Deprivation House

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Kit might make a good ATAC agent, I thought. She got information out of people fast.

  I introduced the guys, without contributing the info I’d picked up—that Wilson was on the prowl for a girlfriend, and that Mikey seemed basically decent.

  Frank bounded up from the basement level of the mansion. “We just found a bowling alley. Four regulation-size lanes.”

  “Only point six percent of private homes in the United States have a bowling alley. One of them is the White House,” Rosemary observed as we went to check it out.

  “I bet Ripley Lansing’s house is one of the others,” said Kit. “I don’t understand why she’s even on this show. A million dollars is nothing to her. That’s probably her weekly allowance. And she’s already famous. Being on TV isn’t going to give her anything she doesn’t already have. Unlike the rest of us.”

  I was about to answer, but the sight of the bowling alley made me forget everything else for a minute. “Sweet,” I said. The lanes were prime. The wood shone. The pins gleamed white. And the balls—a wide selection—looked like they’d never been touched.

  “So who’s gonna get themselves something like this if they win the million?” Frank asked.

  Good question. It might let us know if anybody here had a really good reason for wanting the money. A reason good enough to kill for.

  “Not me,” Kit said. “I need the money to stay out here and keep auditioning. If I don’t win the cash or get discovered while I’m on the show—”

  She paused and scanned the room. Then she waved and smiled as she spotted a small camera mounted in one corner. “I love you, America! And I know you’re going to love me, too!” she exclaimed. “Anyway,” she added in a more normal voice, “I need money or an acting job when this is over, or my mom says we have to go back to Ann Arbor. We can’t afford L.A. anymore. This is my last hope.”

  SUSPECT PROFILE

  Name: Kit Elroy

  Hometown: Ann Arbor, Michigan

  Physical description: 5’4”, 120 lbs., curly black hair, brown eyes, star tattoo on left ankle.

  Occupation: High school student/trying to break into acting.

  Background: Only child of divorced parents.

  Suspicious behavior: Dislikes Ripley and doesn’t think she should have been allowed on show.

  Suspected of: Sending death threat to Ripley Lansing.

  Possible motive: Needs the million dollars to afford to stay in L.A. and pursue career.

  Her last hope. Not a bad motive.

  “I’ve never actually been bowling,” Mary admitted, ducking her head a little.

  I wondered how it worked being home-schooled. Did she do any of the usual after-school activities, like bowling or movies? Or did she pretty much stay at home after school too?

  “I’m not surprised. I doubt you could lift even one of those dinky purple kiddy balls,” James commented, as he and Ripley came up to the group. “What we need to do is cut off some of Mikey’s blubber and give it to you,” he continued. That way you won’t accidentally slide down the drain or anything.”

  Mary ducked her head again in reply. Mikey opened his mouth, then seemed to decide not to say anything.

  “The barbecue is starting up,” Ripley said. “Come on out to the pool.”

  The pool was . . . I know my English teacher wouldn’t be happy to hear this, but I don’t think I have the words to describe it. Sounds come the closest. Ahhhh. Ooooh. Arhlhg. See, even the regular sounds don’t work.

  You got waterfalls splashing down these walls of rock. Tiki torches. An underwater cave. Two hot tubs. I gotta stop. Looking at it is making my head explode.

  “I can’t wait to get in there,” a girl said from behind me.

  I turned around and smiled. It was automatic. Something about the girl made my smile muscles start working. She was just so cute. She had blond hair that looked really soft. And she had eyebrows that got kind of pointy in the middle. And one of those cute noses that tilts up. She was very cute, okay?

  I realized I’d been so busy thinking about how cute she was, that I hadn’t responded to what she’d said. Which is a complete Frank move. I have no problem talking to girls.

  “Me too,” I answered. “I hope we get some swimming time tonight.”

  She told me her name was Brynn Fulgham. I told her my name was Joe Carr. Since Frank and I were supposed to have been adopted by different families, we had different last names as part of our cover stories.

