His New Stepsister. His Biggest Threat. novel · Chapter 1 of 32
Chapter 1: Wire and Freckles
At her mother's wedding Tilda meets her new stepbrother, the quiz champion she plays Tuesday, burns the answers her stepfather hands her, and learns the show is pulling her anyway.
People think the worst thing that can happen to you is freckles.
I have about nine thousand of them, so I've made my peace.
Other people think it's braces at twenty-four.
Mine were eight months old, and I paid for them in cash, one tip jar at a time.
No.
The worst thing is standing at your mother's wedding in a pink bridesmaid dress, with wire across your teeth, and realizing your brand-new stepbrother is the man you yell at on TV every night.
He was leaning on the bar by the pool.
Tall, dark beard, sleeves rolled up over forearms that had clearly lifted things heavier than a pen.
Gannon Boyle.
Forty-one straight wins on The Chair.
Every weeknight at seven, Marva turns the TV up at the Lamplighter, and I stand behind the taps shouting answers at his face.
I'd been shouting since game three.
He turned and looked right at me.
"You're Tuesday," he said.
So the show had told him who his next challenger was.
"And you're the guy who said the Treaty of Ghent ended the War of 1812," I said.
"It did end it."
"The Battle of New Orleans happened two weeks later."
"Nobody told New Orleans."
"That's my point."
The corner of his mouth went up.
He looked me over, slowly, the dress and the freckles and the mouth, and he didn't hurry back to my eyes.
"My father married your mother an hour ago," he said. "The same week I find out my next opponent is his new stepdaughter. I'm still deciding which part I hate more."
"Pick the opponent," I said. "I'm going to end you."
"In what? Sports? You froze on sports in your intro reel."
"They send you my reel?"
"They send the champion every challenger's reel. I watched yours three times."
That sat between us, warm.
"Tilda!"
My mother was at the French doors in her ivory silk, waving me in with two fingers.
"Go on," Gannon said. "Family calls."
He said "family" like it tasted strange.
I knew exactly how he felt.
My mother led me down a hall of framed billboards.
Smile by Boyle. Smile by Boyle. Hal's veneers, ten feet tall.
Hal was my orthodontist.
That's how my mother met him.
She drove me to my appointments, sat in his waiting room for six weeks in a row, and came out engaged.
He was in the study now, with the gas fire lit even though it was May.
"There she is," Hal said. "How are those brackets treating you?"
"They're fine. You put them on."
He laughed, and nobody else did.
"Lorrie, the door," he said.
My mother shut it.
Hal took a white envelope out of his jacket and set it on the desk between us.
It was sealed.
"Tuesday's categories," he said. "And the answers. A friend at the show owed me a kindness."
I stared at it.
"Gannon's had a nice run," he said. "Somebody's ending it Tuesday. It might as well be family."
"You want me to cheat against your own son."
"I want you to win. Two hundred thousand of it goes to you. Your mother and I take care of the rest."
"What rest?"
He smiled with all his teeth.
"I have a little something riding on it."
My mother touched my arm.
"Don't make that face, baby. You pour beer for drunks in Glendale. You live over a bar. This is the first time anybody has ever offered you anything."
"Dad offered me plenty."
"Your father left me a funeral bill and a daughter who quit college."
Her ring flashed while she said it.
Hal pushed the envelope an inch closer.
I picked it up.
My mother looked at me.
It was light. A few folded sheets.
Forty-one wins. A man who watched my reel three times so he'd be ready for me.
I walked to the fireplace and dropped the envelope into the flames.
"Tilda!"
Hal lunged and grabbed for it, then jerked his hand back with a hiss.
The paper curled black at the corners.
I never read a word.
"I'll beat him on Tuesday," I said. "On my own."
"You stupid girl," my mother said. "Do you know what you just did?"
"Yes."
"Then don't bother coming for Christmas."
"Okay," I said.
I opened the door.
The band was playing something slow. Ninety guests were eating shrimp off ice.
I walked straight through all of them in my pink dress, and I didn't look back once.
My Corolla was parked on the street past the valet stand.
Somebody was leaning on the hood.
Gannon.
His phone was in his hand, and his face had gone flat.
"The show's contestant office just called me," he said. "On a Saturday night."
"Why?"
"Someone phoned in an anonymous tip. Five minutes ago."
My stomach dropped.
"They said Tuesday's challenger has the questions," he said. "They're pulling you Monday morning."
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