Unbreakable

by Will McIntosh

  She pulled up Party Favors, and scrolled to the bar scene where Kate asks Cutty to pretend to be her boyfriend for five minutes.

  When the bar itself was in the scene, Celia spotted it: that familiar, unremarkable painting of a copse of white birch trees in winter on the wall behind the bar. Why would that painting be in a bar?

  Celia held out her phone. “Look at this.” She backed up the feed with a swipe of her finger, then held the phone so Janine could watch the scene.

  Janine watched it, then shrugged. “What?”

  Celia poked the screen. “I’ve seen that painting a dozen times before in other movies. It’s in The Problem With Stars, The Bookstore of Broken Promises, Daybreak.” She could name ten more if she took time to think. “Isn’t that weird?”

  Janine shrugged “Why is it weird? Whoever makes movies probably re-uses things to save money.”

  “But they don’t re-use anything else! The furniture is always different, the clothes, the books on shelves. The only thing they re-use is that painting.” Celia had watched a filmmaking documentary a few weeks ago, and if it was at all accurate, filmmakers had piles of money—enough that they didn’t have to re-use pictures or anything else.

  “I guess it’s just one of those things.” Janine picked up her pace.

  Just one of those things. In other words, Celia was making Janine uncomfortable. Celia wouldn’t have dared question things so openly with anyone but Janine and Molly. And Max, if he hadn’t retired.

  Things like that niggled at Celia, but you didn’t talk about them, just like you didn’t ask why no one could leave Record Village unless they got the call, or who was really in charge, or who your parents were. You might as well drop your pants and take a dump in the middle of Telco Stadium as raise questions like that. Celia had no idea who’d decided it was impolite to wonder why they were surrounded by walls, but it was drilled into you from the nursery on to keep those thoughts to yourself, to feel ashamed if you were even thinking them.

  Other Record Villagers didn’t seem bothered by the oddness of this place, by all the things you couldn’t talk about. Celia suspected she was different because she watched so many movies and read so many books. She thought more like an outsider looking in, because she’d absorbed so much of the outside world. Most Record Villagers were like fish, never noticing the water; Celia felt more like a swimmer holding her breath down here.

  “I’m going to break that record,” Janine said.

  “What record?” The words startled Celia out of her musings. Was Janine talking about the hot dog record? Celia laughed, thinking she must be joking, but trailed off when she noticed Janine wasn’t laughing. “No, you’re not. Nobody’s ever breaking that record.”

  Janine smiled as if she knew a secret. “Watch me. I’m going to make everything okay again. I just want you to know that, so you’ll stop worrying.”

  Celia didn’t say anything. It was classic Janine, trying to protect Celia like a mother would, only this time there was nothing Janine could do. That record was unbreakable.

  They climbed up the slope of Lu Bridge as bicycles whizzed past, their tires thumping on the pavers. Celia paused at the apex, her favorite spot in the entire world. In her entire world, anyway.

  She’d never shown anyone what she’d discovered there—not even Molly. It had always been hers alone, and that made it more special. More magical. But it struck her that she should share it with Janine now. Maybe it was simply that this day needed something to make it suck just a little less. “Wait. I want to show you something.”

  Janine paused, looking at her expectantly. “What?”

  Celia pointed to the spot just above the top of the wall, at her treetop, swaying gently in the breeze. “Look at that.”

  She smiled, recalling the day she’d spotted it. Her heart had nearly burst with excitement and longing and dread. Only the very tip had been visible then. Now you could see a good ten feet of it. No tree in Record Village was anywhere near that tall.

  “I think it’s the only thing you can see on the outside, and this is the only spot in the city where you can see it.”

  “Wow.” Janine sniffed. She was crying. Celia had expected her to smile, to laugh with delight, and for a moment she was baffled.

  Then she realized what it was. To Janine, a glimpse of the outside was a glimpse of Max. Celia put her arm around Janine and urged her on.

  “Did you just notice that?”

  “I found it years ago.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. You’ve always liked looking at the sky.”

