“Just let’s forget it,” I snap. “We should plan our plays.”
“I think you should leave,” she whispers.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re changing,” she says. “You’re…angry. Listen to yourself.”
“Of course I’m angry,” I spit. “I have to hunt one of those prizes!” I watch her cringe and realize my mistake. “No, not hunt,” I clarify. “I mean seduce. I’m not going to hurt anyone, I’m just thinking about the Carnival as a hunt, okay?”
But I want to kick myself for slipping up the words in front of her. They echo in my mind—I have to hunt one of those prizes—and realize Star is right: I do sound different. Meaner. And I really should calm down. The whole point of crossing the Frontier was to keep Star and me together, and now I’m pushing her away with my anger. I sit in darkness on the edge of her bed and stare at the faint outlines of my hands. Just stare at them and breathe. Think of Star, I remind myself. Take care of her.
“I’m sorry,” I try again.
She walks tentatively toward me.
“I came here to plan who we’ll play,” I explain. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay,” she says softly. She sits next to me in the light and takes my hand. I gaze tenderly at her small fingers. “Who are you playing?”
“Flora,” I say without hesitating. I decided that while I was waiting for Star. I don’t know how I’ll convince Tinder to play Hazel, but I’ll have to find a way. Star is silent now, and I raise my head to see she looks hurt by my certainty. I add quickly, “But only because of Blaze’s challenge. I can’t throw myself into that. Starlight, that’s not good for us.”
“Do you think Flora is pretty?” Star asks.
“She’s an Easy, Star,” I spit.
“Okay, fine, play her,” she says. She stands up again and walks toward the window, crossing her arms and looking out at the city. I sigh and follow her, gently resting my chin on her shoulder. She lets me wrap my arms around her.
“You’re the only one in my heart, Star,” I say. “I swear it. The only reason I’m here is for us. The only reason I’m brainwashing myself and trying to win this thing is to get Wick that electricity so that you can be happy, so that we can finally be together again. Can you please try to see that?”
She nods and squeezes my hands back.
“You’re warm,” she says.
“I’d be so cold without you,” I say, hugging her tightly. “Just do me a favor?”
She nods.
“If you play Wesley, don’t look at his smile,” I say.
Star laughs, and I melt a little bit. She turns around to face me until our noses are just a breath apart. I always get the idea to kiss her at the worst times, but I cannot lean in now. She is not happy yet, or safe. Instead, we hold each other until Star is convinced that I am still Phoenix from Dark DC. I close my eyes and cradle her body gently, and when she finally trusts me again, I leave her suite and take the elevator up to my floor.
I should be focusing on Flora, but my mind is distracted by Star. Less than one day in this place, and we’ve already fought. The elevator arrives, and I exit absorbed in my own mind. Ever since I got here, I’ve done nothing but burden Star. Scare her. Push us apart. Hell, we might have been closer to each other this morning when I left Silk and we thought we’d never see each other again…But my shoulders twitch to shake off the thought.
14
I wake up to a buzzing SCHEDULE ALERT. Welcome to day two. From under my navy-blue cotton pillow, I pull out my phone.
SCHEDULE
**ALERT: 15 Minute Warning before Next Event**
08:00 a.m.–11:30 a.m. PROFILES.
Location: Your suite on floor 33. Description: Make your Carnival profile. This will be the only public part of the event. Computers will be provided.
I wipe the sleep off my face with my hand and roll out of bed. The alert doesn’t make any sense, but it’s early. I kick aside the fabric chairs I wedged against my door handle last night and wander toward the lazy noises of my suitemates. They’re in the living room reading magazines. Tinder looks up at me, chipper as ever.
“Morning,” I grumble.
Tinder holds up today’s edition of Zig-Zag. I’m on the cover.
Now I’m awake. I grab the magazine out of his hands and scan it. A picture of me on the red carpet glaring at one of the cameras. My lean face is smeared with patches of brown dirt, and only the whites of my focused eyes are shining. Small snowflakes frozen in time surround me, and a few stick to my thick eyebrows, pulled together in a rage. I remember that moment and grimace. I wanted to destroy every Easy in the crowd.
“Congratulations,” Elektra says without looking up.
