Page 14 of The Final Faceoff
Hailey: It’s fine. I’ll just start making better ones now.
Leif: Oh, yeah? And how are you planning on doing that?
I stare at my phone, my smile fading just a little.
That’s the question, isn’t it?
Because if I knew the answer, I wouldn’t be sneaking out of some guy’s room at sunrise, wondering why I keep trying to find something that never feels right.
Instead of answering, I type back,Dunno. But you’re buying me a celebration dinner, and I will be getting three desserts.
Leif: I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.
ChapterSix
Hailey
If You Get a Major Penalty and Panic Mode Engages
The first thought that crosses my mind when I see the test is:Well, that’s unexpected.
The second thought is:This has to be a joke.A cosmic-level prank. Any second now, a hidden camera crew will pop out from behind the shower curtain, and a grinning host will step out of my closet to say,Surprise. You’ve been punked.And, yes, I’m aware that show has been dead for years, but still . . . everything comes back, right?
Please tell me this is it. A very bad joke. I squint at the stick in my hand. It still says pregnant.
I shake it.
Still pregnant.
A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it—loud, breathy, completely devoid of actual amusement. I slap a hand over my mouth, but it doesn’t stop the sound from spilling through my fingers. This isn’t aha halaugh, it’s more like anoh, oh—I’m so fucked—kind of laugh.
Because really, this can’t be real.
Missing my period three days ago seemed off, but now this thing telling me I’m pregnant . . . well, fuck, that’s not cool.
“It’s wrong, Hailey,” I tell myself.
I mean . . . this is Greece. Things outside your main home are usually not real, right? Like when you go to Vegas, and everything stays there. Or maybe the first test is wrong. Maybe Greek pregnancy tests are the opposite, positive means negative because they’re across the Atlantic. Or maybe the universe is just messing with me.
So, naturally, I take another test.
Then another.
Then, one more for good measure.
The tiny hotel bathroom seems to shrink around me. The air closes in, pressing against my lungs, making it impossible to drag in a full breath. It’s suffocating—thick with something I can’t escape. Sunlight spills through the window, casting golden stripes across the marble sink, like the universe is trying to frame this as a breathtaking, cinematic moment.
It’s not.
I am Hailey Jean Castilla. Documentary filmmaker. World traveler. A professional at diving headfirst into other people’s problems while executing a flawless, high-speed escape from my own. And if there’s one thing I have never been good at? It’s dealing with anything that demands I stay in one place.
When I said I wanted something new, something different, something that would shake up my life? Yeah. This is not what I meant. But apparently, the universe heard my request, had a good laugh, and decided to hand me a prize I never entered for.
I take a breath.
Then another.
Then I laugh again, teetering dangerously close to full-blown hysteria. Nope. Not close. Firmly there. I’m losing my shit.