  Celia stuck her phone in her pocket as they walked on, arm in arm.

  “There’s one other thing you can see that’s on the outside,” Janine said. “Well, sort of on the outside.”

  Celia tried to think what it might be. “You mean the sky? The sun?”

  “I guess those count as well.” Janine pointed out at the rippling dark blue water of the reservoir. “I was thinking of the water. It has to be fed by a stream or river outside. Otherwise it would be a swamp.”

  Celia had never thought of that. She pictured a river running along the other side of wall, maybe boats motoring past. It was nice to have one more blank spot filled in in her picture of the outside. She watched the sky, feeling slightly better about the day.

  She’d never seen a bird in that sky. In books and movies, everyone had a dog or a cat; squirrels jumped from tree to tree, orange butterflies wound crazy paths through the air. Was there an invisible net around her town to keep birds from flying over? Why would anyone bother to erect something like that?

  More questions you weren’t supposed to think about. None of it made sense, though, so why worry about why there were no birds in the sky?

  “I’m going to break that record tomorrow,” Janine repeated, as if she knew what Celia was thinking, and wanted to nudge her thoughts toward something more pleasant.

  Chapter 4

  Celia watched from Telco Stadium’s street-level doorway as the audience filed in. Most had backpacks, so it was impossible to identify the idiot who’d tripped her. Hopefully he or she had been banned for life. Or flogged.

  Could an audience member be banned? Everything Celia had heard about the audience was rumor and speculation, since they were never, ever allowed to interact with audience members. She had no idea how tickets were sold. She knew there were regulars, because she recognized a lot of faces. Like the Indian guy who’d smiled at her as if they had some special connection. Maybe he was her biggest fan. Yeah—there was probably a gift shop on the way in through the gates, with posters of Celia, and cup holders embossed with her photo.

  The irony was, for all Celia knew there could be a gift shop.

  She spotted the Indian guy coming through the breezeway, a backpack slung over one shoulder. He hopped down the steps, hurrying to get a seat toward the front. He was remarkably tall—a good foot taller than most of the other audience members—and so slim he bordered on two-dimensional.

  Janine had sidled up beside Celia. “I didn’t even notice you.”

  “I’m like a cat,” Janine said. It should have made Celia laugh, because Janine was anything but—she was big-boned and clumsy—except Celia had found it hard to laugh since she’d blown the sleep record.

  Janine rubbed her hands together. “I’m going to take this record.”

  This again. “Come on,” She said, “That record is utterly unbreakable. And you know I’m not just being pessimistic.”

  “My Celia, being pessimistic?” Janine shook her head. “Never.”

  Celia ignored the crack. “Just shoot for first in the competition.”

  “What does that get us? A couple hundred dollars?” Janine shook her head. “That gets us a new carpet to spruce up the dump we’d be moving into. Nope. I’m breaking the record.”

  She wasn’t dead-set on breaking this unbreakable record because they were moving into a dump. It was about picking Celia up, absolving her of the weight she was carry
ing. Celia loved her for it, but it also stung, because it was one more reminder of how badly she’d screwed up. And no one could eat eighty-four hot dogs in twelve minutes, so Celia was going to continue to carry the weight of that failure.

  “You’ll puke before you hit fifty,” Celia said.

  “I don’t puke. Have you ever seen me puke?”

  Celia put an arm across Janine’s shoulders. “Never.” She shut her eyes. What the hell was she doing, bringing Janine down? Her job was cheerleading. Forcing a big smile, she squeezed Janine’s shoulder. Time to get all supportive and cheery.

  The Master of Ceremonies’ voice boomed over the PA system, welcoming the audience.

  “What’s on the docket besides my event?” Janine shouted over the MC. Celia strained to read the electronic scoreboard mounted on the wall.

  “Ellen Fish. Pushups.”

  “Not gonna happen,” Janine said.

  Celia nodded. That was basically filler.

  “Martin Brogna. Deck of cards.”

  Janine waggled her hand. “He might pull it off.”

