The Winning Element (17 page)
Nalani shook her head. “All the contestants are four to a room. Two to a bed. Your extra bed is the only available one. I’m sorry. If I had checked them in, I would’ve lied and told them there were no beds, but the other receptionist got to them first.”
“What about the room we slept in last night?”
“It’s reserved as well.”
“And the coaches?” TL asked. “I’ve only got one roommate.”
Nalani checked her watch. “You and your roommate are the only two male coaches. All the rest are women. And, yes, they’re four to a room, too. There’s no other way. You’ll have to work around the situation.”
Lightly, Nalani grasped my upper arm. “Eduardo Villanueva checked in a few moments ago.”
My entire body chilled as the reality of why we were here hit me. Swallowing, I nodded my head.
With a quick squeeze, she released me. “The equipment is in the bed closest to the wall. Any questions?”
We all shook our heads.
“Wait ten seconds after I leave.” Nalani rotated the top of the blue pyramid, turning it off. She handed it to TL. Scooting between us, she opened the door a sliver and peeked out. Then soundlessly, she slipped into the alcove and down the stairs.
Ten seconds later we followed, heading back down the hall to our rooms.
TL stopped at his. “It’s ten o’clock. The opening meeting is in thirty minutes. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
Beaker and I nodded, continuing on. We passed room after room, some with blaring loud TVs, others quiet. We got to ours and slipped the card key in the lock. No sounds muffled through the cracks. Maybe the twins had left.
“Hi!” Jessy and Lessy perked up when we opened our door.
Or maybe not.
“Hi.” I noted the lack of enthusiasm in my return.
Beaker disappeared into the bathroom.
“So where ya’ll from?!”
Vaguely, I registered the question as I glanced to the ceiling.
Eduardo Villanueva is up there right now.
Eduardo Villanueva is up there right now.
Slowly, I pulled my focus down to the bed closest to the wall—the same bed the twins currently sat on, propped against the headboard. I narrowed in on the shark behind their backs. What if one of them accidentally pressed the fin?
Both twins turned and looked at the shark, and I snapped to attention.
“Sorry.” I laughed. “Brain fade.”
They turned back around, and I plopped down on the other bed, recalling their last question. “Tiffany and I are from California. How about you two?”
“Giiive us an A!” They steepled their skinny arms above their heads. “Alabama!”
I grinned, while my mind hyperdrived. I wanted to get them out of here so I could get inside that bed. I wanted to look at the equipment and get set up. I wanted to tap into Eduardo’s room.
Actually, I needed to get the twins off that bed permanently in case one of them pressed the fin.
Beaker came from the bathroom, pressing her fingertips to her forehead. “Can you all do something for me?”
The twins nodded. “Sure!”
“Can you please not talk in so many Ex! Cla! Ma! Tion! Points?!” Beaker slid her hands down her face. “You’re giving me a headache.”
I closed my eyes on a silent groan.
Beeeaaaker.
Beeeaaaker.
“For real?” one twin asked, and I snapped open my eyes.
Beaker sat down in the desk chair. “For real.”
The twins looked at each other, and, gradually, matching smiles lit their faces. Real, happy, genuine smiles. Not the fake ones they’d flashed before.
The twin on the left slid down on her pillow. “Oh, thank you.”
Her voice sounded different now. Deeper. More relaxed.
“Yeah.” The twin on the right toed her purple-and-white tennis shoes off. “We don’t even want to be here.”
Well, isn’t this an interesting twist?
Twin on the left punched the pillow beneath her head. “Our momma makes us do all these stupid events. This is our twelfth year of competitive cheer.”
“Your
twelfth
year?” Beaker asked. “How old are you?”
twelfth
year?” Beaker asked. “How old are you?”
Twin on the right brought her outstretched legs up into a crossed position. “We’re nineteen years old.” She pointed between me and Beaker. “Thought we were twelve or something, didn’t ya?”
Yeah, actually, I had.
“I know. I know.” Twin on the left raised her hands in the air. “Why, you ask, are we nineteen and still letting our momma tell us what to do?” She dropped her arms over her eyes. “Weee dooon’t knooowww.”
Twin on the right patted her sister. “One more year. That’s all we need. And then we’ll have a record deal and our own money.”
“Record deal?” I questioned.
“See.” Twin on the right turned to us. “We’re singers. Country music. Faith Hill’s our favorite.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “You kinda look like her, ya know?”
Twin on the left lifted her arms from her eyes. “No, she doesn’t.”
“Yes, she does.” This came from the twin on the right.
Beaker and I looked at each other.
“Anyway,” twin on the right continued, “any day now we’ll have our record deal.”