  Ripley came up to us with glasses of champagne on a tray. “Take one,” she told us. “We decided we should start things off with a toast. It’s just sparkling cider.” She smiled. “No underage drinking on TV, right?”

  Brynn and I moved closer to the others. “She seems pretty cool,” Brynn said softly as Ripley continued passing around the cider. “I’d heard she was—”

  “Pretty much of a witch?” I finished for her.

  “Yeah,” Brynn admitted.

  “Guess we’ll have to decide for ourselves what everyone is like,” I said. I glanced around at all the other contestants. Was one of them really capable of murder?

  “So what exactly shall we toast to?” Ripley called when she’d handed out the last glass.

  “To crushing you losers!” James yelled.

  “To all our loyal viewers!” cried Kit. Not that we actually had any loyal viewers yet.

  “To the contest not involving anything that is still wiggling!” Brynn tossed out.

  “To it not having to do with small spaces!” added Mikey. “I hate small spaces.”

  “Big surprise,” James muttered.

  “To the whole contest being math questions!” Rosemary yelled.

  “To anything that doesn’t involve spiders,” Bobby T contributed. “Especially spiders with hairy legs.”

  “To living through whatever it is,” exclaimed Ripley.

  Her words silenced the group.

  “To living through whatever it is,” everyone repeated.

  Well, everyone except freaky Silent Girl.

  The List

  “So what do you think of Ripley Lansing?” Olivia Gavener asked softly. She’d caught up to me on the way to the dining room for breakfast.

  “I haven’t had time to think much about anybody here yet,” I answered. It was true. “She seemed pretty nice last night.”

  “Hmmm,” was all Olivia said in response. She took a seat next to Wilson and started to whisper to him. It was clear she was finished talking to me, so I picked a spot with a good view of the grounds. I could just see the edge of the tennis courts in the distance. I definitely wanted the chance to try them out. Except I was here to work.

  I studied the people who had gathered at the table so far—without being too obvious about it. They were all possible suspects. If Ripley won the money, that meant they lost it.

  Olivia and Wilson were still whispering. He seemed pretty happy about it.

  Hal Sheen, one of my roommates, was sketching in a notebook. I figured he was working out some element of the planet L-62, a planet he was creating step by step. He’d told me a little about it last night. For every decision—such as not having carbon-based life forms—there are millions of consequences.

  He planned to use the planet as the setting for a video game. But he couldn’t even start plotting it out until he’d figured out every detail of L-62.

  Kit and Bobby T were sitting on my left. Everybody else was still upstairs.

  “What’s up with you guys?” I asked. “Do either of you think you’ve figured out what we’re going to be doing here?” That had been pretty much the only topic of the barbecue.

  “I don’t even care,” Bobby T told me. His eyebrows were blue too. I hadn’t noticed that before. “My fans are drooling for my next entry. The whole mystery of it all is making them crazy. I almost got my highest number of hits ever. And you know what that means. Ka-ching. Ka-ching.”

  “So, Bobby, when the movie option on your blog gets renewed, ’cause I’m
sure it will, do you think I could play myself?” Kit asked. “I know no one else could. They aren’t actors,” she added quickly.

  “Ripley was in that Peach Fizz soda commercial,” Bobby T reminded her.

  “That. That’s not acting. That’s standing around being famous for being rich and having famous parents.” Kit gave a flip of her hand. “Anyway, what do you think? About me playing me?”

  “Hollywood likes names, princess,” Bobby T told her. “I think they’d be a lot more interested in having Ripley playing Ripley.”

  “But I’m going to have a name after the show’s over,” Kit protested. Then she seemed to realize she wasn’t getting anywhere. “Maybe you could just mention me in the blog and that I’m looking for an agent.”

  “Advertising on blogs costs money,” Bobby T answered.

  “Like you need cash,” muttered Kit. She turned to Mary, who’d sat down on her other side.

  “I have a valuable product,” Bobby T explained to me. “It loses value if I give it away for free.”

  A waiter showed up and started pouring juice.

  “Is there coffee?” Kit asked.

