by McKay, Faith
She would go ahead and sufficiently ruin their careers to secure some new colleagues, but they'd be just as bad, if not worse. It would be great, in theory, to do everything yourself, but in reality you just had to shove off tasks you didn't absolutely have to do yourself, and hope nothing too important was destroyed. Time was precious, especially when you were trying to run the whole freaking world.
The world at large was easier to run than the lives of five teenagers. That was for sure.
The girls were meeting just then. Willa thought giving them five minutes to size each other up was better than wasting five of her own minutes where they'd be too busy staring at each other to listen to her. Five minutes was all she was willing to risk, though. How much damage could they do to each other in five minutes?
Her shoes clacked a faster beat down the hall.
CARRIE
Carrie was now part of a band. Somehow, throughout reading the ad, the applications, and the audition process, she'd managed to keep herself from thinking about that. It was when they'd shook her hand and said, "Congratulations, you are now one of the Deadly Divas," that it finally hit her.
She was a member of something. A group. She was one of five. A small crowd. This was happening now, not someday, but today.
She had spent most of her life fighting: smiling, struggling, pushing everything out of her life that wasn't going to get her to exactly this fate. And now she'd done it. And she spent the whole night awake, not bursting with excitement, but terror. Who were these girls? Would they like her? Would they talk a lot? Would they expect her to talk a lot? If they didn't like her, would that hold back her career? Was that the next fight she had to face?
She ran through conversation topics, practicing in front of the mirror as she'd done with pretend interviewers for years.
When she glanced at a clock and realized she'd been in front of the mirror, pathetically practicing fake conversations for over an hour, and had spent two hours before that worrying away the time in bed, she gave up on any plans for sleep. She spent the next hour picking an outfit for the day, two hours after that getting dressed, and then went to the roof to wait for it to be time to leave. The hours on the roof helped calm her. Her energy was flowing freely again. Peace didn't seem like such a far-fetched idea. And then the alarm went off and it was time to leave.
"Positive. Mental. Attitude." She ran her fingers over her topaz bracelet. Her mom had given it to her when she noticed how scared Carrie was around people. It had been how Carrie coped with the world before therapy or anything else. Yellow, she'd told Carrie, would help her balance her energy, boost her self esteem, and give her a sense of calm. She would emanate that calm and get back a confidence in her abilities from other people, establishing her role as a person of influence. Yellow was everything Carrie wanted in life.
The secretary at the record company who led her to the meeting room wore a yellow skirt. It looked ridiculous on her, but was exactly the fabric Carrie needed to see before going into that room. She ran her thumb over that topaz bracelet, let out a deep breath, and strode confidently into the room.
She was pretty sure she didn't even flinch when she locked eyes with that girl.
JO
She was a popstar now. It still seemed like a joke; she wasn't sure that was ever going to wear off. They told her to go home and get her things. She needed to be back the next day for a meeting where she'd get to know the other girls. Then they'd be given living quarters and get to work. They had lots of work to do, they'd promised her.
No one asked her if she still wanted to do it. They'd just assumed, and so she assumed, too, that this was still the right decision. That was the thing, though: she wasn't sure she'd ever made the decision. Not in any real way. She'd never said to herself, "I'm going to be a popstar and live in the city!" It was more like, "Jo, here's a way you can completely change your life." And so she did.
Jo hadn't bothered going home, or telling anyone what was going on. She didn't think she could do that. She couldn't even imagine how that conversation would go. You know that thing you've been making jokes about? That awful new thing the city dwellers are doing? Well, I'm in it.
She spent the night walking around the city, watching people go about their normal lives. Their normal lives that were completely foreign to her. She waited for her new reality to sink in. It didn't.
The meeting room was sleek and shiny and smelled like citrus. They grew oranges behind her house, but the smell of actual citrus was different. Artificial scents were always like that: a slap in the face. For a world constructed of such sharp colors, and scents, and bright, overpowering greetings from people paid to be nice to you, the streets sure had been full of people slogging dimly through their lives.
Maybe nothing felt real because nothing there was.
She shook her head free of the thought. That was heavy.
A black girl with a prosthetic leg walked in. The prosthesis was sharp at the base, shoeless, and looked like it would scratch the hell out of their floors. The sleek prosthesis and her shiny curls made her look like she belonged in that room in a way Jo never would, but she still managed to look relaxed, like none of it was anything to her. She seemed like someone who could be at home anywhere. Jo liked her right away, which was surprising. She didn't like people; it wasn't something she'd thought much about until she noticed how strange it was that she appreciated this one.
More heavy thoughts. Her mind must have been on overdrive because of the lack of sleep, or perhaps it was the life changing decision she'd only half made.
Jo nodded in greeting, and the girl returned it. She sat across the way without a word, confirming Jo's impression that this girl was someone she could get along with. Perhaps this popstar thing could work out.
