I feel sick. Depressed. Ashamed of myself. A hundred thousand dollars. I can hardly wrap my head around the number, even when I know there’s so much more to come. But it means nothing, really. Just a stepping stone. It could become smoke if we don’t get to the next level and all of this would have been for nothing. “Congratulations, I guess,” I mumble.

“Yeah. Same to you.” He shrugs. “Well, we had to do it. We didn’t exactly have a choice, if we want to win.”

“I know.” I close my eyes against the tears that are threatening to flow. What’s wrong with me? I had to do it. I think about Mom and remind myself of how little a choice I have. This is all for her. Sure, we hurt that lady’s feelings, but it’s not like she won’t have plenty of chances to make more money. Our check isn’t going to make or break the restaurant. Her granddaughter will still be able to stay in school.

“I know you feel like hell about it,” he murmurs, brushing dark hair out of his eyes where it flopped over while we were running. “And I don’t like it, either.”

“You don’t seem too bothered by it.” I glare at him. How can he be so heartless? Stupid me. For a minute there, I fell for his superficial charm and his good looks while I imagined he had a heart. I should’ve known better. First impressions are usually right, aren’t they? And I was right about him. He only pretends to be a nice person. He can turn it on and turn it off as it suits him, depending on the situation and who he’s trying to impress.

“What am I supposed to do?” His eyes narrow and his tone turns nasty. “We passed the stunt, we’re moving on. This is what we’re supposed to do, you know. This is the entire point. Winning.”

“Yes, I know,” I sneer.

“Now’s not the time to grow a sense of honor.”

I wish I could claw his eyes out. I want to. I want nothing more than to leave long gashes down the sides of his face and rip those pretty eyes from his head, the snide bastard. “Excuse me, but I already had a sense of honor when I started this process. You don’t know why I’m after this money any more than I know why you’re after it, but I have a damn good reason. So don’t act like I wasn’t a good person before this started.”

“Tell yourself that all you want,” he jeers. “I didn’t see you kicking and screaming and dragging your feet, you know. You walked out of that restaurant with that phone to your ear without me shoving you out the door, remember? Don’t act so superior when you did exactly the same thing I did.”

That stings. It was too easy to leave, wasn’t it? “You’re the one who had to order all that expensive food.” I know how pathetic it sounds even as it’s coming out of my mouth, but it’s too late to stop myself. I won’t back down even though my argument is growing weaker all the time.

His laugh is cold, cruel, and without humor. “And didn’t you help eat everything?”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“You never tried to stop me from ordering, either. You were glad that one of us had the balls to go in there and do what we were supposed to do. We just advanced to the next round of the game. You should be thanking me, instead of taking out your sore conscience on me.” When he’s angry like this, his face changes. He doesn’t look so handsome anymore. He’s vicious now. Like an animal with its teeth showing.

My blood is boiling to the point where I can barely see straight. But it’s not him I’m mad at—at least, not mostly. It’s me. He’s right. I’m a hypocrite, and I want to push the whole thing off on him. Anything to make me feel better, anything to make me forget that sweet old lady and how happy she was. She liked us. She wanted to tell her granddaughter about us. Well, she’ll be telling her, for sure. Just not for the reason she thought she would. “Well, we did it. I guess we should be proud of ourselves.”

I slide past him and leave the alley. So what if somebody’s still waiting? I almost want them to catch me. I’ve never felt so ashamed of myself. At any rate, we’ve already won the money, and there was nothing in the stunt stating that we couldn’t get caught after getting away. If anything, I wish I had the opportunity to explain why we did it. Maybe I could get the owner to understand.

“You’re just walking away, then?”

“Yes. I’m just walking away from you.” I glance over my shoulder when I reach the sidewalk.

He’s still standing there, still looking like he doesn’t understand me.

It’s all right. I don’t understand myself. “I guess you’re not used to women walking away, are you?”

He doesn’t reply. Good thing, because I’m too tired to fight. I’m too heartsick, too.

