Bubble World

by Carol Snow

  He stood up and, miraculously, held out his hand. “Let me show you the rest of the ship.”

  Rooms fanned off from the atrium like petals on a flower. There was a bowling alley, a dining room, an exercise studio, and a movie theater with a special snack alcove.

  Still holding her hand, Chase led Freesia to the glass elevator. A sound system played a piano track of “Island Girl.” Freesia’s stomach lurched as the elevator began its ascent. The second- and third-floor hallways ran like railed racetracks around the vast open space.

  “My recording studio is on the second floor,” he said as they passed it. “Also some guest rooms. And on the top deck, next to the helipad, I’ve got a lazy river that surrounds a dance floor. I’ll show it to you after this.”

  The elevator stopped on three, and they got out.

  “This is basically where I live,” Chase said. “My bedroom’s here, and my game room and sauna.”

  He led her down the hall. Finally, he stopped. “Here’s the room I most want you to see.”

  He dropped her hand (Todd dammit!), turned the knob, and pushed open the door. “After you.”

  Freesia entered the room, not knowing what to expect, but definitely anticipating something better than the borrifying office that lay ahead. It had gray walls, gray carpet, a big white desk, a black guest chair, a black leather couch, and framed photographs of woodsy wildlife: raccoons, bears, deer.

  She was trying to think of something nice to say when she realized that there was something far stranger than the furniture in this room. Behind the big desk was a big window. But the window didn’t offer an ocean view; instead, it looked out on a vast parking lot similar to the one outside that odious mall in Arizona.

  “I don’t understand how—” Freesia turned to face Chase Bennett. And screamed.

  Chase Bennett was gone. In his place stood a skinny middle-aged man with thin, sandy hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a sharp nose.

  “Chill out,” he said.

  “Who are you?”

  “Todd Piloski, founder and CEO of Bubble World Enterprises. Otherwise known as the man who made everything good and happy in your life possible.”

  “But … where are we?”

  “You’re where you’ve always been. In your bubblepod in Arizona. I’m in my office in Silicon Valley. Thanks to huge advances in virtual reality achieved by my educational program, it looks and feels like we are in the same room. Awesome, yes?”

  He settled himself at the big desk, his back to the window, and motioned to the black guest chair. “Sit.”

  Freesia lowered herself slowly, nervously, as if someone might pull the chair out from under her. “But … where is Chase?”

  “I dunno. Vegas, maybe? I licensed his appearance as well as the rights to a good chunk of his back catalog, but his involvement pretty much ends there. Guys in product development have been working on this ship and Chase’s avatar for the past year. That was me taking the avatar for a spin. I even wrote the song myself. Not bad, I thought.”

  “But … but…” Not only hadn’t Freesia spent the past hour talking to the real Chase Bennett, she’d been holding hands with this creature. Even at a virtual level, that was odious.

  “I didn’t bring you here to talk about Chase Bennett,” he said. “I brought you here to talk about Francine Somers.”

  Freesia stiffened. “I don’t like being called by that name.”

  Todd opened a drawer and pulled something out. “Have a look.” He reached over the desk and handed her a mirror.

  “No!” She squeezed her eyes shut, but not before she’d gotten a good look at her bumpy skin, frizzy hair, and bushy eyebrows.

  She turned the mirror facedown on her lap, opened her eyes, and glanced down at her black tee and stretch pants.

  “Was it your mother’s idea?” he asked. “Send you back without the memory blocker so you could report from the inside, give her new material for her vlog?”

  “No!”

  “Your father’s, then?”

  “Of course not. He gave me the medicine and told me to take it. But I flushed it down the toilet. I couldn’t stand the idea of erasing everything I knew, everything I’d learned. Though now … maybe I should have. But it doesn’t matter. Agalinas is my home. I don’t want to be anyplace else. So please—just let me go back.”

  Todd laced his fingers in front of him on the desk and held her eyes. “You told.”

  Freesia stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  “Jelissa. At the coffee shop. You couldn’t wait to spill everything. Spread the news about the so-called real world. Don’t you know that we can see you? Hear you? That everything you do is recorded and stored on our hard drive?”

