by Sarah Gagnon
“What branch of the military?” I pant out.
“Army, reserves right now.” His voice shakes less than mine.
I wipe the sweat off my forehead. “Specialty?”
“Shooting things, ordering people around, kicking ass.” He pauses between words as his feet hit the ground.
I nod, impressed. I wonder if Jeremy sent him down to the lobby to check on me.
“That’s an hour.” Derek grabs his knees, gasping for breath. “I think you’re trying to kill me.”
“Nope. I’m hoping you’ll say nice things to Jeremy about me.”
He chuckles in between pants. “Like you need it. He’s obviously into you.”
Joy skitters through my limbs and my exhaustion melts away. I could run forever—high on the confirmation that Jeremy likes me. I sprint back toward the hotel.
“Hey!” Derek’s feet pound the pavement behind me, but he doesn’t have enough breath to argue. I touch the hotel wall a good five seconds before he does, and, amazingly, don’t throw up.
We stumble into the hotel bar, breathless. Fifteen minutes pass before my heart rate slows to normal again.
“I can’t believe I won.” A hostess ushers a well-dressed couple past us. The girl narrows her eyes at my sweaty appearance, but I take a seat at the bar.
Derek wipes his forehead on his arm. The attendant brings us water. “Nice, rub it in some more, why don’t you?”
“I won. Woo-hoo!” I wiggle back and forth on the barstool.
Derek spits water around a startled laugh. “You’re an easy person to like. I hope Jeremy picks you.”
“What about the other girls, who do you think is doing the best?” Ooh. Insider information.
“I liked the one with the levitating boobs.” He pushes a few buttons on the menu screen. “After you, Jeremy probably likes one of the brunette lookalikes. That’s his usual type. Oh, but not that one that leaped into the elevator with him the other night. She’s a bitch with a capital B.” He must mean Jasmine. “He said something about the girl he’s going out with tonight. Saw her interview and wants to see how lucky she is at cards.”
“Oh, does Jeremy play?”
“Eh, you know how it is. What rich guy doesn’t like to gamble? It’s like saying f-you to the money gods.”
Huh. I can’t imagine ever wasting money. So that’s one bad thing about Jeremy. Not the having money, but the taking it for granted. So this other girl is rich, too, and they have shared interests. They’ll have a great time at the floating casino. I nod casually. Not like I’m fuming with jealousy. Three brunette clones and me, guess that’s what he likes, but finding Jeremy has a type and that I fit the mold isn’t as reassuring as I thought it would be. Having a type means he’s dated a lot. Hopefully I’m special enough to stand out.
“It must be hard watching Jeremy get all the girls.”
Derek raises his eyebrows high. “I actually don’t do too bad myself.”
“I bet the two of you are trouble.”
“Nah, Jeremy’s a softie.”
I take another drink. As the adrenaline from our run fades, I start to worry more and more about Praline. “I should probably go comfort my roomie before the show starts tonight. Thanks for the run.”
“I can almost say it was a pleasure.”
I shake my head and smile as I walk away. How much fun will Jeremy have at the casino tonight? Only a few more days to go and then the final three will be selected.
I find Praline camped out on one of the big couches. Her eyes and face are a puffy red and she’s gripping a bag of gummy candy in her fist.
“Want company?” I ask. She sniffles and I take a seat next to her. “It’ll be okay. Jeremy’s a good guy, he’s not going to care about whatever they dredge up.”
“What about the audience? They’re the ones voting on us.”
“I’m sure Jeremy has a way to influence the votes.”
She nods, but looks doubtful. My logic’s not crazy, right? I’ll ask Jeremy when I see him again, just to be safe. The other girls show up a few minutes before the show starts. The atmosphere has all the joy of an open casket funeral, with Praline starring as the soon-to-be corpse.
Her expectations are not wrong. Midway through the show an image of her is blown up. She’s thirty pounds heavier, her hair dry and tangled, but the biggest shocker is the crazed look in her eyes. I saw a show once with a horse and a burning barn. Praline’s eyes have that desperate, white-edged appearance. She squeezes my arm as the image stays on. I count silently in my head, willing them to move on. Thirty seconds pass before they start talking about her time in the institution. It’s an awkward amount of time for the picture to be seared into our heads.
