by Joanna Wiebe
I look at Ben.
He turns away.
“Now,” Dia continues, “traditionally, your one and only chance of leaving Wormwood Island alive has been as valedictorian. But ten of you—the Lucky Ten—are going to wake up to a different environment tomorrow.”
We’re all ears.
“This is the first part of the surprise. Ready? Listen closely.” Dia temples his hands under his chin. “Ten students are going home for good tomorrow.”
One massive gasp fills the room.
Pilot gets up, swears, mumbles that I’d better not be going home, and drags his chair away from me. Typical Pilot, bailing when he thinks he might not get what he wants.
“Tonight, while you sleep,” Dia continues, though I’m not sure anyone can hear him over the exclamations of hope clouding our heads, “my team will be transporting the Lucky Ten from this island to a spectacular location. It will be your new home. And you won’t find out if you’re one of the lucky ones until you wake up.”
Normal people fantasize about a lottery win.
This is our equivalent.
“That’s not all,” Dia says. “I’ve got one more surprise up my sleeve.”
twelve
SECOND CHANCES
EVERYONE IS EATING OUT OF DIA’S HAND. BEFORE, WE might have feared him, objectified him, or just put up with him; now, with remarkable skill, he’s become a hero, mercifully setting ten prisoners free. Even Ben has his beautiful gaze fixed earnestly on Dia.
Watching Ben long to be part of the Lucky Ten—even though he must know, as I know, that he’s not on their list—breaks my heart. Harper could be on the list; Jack could be. But neither Dia nor Mephisto would let Ben go. They’ve got six months left to use him as the leverage they need to keep Dr. Zin as close to sober as he can get. Ben has no chance of waking to find himself at a new home. None. He knows that. But you could never tell it by the look on his face.
“Now for the second surprise,” Dia says. “All years are competing tomorrow, as you know, but instead of simply making your way onto a short list, we’ve got a much bigger prize in store.”
Dia tips back and forth on the heels of his Converse shoes and smiles like he’s got the most delicious secret. A girl shifts in her chair, making it squeal, and thirty kids glare, smack at her, tell her to shut up. It’s like no one has breathed since the moment Dia started talking. I can’t imagine what the prize could be. Well, I can imagine, but I’m scared to hope.
“There will be four winners. One from each grade. Would you like to know what they’ll win?” As if overwhelmed by good news, everyone stays quiet. “The Scrutiny will be a foot race of sorts. And the first freshman, sophomore, junior, and senior to return to campus will get…”
Dia’s fingers prance under his chin, and he smiles like the charming little devil he is. The Seven Sinning Sisters are smiling as well, enchantingly. I almost forget I’m dealing with malevolence personified.
“Please tell us!” a sophomore cries out, unable to take the anticipation any longer.
A smiling Dia finishes his speech with such impressiveness, I almost forgive him for embarrassing me moments ago.
“The winners will get to ask me for anything—anything—they want for themselves.”
Anything?
“Anything,” he repeats, as if reading my mind.
The wheels in my mind start turning in a new direction. And that turns my head in a new direction: straight at Ben, who’s looking at me. I’ve got two thoughts: one, you’d better win this, Ben; two, I wish you’d listened to me and at least prepared for the Scrutiny.
A third thought struggles for my attention: What does Hiltop think about Dia handing out new lives like they’re candy? Villicus kept tight reins on new lives. Hiltop’s expression is as blank as ever.
“Yes, each victor can ask me for one thing you want for yourself.” Dia purses his lips and beams again, loving these revelations. “Ask, and you will get it. Instantly. All you have to do is cross the finish line before your classmates. You’ve each got a one in fifty chance of winning life tomorrow.”
THE NIGHT SKY is gray with swirling snowflakes as the crowd flows out of the library and thins. Dia has called all the Guardians for a pre-Scrutiny meeting, leaving the rest of us to marvel at this turn of events. We head back to the dorms under the pretense of getting ready for tomorrow’s Scrutiny, but in actuality, most of us will close our eyes and dream of what it would be like to wake and know we’ve been selected as one of the Lucky Ten. When that fantasy wears itself out, a more likely one will replace it: win the Scrutiny, and ask Dia to give you the reward a valedictorian gets.