  I took the interruption as an opportunity to get out of the conversation with her and Bobby T and scanned the table again. Pretty much everyone had arrived. Joe was sitting next to Brynn, and he looked pretty happy about it.

  “Here comes the big cheese,” Mikey said from my right.

  I followed his gaze and saw Veronica striding into the room. She wore a deep red suit today with matching shoes. Mom had a suit kind of like it that she called her “power suit.” She wore it to meetings when she wanted to get more money for the reference section of the library.

  But Veronica’s stopped a lot higher than Mom’s did. And when Mom wore the suit, she wore shoes with two-inch heels. Veronica’s had to be double that, and the heels were thin as pencils.

  “I hope everyone slept well,” Veronica called out as she sat down at the head of the table. She didn’t actually sound like she cared one way or the other.

  “I did,” James answered. He strolled into the dining room in cutoff sweat pants and a faded T-shirt. I figured he’d slept in them. He definitely hadn’t bothered to brush his hair. Everyone else had gotten dressed for the day.

  Veronica nodded toward the only empty seat. “You’ll be glad you did. In a little while, you’ll have your first competition.” I could almost feel a current of electricity passing from person to person when she said that.

  “But first, I think it’s time to explain exactly what kind of show you’re on,” Veronica continued. “It’s called Deprivation House.”

  “Deprivation. Do you even know what that word means?” James asked Ripley. “It means not having everything you want whenever you want it.”

  Ripley kept her face perfectly blank.

  “Very good, James. I wasn’t sure if you had attended school,” Veronica said. “The purpose of Deprivation House is to test how well you can live without luxuries.” She gestured to the pool—and a team of workers appeared. Within seconds, they began to drain it. The waterfalls shut off, leaving only a trickle.

  Joe made a sound that I can only describe as a whimper. And he thought he was going to win a million.

  “Every day, perhaps even multiple times a day, a luxury will be taken away,” Veronica continued. “The screening room, billiards room, and bowling alley were sealed last night.”

  “Like I’m going to miss something I never had,” Mikey murmured.

  “There will be several competitions during the week. The winner of a competition will get to choose the luxury that is eliminated next.” Veronica held out her hand, and a man with a scruffy ’stache began handing out sheets of thick, cream-colored paper.

  “Poor kids, having to lounge around an empty pool,” he said under his breath.

  “And who are you?” Ripley asked sharply. “I like to know people’s names,” she added much more softly.

  “That’s Leo. He’s one of the production assistants,” Veronica answered for him. “He’s passing out the list of deprivations you’ll be able to choose from if you’re a winner.”

  “Oh, man, junk food is on this list,” Mikey whispered. “I need my cheese puffs.”

  “I wish peanuts were on here,” Bobby T said. “I’m allergic to peanuts. Are there any peanuts in any of that stuff?” he asked as waiters began bringing in platters of food. “Even food made in factories where they make food that has peanuts in it?”

  “We’re aware of your allergy, Bobby. I’ve given the information to every crew and staff member. You have nothing to worry about,” Veronica told him.

  “Okay, but in case someone messes up, I always have epinephrine on me. If I have an allergic reaction, you’ve got to pull it out and give me a shot,” he told everyone loudly. “There won’t be time to get a doctor. Are you listening, people? I’ll die if I don’t get the shot.”

  “Got it,” I assured him. Then I skimmed through the list of possible deprivations. Cable TV. All TV. iPods. Washing machine. Grooming products.

  “I cannot survive without the Internet,” Bobby T protested.

  “Then you’ll have to try very hard to win all the competitions,” Veronica answered. “Remember, if you win, you get to choose the next deprivation. Of course, I’ll get to choose some too. But winning is going to help you keep what’s most important to you the longest.”

  Veronica smiled. I’d started having the feeling that she enjoyed making us squirm. “Of course, if any of you becomes too uncomfortable, you can always leave the house—and the contest. In fact, there is even a good-bye bonus of fifty thousand dollars for the first person who voluntarily drops out. Forty thousand for the second. Thirty thousand for the third. Twenty thousand for the fourth. Ten thousand for the fifth. After that, anyone is still free to leave, but there will be no money given.”

