Page 5 of Wandering Wild
“I don’t need to consider, because I’ve already entered. Now it’s your turn. And after that, you can help me sign up for hundreds of fake new email addresses so we have more chances of winning.”
I gape at her, then say, weakly, “Please tell me you’re joking.”
She pats me on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Charlie Bear—if you win, I’ll take your place, okay?”
Not okay. None of this isokay. And while I know Ember would skin me alive if I uttered my real argument against her taking off on some intrepid adventure—an argument that doesn’t involve Zander at all, though he’s definitely a good reasonnotto go—I still wish there was a way I could gently pull her back to reality. But looking at my friend and the light shining out of her, I just don’t have it in me to remind her about all the reasons why she won’t be able to go, even if she does miraculously win.
Instead, I dutifully fill out the online competition form, entering my personal details while making a mental note to unsubscribe from the spam that will flood my inbox later.
I then spend the next few hours yawning my way through the creation of fake email accounts, refilling the competition form over and over until neither Ember nor I can keep our eyes open a second longer.
As dawn touches the horizon, I crawl back to my own bedroom, barely having the energy to close the window before I topple into bed and fall soundly asleep. My last thought is to hope that when I wake up, the whole night will have been a dream, and one that I never have to think about again.
“Are you insane?”
I wince and cover my ears, but it does little good, since I can still hear every word myLost Heirsco-star Summer West is screeching through my speakerphone.
“Four days stranded alone with afan? Youareinsane!” she declares. The wind in the background reminds me that she’s on vacation in the Maldives, and I consider how I might convince her to go back to relaxing, before realizing how futile any attempt would be. “They could be a psychopath! They probablyarea psychopath!”
“Hawke will be there, too,” I say, though I’m inwardly agreeing with her, and wondering for the millionth time why I agreed to this publicity farce. “Along with his production team.”
“Not every moment,” Summer argues, her heated tone not hiding her concern. “His crew will only be there for emergency support—that means it’ll mostly be just you, him, and some potential stalker-fan. Four days means three full nights, Zan. Three full nights where this person could?—”
“Summer, please,” I cut her off with a groan, collapsing onto my couch and staring beyond the glass balcony of my beach house overlooking the Malibu coastline. “I really don’t need whatever grisly image you’re going to put in my head.”
As expected, she ignores me and begins to share—in detail—all the things that could go wrong. I tune her out to keep my stomach from churning, focusing instead on the calming sight of the sun setting over the Pacific Ocean. But soon enough not even that helps.
“Summer, I beg you, please stop,” I finally say, interrupting her recitation of a fan encounter one of our colleagues endured that resulted in a messy lawsuit and hundreds of hours of therapy. “I know it could backfire, but I don’t have a choice. If I don’t do something, I’ll lose Titan. And if I lose Titan, I’ll—” Emotion clogs my voice, keeping me from finishing.
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line, until Summer whispers, her own voice equally full of feeling, “Oh, Zan. This is all my fault.”
I sit bolt upright. “No,” I say firmly. “Don’t you dare.”
“But I?—”
“No, Summer.” I tap my phone to activate the video feed, revealing my friend on the deck of her grandfather’s yacht, backlit by the early-morning sun and surrounded by the pristine Indian Ocean. Her blond hair is tied in a loose bun with errant strands blowing into her jade-green eyes, and her peaches-and-cream skin has a light dusting of freckles across her nose that are usually hidden when she’s in full make-up. It’s barely seven a.m. where she is, so she’s still wearing her pajamas, theMy Little Ponybranding nearly causing me to smile. But then I note the despair splashed across her features and any mirth I feel dissolves.
“If you hadn’t—” she starts, but I don’t let her finish.
“I did, and I’d do it again.” I hold her eyes through the screen. “And again, and again.” She bites her lip, uncertain, so I continue, “I mean it, Summer. I have no regrets, and the last thing I want is for you to carry the burden of my choices on top of everything else you’re already shouldering. You promised me you would let it go.”
“That’s easier said than done when you almost lost your career because of me,” she says quietly. “Hell, you stillmight.”
“And what about you?” I return. “How many roles have you been offered in the last year?”
Summer looks out at the ocean, not answering.
I soften my voice. “You aren’t responsible for my decisions, Sum. That’s ridiculous, and you know it. I’ll be okay—and you will, too. We just have to get through this rough patch. Both of us. Then we’ll be golden.”
I send her a confident smile, hoping it doesn’t appear as forced as it feels. She doesn’t look convinced, but she eventually nods, indicating that she’ll at least try to accept what I said. I’m relieved, but that fades quickly when she returns to our previous topic, causing me to slump back into my cushions.
“I still don’t understand why you had to bring Hawke into this competition thing,” Summer says, tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear. “Can’t you just take the winner to lunch? Or do literally anything else that doesn’t involve a multiday camping trip?”
My heart warms, since I know why she’s asking, and I love her for wanting to protect me. She was there during the interview four years ago, waiting to join me on the couch, so she had a front-row seat when the photo of me fishing with my parents was revealed. We’d known each other for two years by then and she’d become like a sister, so I’d already told her more than what I shared with millions of viewers that day—muchmore. Because of that, she knowsexactlywhy this fan experience is going to be so difficult for me.
“Hawke’s image is spotless, unlike mine,” I answer, then move on swiftly so she doesn’t return to blaming herself. “Gabe and Valentina are confident that spending a few days filming with him and the competition winner will improve the studio’s view of me, in the time we need for it to happen.”
“That’s easy for them to say,” Summer mutters, her frown visible through the screen. “They’re not the ones who have to go and playHunt for the Wilderpeoplefor four days.”
