8. Max

8MAX

I wake up sweating somewhere that isn’t my bed. The couch, I realize as my brain starts to work again. We all must have passed out here last night. Sun cuts through the big windows, making my head throb. Sitting up, I cringe at the pain in my neck and feel for my phone before remembering I don’t have it. Instead, I find my glasses, and the room comes into focus.

Elody’s asleep at the other end of the sectional, her fists curled under her chin like a kitten, and Graham’s between us, one arm dangling to the floor. Aaron’s on one of the armchairs, sleeping in a seated position, which … checks out, I guess. Cole, McKayleigh, and Zane aren’t here. They must have gone upstairs after we all fell asleep.

When I spot my camera bag on the floor, the strap drooping, disappointment hits. I only stayed up with everyone last night to try to get some more out of the Bounce House, but all I got is a cramp in my neck that’s honestly a little concerning for an eighteen-year-old.

Quietly, I start to extract myself from the couch, glancing at the watch our Sponsor left in my drawer. 7:18. The sheer audacity of how early it is sends my head pounding again. Jesus, it’s way too bright in here. Which is ironic, actually. All that stress, and Tilly’s storm never even came.

And then it hits me: it’s past seven. The production team should be here in less than an hour. We need to get up. But before I can rouse anyone on the couch, I hear the sink running in the downstairs bathroom. The faucet clicks off, and the door opens. Kira walks out in biker shorts and a workout top, looking like she’s been awake for hours. Her hair’s wavy, cut just above her shoulders, drawing my attention to her sharp collarbone. It’s the first time I’ve seen her with her hair down, and it makes my breath hitch a little.

“Oh,” I say. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

She’s looking at me like she did last night, when she saw the recorder. Like she doesn’t trust me. I know I need to make it up to her, but it’s hard to think straight when she looks like that and I’m coming off of less than five hours’ sleep on the couch.

“You going for a run?” I ask, nodding at her clothes. I can’t help but notice the way they hug her waist, the hint of tanned stomach between the top and the shorts.

“Already did,” Kira says, tying her hair up into a ponytail. “At, like, five. Couldn’t sleep. I showered, though. Don’t worry.” She shakes herself slightly. “Not that you need that information. I just mean I’m not gross or anything. I’m … going to get breakfast.”

She practically sprints toward the kitchen—god, did I screw up that badly?—but I follow her anyway.

“Kira, wait.”

She stops, looking at me with that intense stare. I take a breath.

“Okay, let me preface this by saying you have every right to think I’m an asshole and to reject this apology completely, but—”

“This apology is off to a great and very concise start,” she says flatly.

I feel my face heat. “Fair assessment.”

“You were saying?”

“I shouldn’t have recorded you without your permission. I know it’s not an excuse, but I’ve been stressed about what I’m going to do next on my channel, and I guess I got a little overenthusiastic with this Bounce House stuff, but—” I stop myself, pulling a hand through my hair. “I’m making excuses. What I mean to say is that was wrong. I deleted the recording. And I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” She crosses her arms, but her lips quirk with the hint of a smile. “But seriously, if I ever see that recorder again, I’m going to roundhouse it out of your hand.”

A surprised grin works its way up to my cheeks. “Well, now I kind of want to see that.”

Kira laughs, her mouth opening like she’s about to say something else, but before she can, a door opens upstairs. Our attention snaps to McKayleigh as she struts out onto the indoor balcony, dressed and looking like she’s already had four cups of coffee.

“Morning, y’all!” She stops at the railing like it’s her own personal stage, looking down at our sleeping castmates, and checks her watch. “Oh my gosh, the crew’s gonna be here soon. Why’s everyone still sleeping?” She calls into her room, “Logan, get your booty up, girl. It’s almost seven twenty!”

Kira escapes to the kitchen before I can finish my sentence. McKayleigh has a point, though. I should get ready.

But when I get to the third floor, I stop. Something’s off. It’s too warm in here, too muggy. I notice the French doors to the balcony are open. Weird. Closing them, I spot the other thing that’s off: Cole’s bed is empty. But then I clock the closed door to the bathroom, light shining from underneath, and groan. I could wait for him to finish, but I don’t love the idea of going in there immediately after Cole, so I throw on fresh clothes, then grab my toothbrush and toothpaste to head to the second-floor bathroom.