I flip quickly through the magazine. The opening blurb tells me that the names of the prizes are kept secret, but Zig-Zag’s “sources” confirm that Flora Chauncer is one. The same “sources” also confirm that Suzanna-Marie Ett is a prize this year. Nope. Nice reporting, Zig-Zag. I keep skimming until I reach the Hot List, a spread of good-looking DZs. Including Elektra. Her glossy photo shows her blowing a kiss from inside the glass tunnel. I didn’t make the list, and neither did Star, but at least we’re not on the Not List. This slew of pictures shows strange-looking DZs caught off guard.
The collage right after the Not List is titled Best Butt. Star has made this list. My eyes widen to take in the picture of her bending over to pick up her phone. She hinges at the waist to graze the carpet with her fingers. From the side, her arms and legs form two sides of a triangle, with her black dress snug around her butt at the top. What Easies. My thumbs dig into the magazine so hard that its surface bends in a wave. I imagine Bing and Tristan pointing at the picture and nudging each other in the ribs. The thought makes my skin crawl. I slam Zig-Zag on the floor. As I glare at it, the doorbell to our suite rings.
Elektra springs toward the door and passes me before I even take my first step. Her pink silk robe is short, and its hem flaps to reveal her thighs as she moves. She climbs lithely over the furniture barricade and opens the door a crack, slipping effortlessly into the hallway.
“Goddamn,” I mutter.
“Watch your language,” Tinder says.
He’s serious.
Elektra emerges carrying a familiar white box. It looks heavy, but just as deftly as before, she scrambles over the furniture. She lays the Carnival box on the layer of magazines over the glass table. Without wasting a second—as the queen of efficiency—she pulls a dangling earring out from her left earlobe and uses its sharp edge to cut through the black ribbon. She works so fast that I can barely see her hands as she tosses the severed ties to the side. Taking a deep breath, she lifts the box top.
“Laptops!” Tinder exclaims.
From the sofa, he reaches for one of the three silver devices. Tinder unfolds it and rests it on his lap. Elektra takes the second one, and I lift the last one slowly from the bottom of the heap. I unfold it just like Elektra and Tinder did and wriggle onto the sofa between them. Like the old ones I saw in the Dark Zone, the bottom surface of this laptop is covered in black buttons. The top is a thin screen. Suddenly, this screen turns white, except for a message that both Elektra and Tinder are avidly reading:
Welcome.
Use this computer to create your profile. Your profile will include everything the prizes want to know about you: pictures, updates, and personal information. Your profile will be seen by the prizes, other players, and the world as part of www.TheCarnival2082.com.
The screen changes to show a grid of players’ names below rectangular frames. All of the frames are outlined thinly in black and filled with empty white space—except for one. This unusual box displays a picture of some DZ sitting on a piano bench. I check the name beneath: Ray. He smiles harmlessly at the camera and rests his hands on the keys. Judging by how sweet he looks, I can tell he’s playing Flora.
I touch the screen and notice it moves with my fingers. Using my fingertips, I search the grid
until I find my name. When I thumb my name, it enlarges and drifts to the top of the screen. My empty rectangle drifts to the left, and everything else disappears. Instead, questions drop down the center and right sides of the screen beneath the headline PERSONAL INFORMATION.
A dotted line runs across the middle of the screen. A small text box tells me that everything above this line is public, and everything below is for prize eyes only. Under the line, a square map shows a pattern of overlapping roads and skyscrapers viewed from above. A golden circle glows brightly in the center. I hold my hand in front of my face and gaze at my ring. This map must show exactly where I am. Finally, the last part of the profile below the dotted line lists which prize I will play:
I, PHOENIX, COMMIT TO PLAY: _____________
Right now, that part is blank. There are two options for me in a drop-down menu: Flora M. Chauncer and Hazel K. Smith. Next to the options, a SUBMIT button seems to allow us to save our choice. I lean toward Tinder and eye his profile to make sure ours look the same. He has already entered who he wants to play:
I, TINDER, COMMIT TO PLAY: FLORA M. CHAUNCER
“Tinder,” I snap, “aren’t we going to talk about that first?”
“He’s playing Flora,” Elektra says. “If you have a problem, talk to me.”
“Elektra,” I say, “let’s talk.”
“Oh, just look at him,” she says. She outlines Tinder vaguely with her palm. “He doesn’t have a shot with Hazel. You do.”
This is infuriating. Look at him? No, look at me! Elektra hasn’t met my eyes once all morning, and she’s already decided who we each will play. Her black nails tap expertly on the buttons of her computer in a flurry of heartless clicks. A few more clicks, and I’m going to rip that laptop out of her hands.
