I’d admit it out loud right now. Or ever.

“Hartley, what do you think it would take for you and Court to learn how to communicate better?”

“A personality transplant couldn’t hurt.”

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