Page 18 of Ex Marks the Spot
“I’ll hold on to the clue,” I say, hand outstretched. I’d practically squealed when I’d discovered my backpack came with a waterproof fanny pack that clips to the top when you’re not wearing it. One thing I’ve learned as an Xtreme Quest superfan is to always keep your passport and clues on your person. Sounds paranoid, but Victoria from season nine and Max from season fourteen are proof of the consequences.
“It’s okay, I’ve got it.” Court swings his pack around and shoves the envelope into the main compartment.
“It wasn’t a request. I have a safe spot for it.”
“So do I.” He pats the backpack.
“And what happens when you leave your backpack somewhere or it gets stolen, and we lose the clue and our travel money?”
He has the audacity to sigh. “I’m not going to leave it, and no one can take it if I’m wearing it. Now let’s go.”
As we begin to jog toward the fence, the team from the Rockville Institute of Technology and their crew fly by us in a streak of purple and black, respectively. That’s when I notice the Holbrooke team diving into a cab out on the street. When the hell did they get past us?
“Seriously? We’re last now, thanks to you.”
“I’m not the one who overreacted about where to store a clue.”
“That’s called logic, not overreacting.”
He ignores me in favor of beating me to the sidewalk to hail a taxi, except all the oncoming traffic is now stuck at a red light a block down the street.
The Rockville team has the same problem, so they opt for running to the cabs parked in front of a hotel farther down the road.
“Let’s follow them,” I say.
“We don’t have time to go down there.”
“But we have time to wait on a red light?”
“It’ll change in a second.”
“Oh, now you control traffic signals? What other magical powers do you have?”
Before he can reply, the light flips to green. Court shoots a smirk at me and lifts his arm. “You were saying?”
Ugh!I hate him so, so much. It’s too bad I can’t push him in front of the bright yellow sedan that rolls to a stop in front of us. I duck my head to see the driver through the open passenger window. “Can you take us to the airport?”
“Which one?”
“There’s more than one?” I look at Court. “Did you know that?”
He shrugs. “I’ve never been to Dallas.”
“What does your ticket say?”
“We don’t have them yet. We’re buying them at the airport,” Court says.
The driver spots the cameraman maneuvering to my side. “This is for TV?”
“A travel documentary,” I reply, sticking to the rules of the NDA we signed.
“Where are you flying to?”
“Costa Rica.”
“Okay. DFW.” He puts the car in park and pops the trunk.
Finally.