Molly and I walk through the quad together. Ben is quick to catch up with us, but he’s smart enough to stay on Molly’s other side, not to venture too close to me. Sure, he might be weirded out by Dia, but I’m still angry with him about his moronic decision to die.
“Pretty good news, hey, Ben?” she asks him. I stare ahead.
“It’s almost too good to be true,” he says. Which annoys me. Was Ben always so doomsday about everything?
Molly notices me tense up. “There’s just so much to want,” she says, clapping her hands together. “I mean, there’s the obvious one: a second life—new name, cash money, all that jazz. But for anyone who stands a chance of winning the Big V, or, hell, for anyone who doesn’t actually want to live again, the sky’s the limit.”
“What do you mean?” Ben asks.
“You could ask for a house made entirely of marshmallows. I mean, that’d be a waste. But kinduv cool.” She whirls to grin at us and walks backward. Ben and I are now side by side. “What would you ask for, Ben?—other than a second life.”
“Oh, Ben wouldn’t ask for a second life,” I say.
“I’m not sure,” he says. “Maybe to free my dad.”
“Well, that’s noble,” Molly says, filling her cheeks with air and pushing it out. “Boring but noble.”
He half smiles. “You want something more exciting?”
I’m not sure who he’s talking to.
“Before I fall asleep standing up, yes,” Molly laughs. “Please. Dear God, please.”
“Okay. I’d ask for a month-long trip to Bora Bora. With a hundred thousand bucks to spend.”
“Yawn.”
“That’s not good enough for you, Mol?” His eyes shine. “A year in Bangkok. With a million bucks…in…in gambling winnings. Without the taxes paid on them—because tax evasion is badass, right? And—hold on, what’s that drink that made people hallucinate—oh, the Green Fairy. Lots of that. And, like, six girls from rap videos.”
“I will only accept that response if you would actually drink the absinthe.”
Ben shrugs.
“I’ll take that as a no,” she says and turns to me. “Outdo him.”
“Outdo him?” I repeat. “What would I do, what would I do…?” I’m not in the mood to play, but I don’t want to put a damper on the lightened mood Molly’s worked hard to create. “Naturally, I would free Pilot.”
She laughs, and even Ben chuckles a little.
As she always does when the three of us get close to the dorms and the say-good-night-and-kiss part steps out from the shadows to stare awkwardly at us, Molly dashes ahead even though I have no intention of kissing Ben tonight. “Don’t stay out too late! The Scrutiny starts at eight tomorrow morning.” She waves to Ben and wishes him luck—for tomorrow or tonight, I can’t be sure—before darting away.
Ben and I are left standing in the dim glow of a sconce outside the boys’ dorm. His stare is fixed on the growing mounds of snow at his feet. Snow dusts his hair and settles on his shoulders.
“Did you get my notes?” he asks me.
“You know I did.”
He looks up sharply. “Well, gee, Anne, I’m really sorry I can’t give you what you want the way Dia Voletto could.”
“Are you mocking me?” I snap.
“Are you into him?”
“Have you be
en drinking from the Crazy Fountain?”
“For someone who doesn’t like secrets, you keep a lot of them.”
“Dia is not a secret, psycho—”
“Name-calling. Nice.”
“He’s my mentor. I don’t know what he was doing in there. Maybe trying to get a rise out of me, make me embarrass myself. I dunno. It’s hard to figure out the devil. Scratch that—it’s hard to figure out anyone.”
“I see the way he looks at you. And I know how much you love your Saturday sessions.”
“Why the hell are we even talking about this? You know what the real problem is. It’s you. It’s your stupid plan to be together in death, which, by the way, did sound completely psycho when you brought it up. Certifiably nuts.”
His chest is puffed, like he’s holding his breath. “Cheating death is just cheating.”
“Don’t play pious! I saw you in there tonight. I saw your face. Dia gave you hope. Remember hope? You told me once it’s all we have, and then you took it away from me.”