  “Somebody should jump on that,” James mumbled, his mouth full of waffle. “Since I’m winning the mil.”

  “Nobody’s going to take fifty thousand when we’re competing for a million,” Olivia said. There were nods of agreement all around the table.

  “We’ll see how you feel once you’re a little more uncomfortable,” Veronica said. “Living without luxuries could be very difficult for some of you.” Her eyes drifted to Ripley.

  Ripley’s lips tightened, but only for a second.

  “By the way, this is the last meal that will be prepared and served for you,” Veronica added. “You’ll have to do your own cooking and cleaning. Unless you want to starve or live in filth.”

  “How do you decide who gets booted?” Mikey asked.

  “Excellent question,” Veronica answered. “Each week, a panel of three judges and I will review the tapes from the house cameras. I will give the reports of what I have seen. Then we will decide who has handled their deprivation the worst. That person will then be told, ‘You have been deprived of the chance to win one million dollars.’”

  “Great line,” Kit said. “As long as I don’t have to hear it said to me.”

  Veronica finished her juice. She hadn’t taken any food. “Your time is your own until three. Then I expect you to meet me in the great room upstairs”—she smiled wide—“in your bathing suits.”

  • • •

  “Why bathing suits?” Wilson asked when we were all gathered in the massive living room—more like a loft—that afternoon. “The pool’s been drained.”

  “Gotta win,” Bobby T was muttering to himself as he paced back and forth behind one of several couches. “No Internet, no blog, no blog, no option renewal. Gotta win.”

  “Maybe they just want to give our audience something pretty to look at,” Kit answered, posing for the closest camera.

  Mary, the home-schooled girl, didn’t seem to want to be looked at by anybody. She had on a one-piece bathing suit, the kind with a flouncy skirt. And she had a big towel wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

  “Guys, be extra careful. Males account
for nearly eighty percent of drowning deaths,” Rosemary informed us.

  Whatever it was we were going to do, I wished we would just go ahead and do it. I hated waiting around. I checked the clock. It was 3:10. Veronica was late.

  Joe didn’t seem to mind. He and Brynn were hanging out again. She was laughing at something he’d said. Which doesn’t necessarily say much for her sense of humor.

  “Hello, everyone.” Veronica walked into the room, high heels click-clacking on the polished wooden floor. She’d added a tiny apron to her suit and had on a pair of rubber gloves. “How many of you have to do the dishes at home?”

  About half the hands went up—including Joe’s and mine.

  “Well, today everyone’s going to get a chance. Without the luxury of fancy dishwashers. And whoever gets the most dishes sparkling clean in fifteen minutes wins today’s contest,” Veronica announced.

  That was it? Washing dishes?

  “There’s got to be a catch,” Joe said. “Nothing’s ever that basic on a reality show.”

  “Follow me, and I’ll show you your work space,” Veronica said in reply.

  I managed to snag Joe as we all trooped downstairs. “Did you notice that finally there’s a girl who recognizes the hotter, more happenin’ Hardy when she sees him?” he asked, after he’d made sure no one could overhear us. “I don’t care what they deprive us of, as long as I can keep Brynn.”

  “Can you focus?” I asked. “Our mission here isn’t for you to get a girlfriend.”

  Joe grinned. “No, that’s Wilson’s mission for himself. He figured if he was actually living in a house with girls all day, every day, he’d have to find looove. And I saw that Olivia girl whispering to him about some—”

  “What I meant by focus was, have you picked up any useful intel?” I interrupted.

  “Not yet. Except Kit seems really jealous of Ripley and really needs money to stay in L.A. and keep doing the acting thing,” Joe answered.

  “I got that too. And not much else yet.” We caught up to the others as Veronica led the way outside.

  “No,” Joe burst out when he saw the pool.

  What they’d done to it was horrible. It had been refilled with . . . slime is the only word for it. Gray, oily, somewhat sudsy goop.