  It was Martin’s third attempt at memorizing a deck of cards. Last time he’d been two seconds and change off the record.

  “Two records in one event. That would be a good show. That hasn’t happened since Sabita Shah and Max did it. Remember that?”

  “That was a good day.” The four of them—their little family—had celebrated at Baxters’ Ice Cream. They’d ordered the Gutbuster, one scoop of each of their twenty-eight flavors, smothered with every topping in the place. She could still hear Max moaning ‘I’m gonna explode. Literally. They’re gonna be scraping me off the walls,’ as he went on shoveling ice cream into his fudge-stained mouth.

  Celia wondered if Janine also saw breaking a record this big as a potential ticket to retirement, and a reunion with Max. The thing was, even though Mayor Baez said breaking records was what led to the call, retirement seemed more or less random. Yes, people tended to get the call after breaking a record, but if that’s what it was really about, why was Martin Brogna still here, while Alex Graziano had gotten the call? Alex had been a crappy record-breaker. Abysmal. He’d also been a strange guy, constantly repeating himself to the point that you could barely carry on a conversation with him. And he talked about the dullest, driest things. For that matter, why had Molly gotten the call and not Celia? They were both seventeen, and, to take nothing away from Molly, Celia had broken more records, and more prestigious ones, at that.

  “Next up on the menu, eight competitors will attempt to break the hot dog eating record, which has stood for nine years,” the announcer said in his rolling baritone. “Will tonight be the night someone breaks Joey Gant’s unbreakable record of eighty-three?”

  “Here we go.” Celia urged Janine toward the archway, where the other competitors were gathering.

  “In the first position, representing the Mustangs, Janine Mays! He paused for applause. “She’s a six-time record holder, whose record of three hundred seventy-three clams devoured in six minutes still stands.”

  As Celia followed Janine up the breezeway and onto the floor, the crowd leaped to their feet and roared. Startled, Celia looked around, trying to see what had gotten them so excited. She’d never heard a reaction like that from a crowd before. Much as she loved Janine, she couldn’t believe it was for her.

  As they headed for the dais, Janine looked just as baffled. The raucous cheering and applause went on. The entire audience was standing.

  “I don’t get it.” Celia had to shout over the noise.

  “I don’t either.” Janine bit her lip as she considered the crowd. She grabbed Celia’s sleeve. “Maybe it’s for you.”

  “What? What are you talking about?” That made zero sense. Celia wasn’t even competing.

  “No, I think this is for you. This is your first appearance since the accident.”

  “Since I tripped and fell on my face? They’re not cheering for that.” Celia reached the dais, but the booming applause went on. The announcer tried to break in, but couldn’t.

  “I think you should acknowledge them,” Janine said.

  “What?” Celia couldn’t help laughing. “What am I going to do, wave? Take a flipping bow? What if you’re wrong?” Celia was sure Janine was wrong.

  Before Celia knew what was happening, Janine had grabbed her hand and raised it.

  The cheering grew so loud it hurt Celia’s ears.

  Janine released her hand, grinning. “Wave, you twit.”

  Her face burning with embarrassment, Celia waved. What were they applauding? She’d tripped. Maybe they felt bad, because one of their own had been responsible. That could be it. Celia clasped her hands in front of her and nodded thanks to the crowd.

  Finally, they quieted down, and the MC was able to break in and get the competition rolling. The contestants stepped up to the table.

  Her head still spinning, Celia rested her hands on Janine’s shoulders and forced herself to focus. “You feeling hungry?”

  “I’ve never been so hungry.” Janine tilted her head from side to side, loosening her throat muscles.

  As the lights dimmed and music filled the hall (Dot Peabody’s We Will Break You, which Celia was so incredibly sick of), six men in puffy chef’s hats strutted in carrying trays of steaming Obermeier hot dogs in buns. The chefs were in fine form today, stepping in beat with the music, chins high, their crisp, white uniforms immaculate. Celia moved back to her supporting position as the trays were presented in a perfectly synchronized flourish.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer called, “it’s time for the main event.”