“I’ve got no hope!” he bellows out of the blue.
A handful of students stare our way. So he tugs me around the side of the dorm and down to the icy shore. I shake him off me.
“Have you ever thought that maybe it wasn’t your time to die yet, Ben?”
“Only a million times. But that’s just vanity.”
“Don’t cop out. Maybe you were supposed to go through that accident. And I was supposed to see you at our funeral home. And we were supposed to reconnect here. And this conversation was supposed to be the turning point in our relationship. And you were supposed to win a new life. And I was supposed to join you later in the flesh, not in the afterlife.”
“That’s a lot of steps,” he says. “Complicated steps.”
“No one ever won a game of chess in a simple move.” I wait for him to look at me. “You’ve been on this island for five years. Did you participate in any Scrutiny challenges at all?”
“Of course not. I was never a proper student here. Not until this year.”
“But Garnet did.”
“She was in three—as a sophomore, a junior, and a senior. She won in her junior year.” He considers my line of thought. “I guess I can work with what she told me about those.”
I close my eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“That’s just,” I slowly open my eyes and have to blink back the tears, “the best thing you’ve ever said to me.”
He smiles and pulls me into his arms. “I’m sorry I didn’t try.”
“As long as you try now. Tomorrow.”
“I will. I promise.”
“Listen, Dia kept looking at me when he said to use our PTs,” I confess, hoping it will help him. “So try using your PT and, if that doesn’t work, try using mine. It’s a long shot, but you never know.”
“Look closer,” Ben says.
“Yes. Read into everything tomorrow. Accept nothing at face value.”
“Thank you.” He kisses my nose. “See you in the morning?”
“In the quad. Bright and early.”
With the purest hope I’ve felt in a while, I sneak into our room to find Molly is asleep. As I tuck myself under the covers, I think of all the questions I’ll ask Teddy if he’s still here tomorrow. And I think of the future Ben and I could actually have if he wins the challenge. I fall asleep thinking of Ben and hoping, as I always do, that I won’t wake to Molly’s screams.
I don’t wake to screams. Not hers, not mine, not any.
No, I wake slowly, leisurely. Not to the beeping of an alarm. I wake in a deep, cushiony bed with my head on the softest pillow known to man and a duvet wrapped around me. It’s so comfortable, I want to sleep the day away in it…
…until I realize I’m supposed to be in the quad for the Scrutiny challenge.
What time is it? Why didn’t Molly wake me?
Where the hell am I?
I pop up in bed. The room is violet—it looks so much like my Cania Christy dorm—but it’s different. Larger. More luxurious.
I’m not in my dorm room. My old bed and friendly roommate are nowhere to be seen.
I don’t know where I am. It’s nice, though. Too nice.
A thought I hadn’t even fathomed rushes at me, flattening me against the pillowtop mattress.
I am one of the Lucky Ten.
thirteen
THE LUCKY TEN
WHEN BAD THINGS HAPPEN, YOU ALMOST ALWAYS ASK, Why me? When good things happen, you’re just supposed to accept them.
Being selected as one of the Lucky Ten is definitely a good thing. The best thing. It means I’m free. I’m alive again. I can go home to my dad.
But I can’t help wondering why I was selected. Of all people, why me? I’ve only been at Cania four months, and I’ve managed, in that time, to cause nothing but trouble for the school and its leadership. Is this Dia’s way of thanking me for Mephisto’s removal as headmaster? Or is he so pleased with our mentoring sessions that he wants me to go be an artist in the real world? But we haven’t even finished his portrait yet! And he certainly hasn’t suggested that I’m ready to paint without coaching.
How could I possibly have qualified to be one of the Lucky Ten?
I sink into the bed. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt.
I stare up at the white coffered ceiling with its pale purple accents. It’s almost exactly like the ceiling of my dorm, but it’s vaster and more detailed, with sparkling chandeliers that catch the sunlight through a long, cream-colored wall of four dormer windows.
I inch up. Look around.