By the time I get back downstairs, more people are up and moving. Kira sits at the table, slicing an apple, and Corinne’s making coffee. Logan’s slouched a few seats away, staring longingly at the coffee maker, her hoodie tight around her face.

The back door slides open, and Zane walks in with a yoga mat under his arm.

“Morning,” he calls, cracking his neck as he checks his watch. “Man, I totally lost track of time out there.”

Still in the chair where he slept, Aaron groans, rubbing his head. “Why is everyone so loud?”

“It’s almost seven thirty,” I tell him.

“So?” Aaron stretches his arms over his head, setting off pops and cracks all over the place. “I don’t need half an hour to get ready.”

Elody stirs on the couch. “Mmmph. Babe. Talking. Early. Why.”

“Apparently Max here thinks we’re doing a pageant and need thirty minutes to get camera-ready.”

God, Aaron must have been a real treat to work with as an actor.

Elody picks up a pillow and throws it at Graham’s head, his black hair sticking up like he got electrocuted. “Wake up. The producers are coming.”

Graham groans, looking half-asleep, and slowly, the rest of the group gets moving. By a few minutes to eight, everyone’s downstairs and at least sort-of ready for the day, gathered in the living room. Wait, actually … not everyone.

“I think Cole’s still upstairs.” I glance at my watch. Jesus, I don’t even want to know what he’s doing in there. “Should I go get him? The crew should be here soon.”

“Can we not?” Logan asks, cradling the largest cup of coffee I’ve ever seen. “I need three of these before I can handle Cole.”

No one argues.

“Cool,” I say. “I guess we’ll wait.”

Something pings. And then again—it sounds like a text tone, dinging over and over. I don’t realize what it is until my watch lights up on my wrist, the screen glowing with a text.

A message from your Sponsor

I look up, and everyone else is reading their screens, too. The watches ping again with a new message.

Hey influencers

Ready to get real?

Wait a second. How are we getting texts right now? I checked yesterday, and the app didn’t work. Another message flies in.

Let’s start off with a question …

What’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told?

You have 5 minutes to share

Go

A timer appears on my watch screen, already counting down.

Intrigue jolts me out of my early-morning fog. This must be our first challenge of the show. It’s a little heavy-handed with the influencer theme, maybe, but I have a feeling things are about to get interesting.

“Are we supposed to do this?” Graham asks.

Zane gives his kombucha a tired swish. “I guess so.”

“But shouldn’t we be waiting for Tilly, or whatever?” Graham says. “This is weird.”

More pings fill the room.

I’m watching

Logan groans, leaning back into the couch cushions. “It’s too early for this Pretty Little Liars shit.”

“Maybe we should go with it?” Kira bites her lip, looking up at the cameras on the walls. “It’s probably part of the show.”

Another text:

If you don’t play … you’re canceled

Logan’s scream flashes in my head, sending a nervous rush of energy through me. But that wasn’t real, and neither is this. It’s what I signed up for: reality TV and all of the drama that comes with it.

“‘Canceled.’” Corinne sighs. “I mean, at least they’re thematically consistent.”

McKayleigh frowns. “Right, because that was so funny last night.”

“Oh my god, can we just do the stupid question game?” Elody asks. “Like, this is so boring.”

I start to unzip my camera bag but stop myself. If yesterday taught me anything, it’s that leading with my camera isn’t the way to go—counterintuitive, maybe, since everyone here makes a living being in front of cameras, but still. I’ll have to be careful, wait for the right time to start recording.

“Who wants to go first?” I ask.

My question hangs in the air as the seconds drain from the timer.

“Ugh, fine. If no one else will…” Elody tosses her hair over her shoulder. “This is, like, definitely none of you guys’ business, but whatever.” She takes a deep breath, like she’s steeling herself for a dramatic reveal. “My boobs are fake. I got them done when I was sixteen, after I got my first brand-deal money. I wanted it really bad and my mom signed off, which is totally legal, McKayleigh, so don’t make that face. You’ll get wrinkles.”

McKayleigh rolls her eyes. She was just looking at Elody’s chest like it had personally threatened violence upon her. Now I’m looking, too, and oh god. Elody notices, and she’s grinning.

“Whatever,” she says. “I’m not, like, ashamed, or anything. But the first time a follower asked me if they were real, I freaked out and said yeah. So, that’s my ‘biggest lie.’” Elody waits, looking around the room. “Oh my god, someone else go.”

