Page 62 of Famous for a Living

“Why’s that?” I say.

At this Mina grins as if it’s obvious. As if, of course, I know.

As if I’m joking.

“Because of you, silly. You’re our ace card. Our plan to save the park.”

Chapter 10

The Moose

“I’m your what?”

My question throws Mina, because she darts her eyes to Jax and Kevin for support.

“Well . . .” She waits, it seems, for them to jump in. When they don’t, she says, “Yeah.”

“Mina.” I inhale. “Do you realize I’ve only gotten the park two thousand followers in the past two weeks? Two thousand?”

“Twenty-one hundred,” Mina corrects, lifting a finger. “In just two weeks. Imagine that many additional people coming every week! And you’ve only just begun!”

“Yes, but they’re not all going to come. Just because they follow a yacht account doesn’t mean they’re going to buy the boat!” My eyes dart around for Uncle Terry. He’s nowhere in sight.

I shift, looking around for Zaiah. “How long do we have? How long before they absorb the park? And wait—” I remember a tidbit the leader of the pack said. “So you’re saying your jobs are on the line here? All of them?”

“Except one, apparently.” Kevin looks hopeful.

“Lose the misty eyes, Kevin,” Mina says. “You wouldn’t make the long list.”

“Well, they wouldn’t give it to Zaiah if that’s what you’re thinking. He intimidates them too much,” Kevin retorts. “And Terry wouldn’t have a chance. We already heard how they feel about ‘old folks.’”

Uncle Terry. I pull up short. Oh, Uncle Terry.

And Mina.

And Peggy.

And even Jax and Kevin.

I swivel around, squinting with renewed zeal. I need to find Zaiah or Terry now. I need to get a handle on exactly what situation I’m dealing with.

A pair of broad shoulders is moving against the current, away from the clusters populating the main area. Past the shorelines dotted with discarded shoes and keys.

Where is he going?

No matter. I’m going too.

“I’ll be right back,” I throw over my shoulder. I do my best to follow Zaiah’s pace, but without Zaiah’s tall frame, I find the current pushing against my ribs, slowing me significantly. I hold the phone above my head.

I need a new phone case.

Something more for looks than function was fine in the city, but in this job, I’m running daily into the hazards of snow, ice, and apparently even hot tub–temperature waters. The second I get back to the cabin, I’m ordering something heavy duty. Military grade.

I follow the river as it winds beyond the giant slate of river rock, keeping a sharp eye on the slippery rocks beneath my feet, hoping and praying with each step to find nothing slithering out from underneath.

Surely they can’t live in these conditions, though? Surely a snake would boil to death?

Then again, last week Kevin told me a northern scorpion could live a year without food. A year. Just like that. Thriving on air. Anything in this part of the world seems game.