  Freesia shivered. “But my parents said you only meant for the memory blocker to knock out a few days.”

  “That’s what I told them. They believed it because they wanted to. And yet they signed the medical release forms. All the parents did. They all agreed to let their children be treated by the Bubble World staff doctor, who just happens to be on the payroll of a very large pharmaceutical firm that wanted to research memory blockers.”

  “Why does it matter whether we know about the outside world? Everyone would want to stay in Agalinas anyway.”

  He shook his head so energetically that his wire-rimmed glasses slid down his pointy nose. He didn’t bother pushing them back up. “Bubble World can only be the utopia I envisioned if students believe it is the only world. I had to cleanse you of all earlier associations and beliefs. The two worlds must be kept separate. Always.”

  “But why?”

  He cleared his throat. “Your parents—in fact, everybody’s parents—believe that you have been receiving more of a, shall we say, traditional education.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They think you are learning stuff.”

  “Like?”

  “American government. Calculus. Eighteenth-century British literature. All those languages.” He rolled his eyes.

  “But that’s so borrifying!”

  “Exactly! The program started out with all that drivel. It was the only way to sell it to parents. A team of PhDs created lesson plans. There were lectures and tests and blah, blah, blah. And everyone was miserable, as I knew they would be. You know why? Because kids don’t need curriculums. They need time and space and freedom. That’s the only way they can truly create and innovate.” His face was turning red. “You know why I dropped out of Harvard after one year?”

  “Because it was borrifying?”

  “Yes!” He paused. “No. Because the traditional educational system did not allow me to follow my bliss. If I’d spent three more years in the education mill, do you think I would have had the vision to create Cranky Hamsters? Or the Phonics are Phun educational software programs, preschool through third grade? Or Bubble World?”

  Freesia shook her head.

  “Exactly. In Bubble World, you are free to experiment and create. To follow your bliss. You learn by doing and being, not by reading boring textbooks. Example: what do you like to do in your free time?”

  “I really like to shop,” Freesia said.

  “Anything else?”

  She considered. “I enjoy experimenting with eyeliner.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” Todd said.

  Freesia nodded, even though she had no idea what he was talking about.

  “I was never in this for the money,” Todd said. “But as it turns out, Bubble World has made me a small fortune, with the potential of a large fortune in sight. If my customers—by which I mean the parents—discover that their children are receiving a less traditional education than the promotional materials perhaps led them to believe, the party will be over—for you, for me … and for everyone in Bubble World.”

  “I won’t tell anyone,” Freesia promised.

  “No. You won’t.” Todd leaned back in his chair. “You’ve already been penalized for your misbehavior. And if you say one mo
re peep about any of this to anyone, your account will be terminated.”

  “Does this mean I won’t get to see the lazy river and the dance floor on the upper deck? Because if you’d just give me five more minutes to take the ittiest peek—”

  Todd Piloski scowled at a spot on the wall behind her. “Reset,” he said.

  And everything went black.

  16

  The ick news: She didn’t get to float in Chase Bennett’s lazy river.

  The wick news: She didn’t get sent back to her bubblepod in Arizona.

  Okay, technically she was in the pod. Now and always. But it didn’t look like the bubblepod. It looked like Agalinas. Like … home! Freesia was back in the backyard of her pretty hillside house in Avalon. There was her stone walkway! There was her butterfly garden! There were her flowers and her grass and—

  Oh, smack! The pool was gone. The spa and waterslide, too. Ruining her yacht tour wasn’t enough of a penalty; Todd Piloski had messed with her upgrades.

  Did that mean the Chase Bennett poster had been removed? Freesia yanked open the back door. She scampered up the stairs to her bedroom and … no! How could he do that to her? Not only was the poster gone, so were her pink lounger and puffy pillows and fluffy rug … and her balcony! What was once a set of French doors was now a not-that-big window, sealed shut. (The view was still killer.)

  But wait. If her balcony was gone …

  “Ashley? Jennifer?”

