Scarlett pressed her hands down into the squishy mud and used them to pry herself back onto shaky feet. The finish line was just there. Her team had already crossed along with what was left of the rig. If she could cross, too, she’d have at least completed what she set out to do—even if she couldn’t win.
A couple other teams passed her by as she ambled forward like a mud zombie. She was covered in the stuff. Even her white-blonde hair was caked in dark, sticky mud. She used the inside of her T-shirt sleeve to wipe at her eyes and kept moving toward that line and the bystanders who flanked it just beyond.
As soon as she crossed, she fell back to the earth in a tired heap. Everything hurt, but luckily nothing seemed broken—well, besides the chariot.
Liz rushed over and helped her back up. “Oh, my gosh, that was so awesome! You should have seen that wipe out. You were like a regular Indiana Jones back there!”
“I’m glad my pain could amuse you,” Scarlett said with a cough.
Liz’s face fell. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Relax, I’m just teasing. It was pretty awesome driving that thing home with one wheel. It would have been perfect if I hadn’t taken that spill.”
“We’re still going out to the Otter’s Drop, right? Everyone says they have the best clam fritters.”
“Like this?” Scarlett shrieked. When she looked down at herself, she only saw brown.
“Don’t want to wear your battle wounds with pride, huh?” Liz teased even as she wrinkled her nose at the grotesque sight of Scarlett before her.
Scarlett felt half-tempted to saddle her with a big, old hug. “Har har. And what about my team?”
“Shane’s already working on loading them up. He said to tell you something about not expecting you to actually use the ejector seat.” She shrugged. “Whatever that means.”
Scarlett would have to chide Shane later for that one and for sending her out on that death trap in the first place. You would think a man who almost lost his life on a sledding trip gone wrong would be a little more careful with these things. She took a deep breath. Some of the mud that had already begun to dry on her arms cracked and fell off. “Okay, so that settles the dogs, but I am not going out for a night on the town covered in mud.”
“Yeah, you do kind of stink, and now you’re shedding. Eek! I guess we could stop by my house to give you a quick shower first. ”
“You’re such a good friend,” Scarlett teased. “I’ll make sure to leave as much of this as possible behind in your car.”
Liz’s nose wrinkled again. “That’s just one of the many reasons I have no desire to do this thing for myself. I’ve got some towels in the trunk. Hopefully they’ll be enough. C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”
“But I want to find out who won first,” Scarlett said, looking back toward the crowd whose attention was focused intently elsewhere.
“I can tell you who won. It was your lover, Henry Mitchell, the turd.”
“Someone’s been hanging out with Lauren, I see. And a kindergarten class,” Scarlett spat back.
“Are you really going to make fun of me right now, poopy McGee?”
Scarlett groaned. “I guess I really don’t have a leg to stand on, but still, it’s good sportsmanship to congratulate the winner before we go.”
“Are you serious right now? He’s not a good sport, so why should you be? Besides, do you really want to be on camera like that?” Liz looked her up and down as if to remind Scarlett she was dressed in a sheath of mud.
“Ugh, you’re right. Let’s just get out of here.”
“Finally!” Liz made to put an arm around Scarlett to help guide her back to the parking lot, but then seemed to think better of it. “Umm, you know the way.”
As they departed, she looked back toward the crowd where Henry stood proudly on some kind of raised podium giving a victory speech. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone treat any race—let alone such a small one—as an Oscars ceremony.
His eyes shifted away from his interviewers and toward Scarlett, or at least the mud monster that had taken her place. He nodded subtly, so subtly she couldn’t be sure his face had moved at all.
Was he trying to tell her something? If so, what?
“C’mon, look alive!” Liz shouted, and Scarlett realized she’d stopped to stand in place, trapped under Henry’s hot gaze once again.
With one last glance back his way, she forced her eyes toward the parking lot and toddled after Liz. Henry wasn’t a love interest anymore, nor should he have ever been. He was a rival.
He was the one to beat if she had any hope of achieving this dream.
So why didn’t it feel like any of that mattered?