“Mine’s easy,” Aaron says. “Promised everyone on Mag Millers I would start ‘behaving.’ I didn’t. You all read the articles.” His beady eyes find me, and a thin smile stretches over his face. “What about you, Max? I’m dying to hear.” He glances at my camera. “Seeing as though you’re so committed to the truth, and everything.”

Jesus, I’m really starting to wonder if it’s humanly possible for Aaron to speak without that condescending tone, or if his voice is just stuck like that after years of using it to compensate for … well, everything else. Still, I let go of the camera bag. Now is not the time.

“Fine. I guess…” I pause. I hadn’t thought about my answer, but here it is, wading to the front of my memory like an old password or address. “Mine happened in high school. Freshman year. Technically the summer before. I met this girl at camp, and we were friends. Pretty good friends, actually. But I guess she took it the wrong way. She had this crush on me, and…”

I trail off, remembering Lacey Warren, with her acne-dotted face and loud laugh, how she never toned it down, not even when people stared.

“I wasn’t into her that way,” I continue. “Like I said, we were just friends. So, a few months into freshman year, me and my school friends ran into her in the city. She wasn’t from New York, so I was caught off guard. It was a new school for me, and the guys were new friends, so I just … I was a dick, honestly. I pretended I didn’t know her, told my friends that she was just some crazy girl stalking me. I was embarrassed. But it wasn’t cool of me.”

Kira shifts, the corners of her mouth turning down, and I wish I hadn’t said it. She was just starting to forgive my asshole behavior after last night, and I wonder if she’s regretting it.

“That’s your lie?” Aaron stares me down. “A girl threw herself at you and you shot her down?” He claps. “What a hero.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I tell him, face heating. “That’s my answer.”

“Can we keep it moving, guys?” Zane asks.

I sit back, relieved. “Go for it.”

Zane blows air out of his cheeks. “Okay, so … you guys probably know I’ve been vegan for two years now. I mean, it’s totally changed my life in a lot of ways, you know. I always say it’s like a spiritual—”

“Can we get to the point, please?” Aaron interrupts.

Zane glares. “Fine. Yeah. So, my followers are really inspired by my vegan journey. But then a couple months ago, I was going through a rough time, and…” He takes a deep breath. “I ordered a pizza.”

Someone laughs, sharp and dissonant.

“Sorry, Logan, do you think me sharing about a hard time in my life is funny?” Zane snaps.

She just takes another sip of her coffee.

He sighs and goes on. “I only ate a few bites before I realized how much of a mistake I was making, but I still did it. I feel like I lied to my followers, I guess.” He gives Graham a clap on the back. “You’re up, man.”

As Graham shifts, Zane starts to fidget, tracing one of the tattoos around his arm with one finger. He’s obviously eager to change the focus from his vegan crisis—or whatever it is he’s actually hiding, because I have a feeling this story is bullshit. My leg starts to bounce. What is Zane really lying about?

“Um, okay.” Graham pulls on his earring. “So, I’ve been working on my EP, and I’m supposed to have songs ready to share with my team next month. I’ve told them everything’s on track, but the truth is…” He lets out a shallow breath. “The songs aren’t finished. Not even close. I just … I’m hitting a wall.”

Huh. Graham’s been talking up this EP on TikTok for months, like it’s going to be the thing that launches him from being an influencer to an A-list artist. I guess I feel bad for him, but at the same time, I’m getting frustrated. If the only fodder I have for this documentary is Zane eating cheese and Graham having writer’s block, then I’m in trouble.

Then again, it’s not like I told them a real secret. Not all of it, anyway. I shove that out of my mind, tightening my jaw.

Graham looks to Corinne, who’s sitting on the floor to the right of his chair.

“You want to go?” he asks.

“Fine. So…” She chews the inside of her cheek. “My little sister, Elyse, and I share clothes a lot. We’re only a year and a few months apart, so our taste is annoyingly similar. Elyse designs her own stuff sometimes, and she let me borrow this top she knitted one night, but I accidentally got it caught on my jacket. I tried to unstick it, but it ripped a huge hole. Basically, it was ruined. So, I pretended our dog got to it.” She reaches for her necklace. “I still haven’t even told her. It’s a tiny thing, but I’ve always felt terrible about it. Elyse didn’t deserve that, and neither did Chewy. Our dog, not the Star Wars character. I swear he still gives me the eye sometimes, like he knows.”