Asian, twin, country music singers. Interesting.
Twin on the left rolled over, propping her head in her hand. “Enough about us. What about you two?”
I shrugged. “Nothing special. Average ordinary girls. Ana and Tiffany, at your service.” If they only knew.
Twin on the right pouted her bottom lip. “Bummer. I was hoping you were spies or something. Then we could all be undercover together. Jessy and Lessy, the hidden country talent. Ana and Tiffany, out for cold blood.”
Beaker and I gave our best, ha-ha-that’s-so-funny-spies-snort-snort laugh.
“Since we’re going to be together for the whole competition,” I suggested, “I suppose we should be able to tell you apart.” This twin-on-the-left, twin-on-the-right business was about to drive me nuts.
“Oh, sure. We get that all the time.” They scrambled together, kneeling side by side on the bed.
“Look at our faces.” Twin on the right lifted her left brow. “What do you see that’s different?”
I studied one face, then the next, and back to the first. I glanced at Beaker. “Well?”
“Scar.”
“That’s what I got.” I pointed to the twin on the right. “You’ve got a scar running through your left brow.” A scar so slight I would have never noticed it if I hadn’t really studied their faces.
Twin on the right bounced her scarred brow. “I’m Jessy. Jagged-scar Jessy.”
Lessy bounced off the bed, rattling the headboard and drawing my attention to the shark.
I eyeballed the fin. I had to get them off that bed. “Do you, um, mind if we sleep in that bed instead of this one?”
Jessy wedged her foot back into one of her purple-and-white tennis shoes. “Why?”
Why?
I hadn’t expected her to ask why. “Because . . . because . . .” Because there’s a secret panel in your bed.
I hadn’t expected her to ask why. “Because . . . because . . .” Because there’s a secret panel in your bed.
“Because,” Beaker stood, “Ana’s got this thing about sleeping near windows. She’s afraid the boogeyman’s going to climb in and get her. She’s got to be near the wall.”
With my best, innocent face, I shrugged. “I’m a freak that way. You don’t mind, do you?”
Jessy tightened her laces. “Nope. But if the boogeyman comes in the door, he’ll get you first.”
I laughed. “I’ll take my chances.”
Lessy checked herself in the mirror. “Let’s go. We don’t want to be late for the
opening ceremony
. Yeah!” She rolled her eyes.
opening ceremony
. Yeah!” She rolled her eyes.
Laughing at her mock enthusiasm, we filed out of the room and down the hall. Beaker pressed the elevator button, and we waited.
Lessy and Jessy began discussing lyrics to a song they were working on, and, slowly, the discussion turned into an argument. Then Lessy started singing to block out her sister, and I had to admit she had a pretty darn good voice.
The elevator door slid open. Four men stood against the back wall—three overly muscular and one average, ranging in height from five eight to six one. Dressed in black suits, with dark hair and tanned skin, their faces displayed no expression as they stared at us.
Realizing who these men were, my stomach dropped. I was about to get in the elevator with them. I took a silent, deep breath and ran my gaze over each of their faces. Scrutinizing their features, I stopped at the last one on the right. The average-built one, but the tallest. The only one with silver glinting in his dark hair.
Eduardo Villanueva. My parents’ killer.
My jaw tightened as I took in his tight curly hair, sinister brown eyes, and dark shadowed cheeks.
Lessy and Jessy stepped onto the elevator, still arguing and singing, oblivious to the four men.
Beaker turned, purposefully bumping into me, silently telling me to snap out of it.
I forced myself to drag my focus away from Eduardo’s awful face when all I wanted to do was fly into the elevator and gouge out his emotionless eyes. I wanted to scream at him for what he’d done to my parents, to my life.
Instead, I sniffed, cleared my throat, and then lightly coughed.
Cover for me.
“Oh, I forgot something in the room. I’ll meet you guys down there.”
Cover for me.
“Oh, I forgot something in the room. I’ll meet you guys down there.”
Lessy and Jessy didn’t even hear me. Beaker nodded. She’d gotten my code.
I flicked one last look to Eduardo before turning from the elevator. With his head bent toward the man beside him, he listened to whatever the man was whispering. Probably discussing what horrible thing they planned to do next.
The elevator door slid closed. I hurried back down the hall and into our room, locked the door, and ran over to the bed.
I studied the body of the wooden shark and the fin attached to the top. I didn’t see how anything could serve as a release button.
I leaned over the pillows and pushed the fin.
Nothing.
I pushed again, harder.
Nothing.
Crawling onto the bed, I traced my fingers around the edge of the fin. A slight gap existed where it had been attached to the headboard. A gap so tiny, no one would even notice it unless they felt for it.
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