When they show an interview with the guy Praline tried to kill herself over, I begin to think my episode wasn’t so bad. The old love, Aaron, starts talking about whichever girl he’s with now and the tears pour out of Praline so fast a wet patch forms down the entire front of her shirt.
I grab Praline’s elbow and haul her up. “We’re leaving.”
“But, but, the show isn’t over yet.”
“You don’t need to see this crap. You’re over him, right? It’s in the past?” She nods and I stand in front of the TV to block her view. “Good, then let’s go.” Jasmine gives me a parting smirk and I notice Shelley on the other couch with one of the clones.
“If y’all are going, I’m not staying, either.” Erin smiles up at us in solidarity.
“All of us should leave,” I say.
Claire straightens up in her chair. “I, uh, I get what you’re saying, but I still want to try to get to the end.” Most of the others shift around, watching the TV and hoping I won’t single them out.
“Whatever.” I head for the door. They’re idiots if they think following the rules of the producers will endear them to Jeremy.
“I think we’re required to watch,” Praline says as I yank her away.
“You had a date with Jeremy. You already won.” If I keep telling other people that, maybe I’ll start to believe it myself.
Praline and I spend the rest of the night in our room listening to Jeremy’s music. I wait and wait for Jeremy to show up at the door, but he never does.
EIGHTEEN
THE NEXT MORNING when I arrive at the viewing room, a sign hangs from the door panel. CLOSED FOR CLEANING. I try scanning my card, but the knob doesn’t turn. Eleanor arrives after me.
“I was just going to put up a sign for you girls. No more viewing room: the timeline has moved up because of a tropical cyclone off the coast of Haiti. So head on back to your room and pack your bags.”
“But what about Jasmine’s date?”
“She’s on it right now. Don’t worry, you’ll see the footage when the show airs.”
“They’re not letting Jeremy snorkel in severe weather, are they?”
“The people running the underwater tour assured us that it’s fine to swim in the rain. They’ll pull him out if the lightning starts.”
Real comforting. “When are we leaving?”
She shoos me away with her hand. “One hour. Hurry, hurry. Tell your roommate, too, and anyone else you see in the hall. We need to be on that plane and out of here.”
I trudge back to the room. What a letdown.
Praline is still in the bathroom when I get back and I tell her the situation through the door. She starts packing furiously. I’ve never seen a tropical cyclone before. I know they’re dangerous and life threatening and all of that, but the idea of truly severe weather fascinates me. No matter how much control I think I have over my life, a cyclone of wind and rain could rip it all away in seconds. I feel like if I looked into the center of a storm, I’d understand all the chaos of life. Boston doesn’t get much for severe weather, and so far freezing my ass off in the snow hasn’t led to any snippets of enlightenment.
I offer to help Praline with her stuff, but she waves me off, and I go sit in the hall with my tote bag. I hope Jeremy’s saf
e. I take out my purple bikini and trace my finger over the words “Key West.” I savor the memory of Jeremy’s face when he floated me on his hands in the water. Now that I know what his lips feel like, I add kissing to the memory, and try hard to forget the part where I slammed my butt into the ocean bottom.
The other girls trickle out in a frantic mess. Shelley has her luggage tied together, so that she can drag all the bags at once. Jaime whines about not having had enough time in the bathroom. One of her eyes is brown, so I assume the other purple lens is still in her contact lens solution. Claire’s the most composed, except for the tiny tick in her jaw. I can only imagine how much worse it would be if they all still had their phones. At least this way they can only complain to each other. I hate having to listen to other people’s calls, especially when as soon as they hang up they call someone else so that they can have the exact same conversation all over again. No matter how high schools change the rules to limit interruptions, technology advancements are always faster, and I’m so honestly sick of it all, I’ll probably never make any close female friends. Or date.