  When the timer sounded, Janine lunged for her first hot dog, dunked the bun in her water glass, and downed it in exactly three bites. Celia wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to the sight of people eating without chewing; they bit and swallowed, bit and swallowed.

  “You’re a machine,” Celia shouted in Janine’s ear. “Your stomach’s the size of a dumpster.” On second thought, maybe it was best to avoid allusions to trash. It might stifle her appetite.

  Bite—bite—bite, and another hot dog vanished. Janine was in finer form than the line of dancing chefs. She looked vintage, scarfing down those wienies. Janine rocked as she ate, the rhythm of her rocking in sync with her bites. One of her many eating quirks. Max used to tease her by rocking in his seat when the team ate dinner, until Janine would elbow him in the ribs and tell him to cut it out.

  Celia wondered what Max was doing right now, out there in the world. It had been such a shock, the day his papers came.

  What she wouldn’t give to know why they couldn’t leave this town. For as far back as she could remember, she’d been in this place, first in the nursery, then as an apprentice, finally as a team member.

  Some people were convinced this was a testing ground, that the ones like Max who got their papers joined elite government agencies. But if that was the case, what was the point of people like Janine? What possible use could someone be if her sole skill was eating a lot in a short period of time? Others believed it was nothing but a business, that they’d all been sold into slavery by their parents, or kidnapped, to put on performances for a paying audience. It was another one of the topics you didn’t talk about. From the few times Celia had heard people whisper about it, it seemed as if everyone had their own beliefs that they kept to themselves like a secret religion.

  Celia checked the tally board. Janine had already eaten thirty-two dogs; her closest competitor was at twenty-six. She was on fire.

  “You’re hungry,” Celia shouted over the rumble of the crowd. “Famished. So famished. Go, go.” She checked the clock: nearly halfway. Janine wasn’t going to break the record, but if she didn’t fade too badly she was going to log a nice event. The other competitors were flagging, their brows glistening with sweat, eyes bulging with that expression Celia knew so well: Done. Tapped out.

  Janine reached for another dog, shoved it down like a magician performing a m
agic trick, and reached for the next. She was rocking in a steady, manic rhythm, her eyes glazed over. Celia knew she was far, far away. You had to go far away to break records. Whether you were holding your breath or eating way too many hot dogs, you had to escape your body, because it became an intolerable place to be.

  The timer passed the seven-minute mark. Fifty-seven hot dogs. Theoretically, Janine could still break the record. The problem was, her stomach wasn’t the size of a dumpster. With every hot dog she ate, it grew harder to get the next one down. The big dude at the other end of the table had stopped eating; he knew he had no chance to catch Janine. The other four were munching about as fast as Celia ate her cereal on an average Saturday morning.

  Janine just kept going.

  I’m going to take this record. Janine’d said it in all seriousness, though Celia hadn’t taken her seriously, because no one could take the record. She’d wanted to cover Celia’s mistake, though, and this was the only way to do it. Plus, Constantine had shamed her in front of the whole team.

  Celia clapped her hands. “Come on, Janine.” She could barely hear herself over the rising boom of the crowd. This time it was for Janine. She wasn’t slowing at all, which seemed impossible. Celia glanced down at Janine’s stomach.

  It looked like she was pregnant.

  Celia’s heartrate doubled. “Oh God, Janine. It’s too much.” A stomach should never look like that.

  Janine reached for another hot dog, stuffed the end of it in her mouth, bit down, swallowed. Sweat trickled down her temples, and her skin was ashen.

  Celia was supposed to be screaming encouragement at Janine, pushing her, goading her, saying anything she thought might get those last dozen hot dogs down, but her voice caught in her throat. Janine’s stomach was wrong. Not just full, but wrong.

  “Janine, you’ve got to stop! It’s too much.”

  Janine didn’t seem to hear. Celia went around the table to face her. She looked terrible. Her rocking was more a swoon that she just managed to correct before toppling. She still wasn’t chewing, probably didn’t remember how to chew.