White desk. Velvety drapes. Cream-patterned cushions on the window benches. Smaller lamps that look like chandeliers. Amateurish paintings in gold frames.
The aroma of breakfast sausages and fried potatoes hangs in the air, telling me I’m somewhere new, somewhere wonderful. Just as Dia promised for the Lucky Ten.
A familiar pattern catches my eye: a Hermès scarf draped over a lamp on the other side of the room.
“Just like Harper had,” I whisper and flop back in bed.
Harper told me once that she’d decorated our dorm room to look exactly like her bedroom back in Texas. Did Dia give me a new home that looks like Harper’s? Why would he do that?
Why am I here?
Did Dia somehow find out that Teddy’s a celestial secret agent? Did he connect the dots between me and Teddy? Does the underworld now see me as a threat? Would they actually see me, a comatose artist, as a threat, and send me away? I can’t believe that.
Like I’ve opened Pandora’s box, more questions explode in my mind. Hard ones. And easy, obvious ones. Like, what time is it? The sun is shining through the windows. Could be ten or eleven. Did I really sleep until ten? That’s not my style. Or did I wake late because Dia’s team was transporting me here and it took a while? And where the hell is here? And, really, truly, how did I qualify for this? If Dia suspected I was up to something, would he just casually ship me off the island? Seems awfully un-demon-like.
I force myself to sit up again.
I must be one of the lucky ones.
It’d be the first time in my life. Feels too impossible to believe.
But it’s obvious I’m in a new home, as Dia promised.
But why this home? Why a room like Harper’s?
I lie back again, as if compelled by the coziness of this king-sized bed, as if the only answer is to sleep. It’s hard to keep my eyelids open.
“Look closer,” I tell myself.
I have a brand-new thought: I’m not one of the Lucky Ten. This is part of the Scrutiny challenge.
My eyes pop open. I flip the covers off.
“There is no Lucky Ten.”
Maybe that whole Lucky Ten business was just a red herring, a way to keep us from paying attention to the fact that we were each waking in a room that’s…that’s actually part of the challenge. Could it be? Scrutiny challenges are puzzles, games—maybe mind games?
Nothing has felt right until now.
If there is no Lucky Ten, that means I’m in the Scrutiny challenge. I’m in a foot race. And the clock’s ticking.
“K, so, if this is a challenge, what do I have to do to beat it?”
We wouldn’t all wake in a room like Harper’s Texas bedroom. Everybody must have woken in their own version of this. Which means this room is significant to me somehow. Figuring this out has got to be part of it.
“The room’s not real,” I whisper. “It’s just in my head.”
Surely Dia and his team wouldn’t construct 200 distinct rooms—like movie sets—for 200 students. Unless they aren’t making a Cania College at all; unless I’m in the village now. I slowly pull myself out of bed and, with my feet sinking into the area rug, walk to the windows, thinking I’ll see Wormwood Island. But that’s not what I see at all.
“Horse stables.”
Stables, and not an evergreen-covered hillside in sight.
I go to the door. It opens easily. I expected it to be sealed, to be fake. But a long hallway outside it runs toward an ornate staircase in a house that’s Texas-sized. I close the door.
“So I’m not on Wormwood Island,” I say, returning to the bed, which doesn’t seem to want to let me leave it. I curl up under the duvet. “And this room—hell, this house—could be Harper’s.”
Those words sink in as my eyes close.
This house could be Harper’s.
I sit up. Of course it’s Harper’s! I’m in Harper’s house. But it’s only in my head.
Unless I am one of the Lucky Ten.
“God, Anne, make up your mind,” I mutter at myself. I drum my fingertips on the duvet cover. “Okay, if I’m one of the Lucky Ten—if that shit’s real—then it won’t hurt a bit for me to sit here and imagine that this might actually be part of the Scrutiny. Because I’ve got nothing but time if I’m free of Wormwood Island and in a new house. But! If the Lucky Ten is a red herring, then I’ve gotta figure out this challenge immediately.”
The bed pulls me back. When’s the last time I felt this tired, this slothful? I don’t even have the energy to figure out what could be a critical challenge.