I wait for Praline to emerge, and then we all scan in one final time at the elevator. The process moves quickly. There’s a drop box for room keys, and as soon as I place my disc in the slot, Eleanor screams at us to load onto the shuttle. I want to ask about Jasmine, but maybe if I keep my mouth shut, we’ll leave her behind.
Outside, rain falls in heavy diagonal lines. Gray haze eats at the top of the storm clouds and the air is oddly stinky. Mildewed. “Ew,” Praline mumbles, “I hate when they take down the dome.”
Oh. “Why do they do that?” I ask her.
“Budget cuts. I guess it costs a ton to maintain a barrier like that with all the wind and rain disrupting the signal. Besides, they always claim everyone is inside during major storms, so it serves no purpose.”
“I know this sounds stupid, but I kind of thought the dome was a permanent, physical structure.”
“Hey, that’s not stupid. I used to think that, too, but I read a lot while I was in the institution.” She forces a laugh. “I find civil engineering fascinating.”
“Now that is insane.” I nudge her arm so she knows I’m joking. We dash from the overhang entrance to the shuttle. Eleanor checks off our names as we take our seats. No Jasmine. I expect Jeremy to be in a separate vehicle from us, but Jasmine…
The wind rocks the shuttle back and forth. Is it safe to fly in this weather? I press my fingers hard into the seat bottom as the shuttle revs. I need to see Jeremy. Even for a second, just a glimpse so that I know he’s okay. I watch the hotel entrance, waiting. Please be okay.
Derek slips out with a pile of luggage and hugs the wall to keep under the awning. I recognize the signature black box that Jeremy’s gaming system was in. A moment later, a limo pulls to the curb. Jasmine pops out and runs to the shuttle. She has a sleek black raincoat over her shoulders. Underneath, she’s wearing a bikini made of shells. I’m not close enough to check, but I’m fairly sure her breasts are encased in perfect clamshells like in a Renaissance painting. She looks like a goddess. Eleanor hands her a blanket from the overhead compartment and I go back to watching the limo.
Jeremy’s hair is plastered to his forehead as he emerges. He grabs the top two suitcases from Derek and they both run to the open trunk. His hair and skin are even brighter next to the gray weather. I press the palm of my hand against the window, wishing I could hug him, kiss him, just once more. Then we’re off. The driver speeds down the street Derek and I ran along, and then we turn off and zip toward the airport.
We load onto the plane with Eleanor yelling constantly about hurrying and staying in line. The white leather couches Jeremy sat on during the first flight are empty, but he left after us, so he’ll probably arrive in a second. “Buckle in. It doesn’t matter where you sit.” A flight attendant goes over how to use the life vests and oxygen masks, which is very unsettling since we didn’t receive those instructions the first time.
I keep waiting in my seat for another glimpse of Jeremy, but the world is not cooperating with me. He must be on the plane by now. I know he’s not avoiding me. I mean, he couldn’t be.
The plane bounces through the sky in a series of jerks and drops. Jaime pukes into a bag and Mel complains constantly. Well, if the plane crashes I won’t have to worry about the Fluxem cure anymore. Though it would be nice to kiss Jeremy again before I die. When we land in Newark, New Jersey, I’m still expecting Jeremy to open the curtain between his part of the plane and ours. Even when we climb down the stairs and onto the tarmac, I’m sure he’ll be right there waiting.
He isn’t.
When we pull into the Blue Finn Inn, I start to feel particularly desperate. Even I know the difference between a nice hotel like the last one, and a cheap-ass inn like this one. The whole place feels abandoned. Jeremy isn’t here and I’m pretty sure he won’t be staying at this establishment.
Mel stands in the open door of the hotel transport. “Are they sticking us somewhere cheap to cut costs, or what?”
Jasmine pushes past her. “Why aren’t we in New York City?” I shrug. With the final show and concert being in the city, it would have made sense for us to stay close by.
“Maybe the ratings suck,” Jaime says, hunching into her jacket.