Well, that’s the way the world works, or so I try to tell myself as I walk even further away from the restaurant. I need to walk off some of that meal—or binge, rather, which is a much better word to describe it. I’ll be walking all night and well into the morning if I hope to burn off even part of it. But walking is still better than going home and facing Mom and knowing that I stole tonight in order to help her get the treatment she needs. She would be so mad at me if she knew. So disappointed. And she’d never forgive herself if she knew I did it for her.

I want to tell myself it was only a meal, just a few hundred bucks. No big deal. Nobody’s going to suffer too much over that. I didn’t rob the cash register. And I’m sure the food is marked up like crazy, too. If anything, they’re robbing the customers by charging what they do.

It’s a nice night. Warmer than it’s been lately. Funny, how sixty degrees feels warm at the end of winter and chilly at the end of summer. This is the former, and there are happy people walking all over South Philly. The corner BYOBs and trattorias are bustling, full of smiling people and enticing aromas which float out onto the street. Of course, it turns my overly-full stomach at the moment.

Maybe there’s a way I can help the restaurant build its popularity. Look at these places, how busy they are. Packed from wall to wall. I bet the food I just overate is tons better than anything they serve. I can help them that way. I can make it up to them.

No. I’m just kidding myself. There’s only one thing I can do—if I don’t, I won’t be able to sleep tonight. And Mom will instantly know I did something wrong. I’m not in the mood for even more lies.

Good thing I have a little cash in my savings account.

Five-twenty-five would be my half for the food and another one-fifty for the waiter. I wince throughout the entire transaction at the ATM. Six-hundred-seventy-five dollars. But hey. I have a theoretical hundred grand waiting for me, right? Somehow, it doesn’t help. That’s not money I can touch. And if the audience keeps us going along these lines, with even bigger dares and higher consequences, I don’t know how much further I’ll be able to go. For the first time, I’m genuinely worried that I won’t be able to finish the show.

For now, I can make things right. I tuck the money deep into my purse and walk with my head down, moving as fast as I can. Like the faster I walk, the easier it’ll be for me to outrun my guilt.

Trent is right. I’ll never admit it to him, but he is. I didn’t stop him from ordering every expensive thing he could find. I encouraged him. And I ate like a glutton. I enjoyed it. I should’ve known there was some bigger reason for the stunt, but I wanted to believe in the moment that everything was okay. That we were only having fun, enjoying dinner together.

Truth be told—and my cheeks burn with furious shame when I admit it to myself—I even enjoyed running. Sure, guilt crushed me as soon as I knew we were safe, but the running part was fun. Beating the men, getting away with theft. Trent and I were partners in crime this morning and again tonight. It was exciting. So, what did I do? I took it all out on him. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so mixed-up.

I hope nobody finds out what I’m about to do. Especially him.

I round the corner only a block from the restaurant, and my heart pounds so hard I can barely hear myself think. I have to face them. They hate me. They have to, after what I did. But I have to face them and apologize and I know I can’t give the real reason why we ran. I don’t want to get disqualified.

I freeze in shock when I see who’s coming from further down the street. Trent freezes, too, before sighing. I can tell by the way his shoulders rise and fall. He continues walking toward me, and I wait for him.

“What are you doing?” he asks, looking back and forth like he’s afraid we’re being watched.

“I was going back to pay the check. Don’t get mad at me. It’s the right thing to do.”

“And what do you think I was doing?” He pulls his wallet from his back pocket and opens it, showing me a stack of hundred-dollar bills. “It took me ages to find an ATM branch for my bank, but I managed.”

I don’t know whether to laugh, cry or apologize. So I smile, and he does, too.

“I’m sorry I was such a bitch before. I was actually angry with myself and I took it out on you. It wasn’t fair.”

“You’re saying sorry to me?” he asks a delighted expression on his face.

“Don’t start,” I warn.

The air between us changes. We stand there for what feels like a long time, looking at each other. I remember the breathless, giddy feeling when he stood so close to me in the alley. How I was so sure, he was just seconds away from kissing me. How sure I was that I would let him do it, too. I wanted him to. I craved an excuse to finally find out what his lips tasted like.

“Wanna go Dutch?” I ask.

Trent throws his head back with a laugh. “I’m not usually one to accept when a woman offers to go Dutch, but I think I can make an exception tonight. You’re an honest, decent woman, Dakota Manning.”