  There were no peacocks in the bedroom. There were no peacocks in the bathroom. There were no peacocks in the giganto walk-in closet. And even that wasn’t the worst of it.

  “Oh my Todd! What happened to all my clothes?”

  The gold mini fridge and pink chenille sofa were still there, but Freesia’s dresses and skirts and pants and blouses and shoes and purses were all gone. This was too much. Too cruel. So utterly un-utter.

  “I’m sorry!” Freesia called out, hoping Todd would hear. “I’ll never do it again!”

  She peered back into the yawning emptiness of her closet, relieved to see her slim, pretty image gazing back from the mirror at the far end.

  “Freesia? Is something wrong?”

  Angel stood in her doorway, holding …

  “Is that Yow?”

  Freesia reached for the fluffy white kitten. Angel held him tighter. He snuggled under her chin and began to purr. “This is Mischief. Mummy said he’s mine.”

  “But I had a cat that looked just like that.”

  “Maybe they’re brothers.” Angel nuzzled the kitten. “I like your dress.”

  Freesia was still wearing the red sundress and white heels. Angel had on a silver T-shirt and a fluffy pink skirt just this side of a tutu. Angel was several inches shorter than Freesia, with no curves at all. None of her clothes would fit—which was probably just as well. Not even Freesia, with her flawless figure, could pull off sparkly tween wear, but she needed a new wardrobe, and she needed it fast.

  “Want to go shopping with me, Angel?”

  “Oh, yes, please!”

  Freesia grabbed her bubble from its charger on her nightstand and headed for her closet to find a handbag. And then remembered that she didn’t have any.

  “Um, Angel—do you have a bag I can borrow? Something not pink? Or not purple? Preferably without any ballerina designs?”

  “Of course!” She turned to go.

  “I can hold Mischief until you come back.” Freesia reached for the cat.

  Angel bit her lip. “He gets nervous around anyone but me.”

  “I have a feeling he’ll like me.” Freesia took a step closer.

  Angel peeled the cat off her chest and handed him over to her sister, but as soon as the swap was made, the cat yowled and scratched and tumbled to the ground. He crouched low and growled at Freesia.

  “Ow!” Her arm was bleeding.

  “You can’t blame him. Mischief is just a baby.” Angel picked up the cat, tucked him under her chin, and trotted off to her room.

  Freesia rinsed her stinging, bloodied arm in the sink. Her eyes stung as well, but she blinked away her tears, and then she was fine. When she came out of the bathroom, Angel was waiting with a silver purse encrusted with puffy pink bunny stickers.

  “That’s … that’s…”

  “It’s vicious, I know!” Angel opened the purse so Freesia could place the bubble inside.

  Freesia swallowed hard and nodded. What choice did she have?

  * * *

  Freesia’s itty car wouldn’t start, so they walked down the hill to Front Street. Chase Bennett’s yacht was gone. Had it sailed away, or had the illusion somehow been erased from the collective memory? She didn’t dare ask. If Todd wasn’t watching her, one of his minions would be.

  “What day is this?” Freesia asked Angel suddenly.

  “Sunday.”

  Freesia exhaled. For once, something was as it should be. Besides, Sunday was the day when her account would be refreshed. Mummy and Daddy would have added more shells to reward her for going to cultural immersion and music class.

  The Dressy Dress Shoppe was empty except for the two salesgirls, with their bobbed hair, striped tops, and aloof manner. Freesia ignored them and went straight to the racks. Two black dresses, a white miniskirt, a yellow sundress, a blue blouse, a gray tank top, denim shorts … Freesia piled her arms with clothes until one of the salesgirls took them off to a dressing room. Then she grabbed some more things.

  Angel lingered at the chiffon rack, fingering the filmy dresses, occasionally pulling one off the rack and holding it up to the light. One in particular, pale green with silver threads, especially entranced her. She held it against her slim body, a tiny smile on her face.

  “Try it on,” Freesia urged, even though she knew Angel had no shells of her own. Even though she knew Angel wasn’t real.

  “Truly?” Angel said, eyes bright.

  “Truly.”

  In the dressing room, Freesia and Angel sipped watermelon mocktinis as their mirror images modeled the clothes.