SADIE
Survivalists were all about glaring, and grunting, and growling. Long monologues about the end of days and how everyone was living in a dream bubble were second nature to them. Sometimes they'd be interviewed for a laugh, but otherwise they were ignored. Sadie was shocked to see one sitting in the meeting room for the band, enough so that she wondered if the secretary had led her to the wrong room. The survivalist didn't seem shocked to see her, though. The girl gave Sadie a once over, and nodded, looking her in the face, only briefly looking at her leg. She didn't say anything, so Sadie didn't either.
This pop band thing was already unbelievably weird.
She was worried about her stuff. The secretary at the front desk had told her to leave her belongings and someone would deliver them to the room, but she'd left her bag of clothes and boxes of legs. It wasn't like she could just replace her legs. Her brother, Anthony, had spent years building her collection.
She was considering going back down and checking on them when then that girl walked in. Casie? Carly? Whatever. Sadie knew her as the enemy. She should have known that pretentious monster would audition, and it was just Sadie's luck that the girl had actually made it in. The world had an evil sense of humor.
The enemy didn't say a word, the snob. She smiled at Sadie and the survivalist and went to stand in the corner instead of taking a seat. She actually bothered to pose, with her hands on her hips and that small, polite smile plastered on her face. Pre. Ten. Tious.
DEE
"Why is everybody not talking?" Dee wasn't used to noticing stuff like that, stuff about other people or the social temperature of rooms, but this room was crazy cold. "Did they like, tell you not to talk? Is there a rule? Because nobody told me."
The black girl with one leg cleared her throat and said that there was no rule. Dee held out her hand, and the girl shook it lightly, like she didn't want to touch Dee. She shrugged it off and went straight into telling her that she loved her fuchsia heel. Such a bold shoe. The girl just blinked up at Dee, like she thought Dee was kidding. "No, seriously," Dee said. "I love a bold color. Black shoes are great and all, and most of the pumps I find are a solid black, but that's why something like fuchsia is so important, don't you
think?" She gave a full beat of space for the girl to respond, and when she didn't, Dee gave up and turned to the survivalist. She wore black clothes with no real shape to them. It made her look even whiter than she already did. They lived in the desert. It had to be intentional to be that pale, but Dee couldn't understand why someone would intentionally look like that.
"How long do you think we're going to wait in here?" Again, no response. "Is this the room for the Deadly Divas? Because you all don't talk much for, you know, famous people, and you have no idea how many times I've gone in the wrong room and just talked and talked and talked, and only after I'd totally missed my appointment did someone bother to tell me that I was in the wrong room and, like, I really can't afford that today. I'm becoming a popstar. I'm sure you can be late for that because what are they going to do, like, find somebody else? I don't think so. But still. It's polite not to waste people's time, you know, especially when those people are working to help make you rich and famous, you know?"
"Honey, you talk too much."
Dee turned just her face to the newcomer, her left hand firmly on her hip, and asked, "And who are you?"
GERRI
"Gerri," she said, and framed her face with her hands. "They always save the best for last." The talker turned the rest of the way, so her back wasn't facing Gerri, but apparently had no manners because neither her nor the rest of the girls introduced themselves. "And you all are?"
"Dee," the talker said, and held out her hand. Now they were getting somewhere.
"Well, Dee, those are some fierce shoes."
"I know! And did you see this girl's fuchsia heel? I was just saying it was such a good choice. I just feel so much relief when I see someone in a good shoe, you know?"
"Sure, honey," Gerri said. "And what's the rest of your names?"
"Sadie," the fuchsia heel said.
"Good name," Gerri said. "Maybe more like a rockstar than a popstar."
"Definitely," Dee agreed.
Sadie just stared back at her, and so did the other two, who didn't offer up their names.
"Well," Gerri said. "You think they'd offer us some drinks for this awkward little mixer in here, don't you think?"
"Exactly," Dee agreed.
"They tell you bitches what we're supposed to be doing in here?"
"No, they just like led me here, and they said I was going to be a popstar, but does waiting around in some cramped room doing absolutely nothing seem like something a popstar would do to you? I don't think so. This better be on the up and up because I already told my parents and all those mean girls at school and I will just never live this down if it's not the real thing, you know?"
"Cool it, hon," Gerri said. "It's just the first day. I say we take ourselves a little hiatus and hit up that bar next door. I'm sure the nice looking gentlemen at the bar would be happy to serve the five hot new Deadly Divas."
"Perfect," Dee agreed.
"I—" The girl standing in the corner stammered out the single sound like it left her body of its own volition.
"You okay, hon?"
"I—I—" Her skin filled with red so fast it was like a special effect. If it were an act, on stage, it would have been awesome. But it wasn't an act. And this girl was going to be on stage with Gerri real soon. This was... bad.
"It's okay, you just say it when it's ready to come out honey," Gerri said. Maybe she was intimidated by Gerri. That happened a lot. They encountered more greatness than they thought one person could hold and just lost control of their minds for a minute. Gerri hoped that was what it was. She couldn't deal with that kind of weird on a daily basis.
The girl swallowed and gripped her wrist, and like it was a dimmer switch, the red in her face died down. "I don't think it's a good idea," the girl finally said. "What if they come looking and can't find us?"
