19. Max

19MAX

The timer springs back to life just as a new message hits our watches:

Go

My heart picks up, and I glance at Kira, the dimple creasing on her cheek as she focuses on her watch. I wonder if she was right. If we’d just refused to keep doing this, could they stop us? But it’s too late. Time is ticking down, and someone else is going to be canceled. Survival instinct kicks in like a raspy whisper in my ear: Are you going to let it be you?

I type in Zane’s name without hesitating. When the timer sounds and our watches show the results, I get a wave of anxiety, even though I know exactly what they’ll say.

Zane wins by a landslide with six votes. There’s one for Logan, I’m assuming from Zane, and …

Shit. There’s still one for me.

Another message sounds. A screen recording. I think we all knew this was coming, but still, it’s chilling to watch the @theIRLProject Instagram add the DMs Logan showed us to a carousel post and type out the caption:

Thought the Bounce House was big already?

Well, @zanerivers, I have a feeling you’re about to make headlines

They share the post, and the video ends.

In the silence that follows, Zane nods, looking like he’s trying to be brave in the face of a fatal diagnosis. Is that what this is? No. If there’s one thing I know, it’s the difference between reality and fiction, and the idea that someone brought us here to kill us? That’s not real. It’s a goddamn slasher film. We didn’t vote for Zane to die—only to get what he deserves.

He stands, locking eyes with Logan. “I hope that felt good.”

Without another word, Zane turns and marches up to his room. Once he’s gone, Logan gets up, too, hunching as she storms away.

“Wait, Logan…” Graham starts, but she’s stomping upstairs before he can finish, veering toward her own room and slamming the door.

Graham takes a hit of his vape, breathing out shakily. For a moment, there’s silence. Then, he addresses the rest of us.

“I really hope there isn’t anything in those folders that you guys don’t want getting out. Because it’s coming. One way or another, this is blowing up in all our faces.”

He sucks on the vape again, but nothing comes out. Cursing, Graham takes one last look at the rest of us and then shuffles upstairs.

“You know, babe,” Elody calls after him, “maybe it’s a good thing your vape is out. Like, this could be a sign to find a less nasty coping skill.”

Her voice is its usual unbothered rasp, but the spark of humor is gone. When Graham slams the door on the third floor, she flinches like a gun went off.

“God,” she mumbles. “Dramatic, much?”

In the silence, Graham’s voice replays in my head. One way or another, this is blowing up in all our faces.

I bob my foot, keeping time with my racing thoughts. The Bounce House crew is hiding something. I know they are. And maybe it’s just this mess about Zane, but it doesn’t add up. Because why the hell is Graham so freaked out? His name isn’t anywhere in those messages, and it didn’t seem like he knew what Zane was really doing to those girls.

There has to be something more. And this time, I’m not going to sit by and watch things happen.

I stand up and grab my camera bag.

“Where are you going, Spielberg?” Aaron snorts. “Grabbing your next Oscar?”

I ignore his increasingly unoriginal insults and walk to the stairs. As I do, I catch Kira looking at me. Something flashes in her face, suspicious, like she knows what I’m about to do.

But I can’t have any doubts about this. I reach into my pocket and feel the smooth rectangle of my voice recorder.

Up on the third floor, I stop in front of our door and switch on the recorder. Then, I knock.

“Graham?”

He doesn’t answer, so I come inside. The balcony doors are open, and he’s leaning against the railing, staring out at the sea. The waves seem louder, slamming against each other as they fight their way to the shore, like they’re trying to escape something we can’t see coming.

Graham looks back at me, his expression changing from fear to irritation. “What?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were good.”

He clocks my camera bag. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m not filming.”

It’s not technically a lie. And anyway, sometimes you need to bend the truth to get the truth.

“Good. ’Cause this isn’t an interview.” Graham shoves his way past me and back inside.

“I just want to hear your side of things.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not in a sharing mood.”

Okay, so offering to be an objective ear isn’t working. I need to change tactics.

“You voted for Zane, didn’t you?”

Graham stops.

Yes.I press him. “Only one person voted for Logan, and I’m assuming that was him.”

“What about the person who voted for you?”

The question knocks me off balance, even though I should have been prepared for it. It’s the same one I’ve been asking myself. It had to be Aaron, right? He’s the only person here who hates me enough to be that petty, but …

“That’s not the point,” I say, both to Graham and myself. “Look, I think we both know that what happened back there looks pretty bad for you, too. Unless you speak up now. Clarify your version of what happened.”

Graham looks at me, something moving behind his stare, like a machine clicking into gear, and for a second, I think I’ve got him. But then he speeds to his bed, grabbing his guitar bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

“I’m going to go write,” he mumbles, pushing past me.

Shit. I knew he wouldn’t talk to me right off the bat, but I thought I’d be better at this. I’m usually better at this. I just need to find the way in.

And then, I notice the front pocket of his guitar case, slightly unzipped.

I mean, it’s a bit literal, but I’ll take it.

“Wait, Graham.”

He stops, exasperated. “What?”

“I’m pretty sure Cole had some pods in his bag, if yours are out.”

Graham’s jaw tenses. He looks toward Cole’s luggage, and then back at me, probably fighting an internal battle between how much he hates me and how much he needs nicotine.

The nicotine wins. “Where?”

“Front pocket of his backpack, I think.”

Graham bends down to dig through Cole’s bag, his guitar still hanging over his shoulder, and this is it. I take a few steps toward him, leaning over like I’m looking for the pods, too.

“I could have sworn he had some.” I close the recorder in my fist, slowly reaching for the open guitar-case pocket, and then, carefully—

Graham stands up, and I shove my fist back into my pocket. Apparently, I made a lucky guess: Graham holds a fresh pod in his hand. But I shouldn’t be surprised that vaping is among Cole’s many vices.

Was.

Graham shoves the pod into his pocket, shooting me an annoyed look. “If you think I’m giving you some kind of sound bite in exchange for this, I’m not.”

He puts his empty vape between his teeth and starts for the door.

“What’s in your folder, Graham?”

He stops, turning to look at me. “What’s in yours?”

I don’t answer. A spiteful smirk curves on Graham’s mouth, and he stomps out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

I breathe out, opening my empty fist.

I’ve got him bugged. Now, I just have to hope that he’s about to do what I think he is.

TRANSCRIPTION: DAY TWO, 2:38 PM

(RECORDING FROM VOICE RECORDER AND WATCHES #5 AND #10)

[KNOCK.]

GRAHAM

Hey, you in there?

[DOOR OPENS.]

ZANE

Yeah?

GRAHAM

[Hushed.] Someone knows.

ZANE

Whoa, chill out. What’s—

GRAHAM

Someone knows what we did to her.