  Freesia sighed. “It’s so hard to choose. Everything looks vicious on me. And I need it all.”

  “Why not buy it all, then?” Angel asked. In the mirror her likeness, wearing the filmy green dress, did a graceful pirouette.

  “Not enough shells.”

  “In that case, you mustn’t buy me the green dress, Freesia.”

  “Oh, no, I want you to have it.” She did, too.

  Freesia studied the rack of clothes she had tried on, choosing her favorites: the shorter and tighter of the two black dresses, the shorts and tank top. She was pretty sure she had enough shells to cover them as well as the green dress for Angel—which, at seventy percent off, cost less than the tank top. (Freesia was all for generosity, but one mustn’t get carried away).

  Freesia pulled her bubble out of the silver bunny purse. Maybe she should forgo the black dress and visit the handbag shop instead. Plus, she had shoes to think about. In her hand, the silver bubble glowed green. How many shells did she have, anyway?

  “Personal bubble account balance,” Freesia said. The bubble turned blue and then began to flash red.

  YOUR BUBBLE ACCOUNT HAS BEEN CLOSED DUE TO INSUFFICIENT FUNDS.

  “What? No!” She shook the bubble as if that might make a difference, but of course it didn’t.

  “What’s wrong?” Angel asked.

  “My shells are all gone!”

  Angel smiled. “I love you anyway. Would you like me to pour you another watermelon mocktini?”

  “No! Thank you. I have to … I need to … I don’t know what I’ll…” Freesia sank to the couch.

  “You don’t have to buy me the green dress,” Angel said.

  The dressing room curtains slid open. Wordlessly, the salesgirls swept in, gathered the clothes from the rack, and took them back to the shop floor.

  “Let’s go home,” Freesia said. She gathered up the silver purse and headed out of the dressing room. “We’ll ask Mummy for coffee, then I�
��ll look through your closet to see if there are any clothes that aren’t too small or too hideous for me to wear.”

  “I have a white tutu that might fit!”

  Freesia shuddered.

  * * *

  Back on the street, she pulled out her bubble and did a friendlies check. Jelissa was offline, but Ricky Leisure was transmitting (panoramic view). He was floating on an inner tube in his pool, sipping something creamy.

  “Ricky!”

  At the sound of her voice, he paddled to the side of the pool and retrieved his bubble, alarm in his eyes. “Freesia? What’s wrong?”

  Everything, she wanted to say. But couldn’t. They were watching. Now and always.

  “Sunday nights are borrifying,” she said. “Can I come over?”

  “Of course.”

  “Can you pick me up? My itty car won’t start.”

  Ricky’s blue eyes widened. He knew something was wrong. And he knew enough not to say anything about it.

  “I’ll come by when the moon rises over the treetops.”

  Freesia nodded. “I’ll be ready.”

  17

  Mummy was in the kitchen, stirring something in a pot.

  Daddy was at the table, reading a newspaper.

  Angel, armed with a ball of purple yarn, played with a leaping Mischief. When the kitten saw Freesia, he arched his back and hissed. She walked as far around him as possible, guarding her delicate ankles.

  “Are you making spaghetti, Mummy?”

  Mummy didn’t answer. Didn’t look up.

  Dinner was late; the sun was almost down. Freesia’s tummy rumbled. Freesia sniffed the air: nothing. She approached the stove and peered inside the pot. Mummy was stirring boiling water.

  “Mummy? What’s for dinner?”

  Mummy kept stirring.

  “Mummy? Are you going to cook anything in that pot?”

  Mummy didn’t look up.

  “Isn’t anyone else hungry?” As she spoke, she realized just how absurd her question was. But surely even Todd Piloski would consider starvation too extreme a punishment.

  The pantry, normally overflowing with scrummy nibbles, held plain crackers. The icebox offered a single pitcher of water. Freesia took a box of crackers and poured herself a glass of water. She went out to the deck where her family normally ate dinner, but the wind blew hard and cold and dusty, so she came back inside, put her crackers and water on the coffee table, and perched on the couch.