"What if they do?" Gerri asked. "They gonna find five new girls before we get back?"
The door slid open behind Gerri, and some new white woman with wavy brown hair and a serious phone addiction came in. Her eyes still focused on the screen in her hand, she said, "If we have to, but we'd rather not."
"And who are you?" Gerri asked. Dee stepped closer behind Gerri, her hand planted back on her hip. She'd make great back up, Gerri decided, on stage and in life—if you were the type of person who separated the two.
"Willa Weinstein," she said. "Your manager."
"We have a manager?" Gerri asked.
"Finally," Dee said.
"Good," Gerri said. "Because I've got some questions. First of all—"
"I'm really just here to introduce myself," Willa said, still not having looked away from her phone. "The secretary will be here momentarily to show you to your new living quarters, and your assistant will be here this afternoon to get you set with your schedules. We'll be meeting again soon." Willa backed out the door.
"Hold it right there, honey," Gerri hollered. "I've got some questions. First of all, what is your job exactly? And if it's to manage a band, why haven't you, or anyone else, wanted to hear us sing? And where were you during the audition process?"
"Behind the cameras," Willa said. "I really don't have the time to just sit around and watch girls who aren't worth my time. And I manage your career, darling."
"And you don't need to hear us sing? Did any of the rest of you all sing?"
"You auditioned," Willa said.
"Never sang."
"Singing is secondary, or fifthiary."
Sadie rose from her chair and put a hand on her hip. It was quickly becoming the Deadly Divas thing to do. "For a band?" she questioned.
"Yes," Willa said. "And as I mentioned, I am a busy woman. Busy managing your careers. You'll be taken care of."
Gerri continued to holler, and Dee backed her up—the girl in the corner even made a few sounds—but Willa was gone, without ever having looked at them.
"Anyone still up for those drinks?" Gerri asked. "Have I mentioned the cuteness that was this bartender?"
FENNEC NEWS
“Has anyone gotten a look at these girls?”
“Does it matter, Tracy? Really?”
“I just think that, and hear me out here, maybe we should get a look at them before we jump to conclusions.”
“Tracy, Tracy, Tracy. They're teen girls. What do you think you're going to see that's going to persuade you?”
Chapter Five
CARRIE
It was looking more and more like Sadie was going to give in, and then what would Carrie do? Follow along? Stay with the survivalist? Assuming she didn't go with; who knew what to expect from a survivalist that signed up to be a pop singer. The secretary rushed in shortly after, thankfully stopping Gerri from sneaking them out.
They were rushed down the hall, swooped up an elevator, and taken to a suite of rooms that took up one of the top floors. She'd heard that in the before, these buildings used to be hotels, places where people stayed for a brief period of time on something they called vacation. People used to travel the world over, seeing different places and people and ways of life. It was strange to think that there had ever been anything beyond Fort Atlas. She wondered how big the world had really been. Even if people weren't there, the land still existed, she guessed. The idea that there was anything out beyond the wall felt about as real as the idea that people used to travel to the moon in ships, or die just the once and their bodies stayed that way. They told it as truth, but how was anyone supposed to know that? Adults always lied to kids, and it made more sense, instinctively, that the world was always this way. Sometimes she wondered if it was just too painful to believe it, because when she tried, it was like something was being taken from her. She'd never go beyond the wall, except to kill zombies if she got drafted, which she wouldn't now that she was in the band. That was a good thing. Not having to go beyond the wall. So why, even at the idea of not having to be drafted, did the idea of never seeing beyond the wall feel like a punch to the gut?
Her chakras were all out of whack.
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The rooms were beautiful. They each had their own bedroom off of the main room, which included a kitchen and a sitting area and a view out over the city that beat the view from her roof any day. She'd asked about access to the roof before the secretary had abandoned them, but the woman had just looked at her suspiciously and walked out the door, like she'd asked for a weapon or something.
"There are no clothes," Dee said, appalled.
"Didn't they bring your bag up for you? Didn't you pack some?" Gerri asked.
"Yes," Dee answered, annoyed. "But like, that can't be all I have. I need new clothes. We need credit cards. They'll give us those, right? Like for expenses? I thought I'd be greeted by, like, a stylist, who would be on top of this kind of thing. I don't know about you guys but I'm getting real fed up with the half-ass treatment around here, you know?"
"It's been an hour," Carrie said. Honestly, she was overwhelmed with the little that had happened; she was relieved more wasn't going on. She knew it was coming.
"That's what I'm saying," Dee said, getting more fired up. "Time is money. Shouldn't suits know that? And what are you doing?"
Gerri slammed the last kitchen cupboard shut and flipped her short hair out of her face. It was a floppy mess, but Carrie thought it was intentional. She had this laid back, I-spent-four-hours-in-front-of-the-mirror-so-that-I-could-look-like-I-don't-care-about-anything, kind of thing going for her. It was a look. Carrie was sure people loved her for it. Gerri puffed out her cheeks before letting out a big breath and said, "Empty!"
"Empty?"
"No booze."
Dee stomped her foot. "This is what I'm saying!"