I wait next to the vehicle, appraising the one-story, flat-roofed inn. No one builds single-story buildings anymore, so the place has to be at least fifty years old. To preserve what’s left of the green space, the government started really limiting building permits. Boston was already too built up to notice the difference. In the suburbs however, residents were pissed. Many were making money subdividing their lots and letting people build in what had been their backyards. The idea makes sense to me. There’s all that empty space in the sky, might as well go up.
Around the inn, puddles are slick with oil on the pavement. Rain mists down on us, destined to get worse as the storm works its way up the coast. Across the street, a twelve-foot, barbed-wire fence cuts through the industrial landscape. An Air Force sign hangs at an angle from the post closest to us. Behind the fence, weeds sprout through the concrete in tall patches. Well, it could be worse. The place isn’t that bad, a little old, but plenty big enough.
Eleanor exits the transport last and wrinkles her nose. “Okay, then. Welcome to Newark.” She doesn’t conceal the inadvertent grunt that escapes her throat. “We’re here for six days, girls, while the rest of the world watches the dates. The studio thought it best for you not to be recognized on the street by anyone. So, in their infinite wisdom, here we are.”
Jasmine narrows her eyes. “This location was not in the paperwork I signed. My lawyer read through those documents and he wouldn’t have let me come here.”
“Look, Jasmine, I don’t have control over the show. Either you want to be in this or you don’t. By all means, have your lawyer come pick you up if you’d like to withdraw from the competition.” Eleanor straightens her rain jacket. “Anyone else have a problem?”
Everyone stays silent.
“We’ll keep the same room assignments, since Jeremy won’t be here for you to worry about.” She takes a look at us and then at the motel, shaking her head.
Great. Having Jeremy nearby is the only thing that makes living with these girls tolerable. Well, that and the hotel restaurant, because I bet the food here isn’t going to be anything like Key West.
Checking into the inn takes a while. They don’t have a modern scan system and the person in charge is about one hundred and fifteen. The old lady types in each of our names with shaking fingers and provides a plastic card. I feel like I’m in an old movie.
Six days. I bet this was in the producers’ plan from the beginning. This is the twenty-five percent they’re donating to cancer research. They didn’t take it out of their own paychecks; they just downsized our comfort level. I shrug. I’ve lived in worse places.
I wiggle the key in the lock of our door and push it open. The door catch
es on burnt orange carpet. I press harder, until the opening is wide enough for Praline to drag in her suitcase. Floral bedspreads contrast sharply with the wall art—abstract paintings from China.
I leave the door open, letting the stale, mildewy air out. Praline sits on her bed in a serious depressive funk. She slips the bracelet Jeremy gave her from one wrist to the other. Her head tips back against the glued-up headboard, and her entire face droops like weights are attached to every feature. “Your show wasn’t that bad,” I tell her.
She doesn’t move. A wired phone in the corner gives two buzzes. I pick up the antique device and fit it against my head. So weird. Eleanor, I mouth to Praline.
She sounds irritated. “This is the situation. The hotel doesn’t even have room service, so in a half-hour we’re taking a field trip to the local supermarket to get enough supplies for the week.” The phone clicks off.
“What’d she want?” Praline asks in a monotone voice.
“We’re going to the market. There’s nothing to eat here.”
When Praline nods, her head bangs against the headboard.
“Come on, get out of bed.” The carpet squishes as I walk over and prop her upright.
Praline nods slightly.
“Up. Up. You want to eat, don’t you?”
“Not really.”
Oh, man. Suck it up. This is a competition. “Too bad. And if you don’t cheer up, I’ll trade rooms and make you stay with Jasmine.” That finally motivates her.
“Hold on, I gotta get my shoes.”
We climb onto the shuttle with the other girls. I shift in my seat, checking out the landscape as we cruise down an empty road. I had no idea there were parts of the country largely uninhabited. The news always focuses on the over-population problem. I’ve seen tons of footage of clusters of people and buildings, plus all the warnings about scarcity of food and skin-eroding pollution. But I’ve never heard about abandoned parts of the country. There’s probably a reason there aren’t many permanent residents here, leaking nuclear waste buried underground giving everyone cancer, or something even worse. Boston is looking pretty good.