“I get it, girl,” McKayleigh interjects. “My little sister Bronlynn always used to steal my stuff. But that’s just sisters, right?”

Corinne looks annoyed, and I don’t blame her. For one, of course McKayleigh’s sister is named Bronlynn. But more importantly, something about her tone is off, like she’s trying too hard. I get the feeling McKayleigh wants to steer this conversation to anything but the game.

“Do you want to go next?” I ask her.

“What, like, my lie?” McKayleigh presses her lips together. “I don’t have one.”

“You don’t have one?” Corinne repeats doubtfully. “Like, at all?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m an open book.” She shrugs. “Kira, why don’t you go next?”

Kira straightens, looking surprised to hear her name, and my curiosity spikes. She doesn’t strike me as a liar, but then again, she’s been about as easy to read as the tiniest letters at my eye exams before they shift the prescription lens in. Kira Lyons could be a trained assassin, for all I know. And for some reason, I can’t stop looking at her.

“Okay, so I guess … sometimes I feel like I’m lying to my followers,” Kira says. “Like, I have this mindset where I’m like, ‘all it takes to be your happiest, healthiest self is committing to your goals,’ but … I don’t know. It’s kind of bullshit?” Something in her loosens now, the words coming easier. “I’ve been an athlete my whole life. I have brands sending me meal-prep kits and workout equipment and it’s just … not everyone can do that. I pretend it’s easy, like they’re the only ones standing in their own way, but it’s not true. It’s all a lie.”

“So basically your lie is that you’re too naturally hot?” Elody asks.

Kira’s mouth falls open. “No, I just…”

“I get it,” I say.

Elody smirks. “Don’t tell me you’ve always been this hot, too, babe.”

Jesus Christ. “No, I just mean … ‘influencing’ and everything. It’s all a lie, isn’t it? I think it’s normal to feel that way.”

Kira gives me a look that I can’t quite read—still guarded, almost like she’s trying to figure me out, too.

“Logan?” McKayleigh gestures to her. “I think you’re the only person left.”

“Maybe I’m hallucinating,” she says, “but I don’t remember you giving an answer.”

“I already told you. I don’t have one.”

“It’s just a game, babe,” Elody says. “It’s not, like, confession.”

“I don’t care,” McKayleigh tells her, adopting a distinct I need to speak to the manager tone. “I shouldn’t have to do something I’m not comfortable with on TV just because you say so. Like, maybe it was easier for y’all to come up with an answer, but I’m sorry. I’m not a liar.”

“So, wait, which is it?” Logan asks. “You’re not a liar, or you’re not cool with admitting that you’re a liar on TV?”

“I think we’re still waiting on your answer, Logan,” she snaps. “Since you’re so high-and-mighty, why don’t you tell us your lie?”

Logan’s eyes flash, something dangerous behind them. She sets her coffee down on the table with a thud.

“Fine. You want to know my lie?” Logan’s gaze tracks around the room. “I don’t know if you guys saw my post, the one I made after leaving the Bounce House. I said there were no hard feelings, that I was so grateful for my time there.” Her stare locks on McKayleigh. “Biggest fucking lie I’ve ever told.”

McKayleigh visibly tenses, but then she breathes out, fixing on a calm expression.

“Sorry, but if this is how I’m going to be treated, I’m going to go ahead and set a healthy boundary. Y’all have fun with your little game. I’m out.”

She stands and marches out the front door, shutting it behind her.

The timer on my screen ticks away to zero, an alarm sounding. At the same time, we all get a new message:

Time’s up

Hope you told the truth … because I hate liars

—Your Sponsor

A bloodcurdling scream rips from outside. Everyone’s heads whip toward the sound. Panic sends a cold sweat down my back.

“Oh, perfect,” Aaron mumbles, like the scream didn’t make him jump as much as the rest of us. “Wonder what the mannequin says this time.”

But that scream didn’t sound like Logan’s, someone mistaking one thing for another in the dark. It sounded like something terrible in the early morning light. Something unmistakable.

I run to the door, but before I can get there, it swings open, and there’s McKayleigh, all the color drained from her face.

“Cole,” she whispers. “He’s…”

I rush past her, out onto the terrace, and she doesn’t have to finish, because even before I see him, I know. It’s not a mannequin.

It’s Cole, his body, crumpled on the terrace in a pool of dark blood.