“Elektra,” I say, gripping my computer, “if I play Hazel, Blaze will try to kill me.”
“I’m sorry, Phoenix,” Tinder says tearfully. “But I think I love Flora.”
“No, you don’t,” I retort.
“I felt the True Love at First Sight,” he says.
“That’s not real!” I shout. “Don’t you understand anything?”
I slam my laptop shut and punch down on the glass of the table before me. It shatters instantly, and Tinder screams. All of the magazines fall onto the plush cream carpet, and my fist emerges from the mess covered in blood. I turn to face Elektra. Maybe now she’ll listen to me. She reaches quickly for her phone, and the next thing I know, it’s flashing like a camera.
“Perfect,” she says. “I think we have a prof pic.”
She spins her phone around and shows me the picture. My bare chest is flexed in anger. My fist is still clenched and dripping blood. I look mean—like the kind of person who would throw a beer bottle at a police officer—but I look good. Suddenly, I realize what she means. It kills me, but Elektra is right. Not only is my best shot with Hazel, but I wouldn’t stand a chance in the pool for Flora. My rage is too obvious.
“Fine,” I say. “And who are you playing, Elektra?”
“Wesley,” she says.
“Yeah, you and everyone else,” I mutter spitefully.
“Half,” Tinder corrects me. “Only half of the girls can play Wesley. Remember what our phones said on Prize Night. ”
Shut up, Tinder.
“I’d rather marry him than Bing,” she says, shrugging.
Of course. She’s so confident that she’s doing the choosing. And I put my life on the line just to have a shot. I wipe my fist against the white cushion behind me, leaving a red streak in the shape of Blaze’s Swiss army knife.
Enough blood for now. It’s time to finish the profiles.
*
In Elektra’s profile picture, she lies on her stomach on her lavender bed with her head cradled in her hands. Her feet are crossed in the background holding a small pink pillow between them. She looks relaxed, but it took fifty shots to get the one she wanted. She had to have the perfect amount of collar bone peeking over the top of her cardigan. Tinder took every picture. He ran around her bed flashing his phone camera for half an hour while she worked on looking “natural.” He even crawled on the carpet toward her when she wanted to try different angles. I stood in the corner and nodded, but I was no help at all.
Tinder’s profile picture was much easier. Elektra layered two sweaters over his bony chest and thrust a book in his hands. That was it. In the shot, he’s looking up at her from where he’s seated on the floor. His smile came out right the first time: embarrassed but sweet. Without even trying, he might be right for Flora.
And I’m braced to fight for my life.
I, PHOENIX, COMMIT TO PLAY: HAZEL K. SMITH
“Are you done yet?” Elektra asks.
I haven’t even started the rest.
“Almost,” I lie.
“Here, let’s switch,” she says. “I’ll read yours and you read mine.”
From her seat next to me on the sofa, she shoves her computer in my hand and takes mine before I can protest. I might as well do what she says. She hasn’t been wrong yet.
ELEKTRA [Click to Edit]
AGE: 16
FAITH: Christian
HEIGHT: 5’8”
BODY: Healthy
DRINKING/DRUGS: Never
ABOUT ME:
Hi, there. Well, I don’t talk that often about myself, but...I guess I could start by talking about my family. My two sisters Dawn and Summer are my best friends. Our parents raised us to believe that family is the most important part of being human. I consented for myself to get them the power that they needed, and now that I’m here, I’d like to start a family of my own.
HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN LOVE?
I was in love once, and my heart was broken. I don’t want to reveal all of the details, but I will say that I’m grateful to have healed. I feel ready to move on andshare my life with someone new and kind
WHAT ARE YOU GOOD AT?
I’ve been told that I’m good at listening. It’s important to me that others feel heard, especially young people. Minds seem to grow best when they are given lots of attention.
WHAT CAN’T YOU LIVE WITHOUT?
I can’t live without feeling connected to other people. DZs have a strong sense of community, and I’d like to find that in America.
WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM THE CARNIVAL?
Someone whom I can love deeply, and who will love me in return and treat my heart with care.I think that someone is Wesley
“Any suggestions?” Elektra asks.
“Honestly?” I say. “I wouldn’t change a thing. You nailed it.”
She lets a smile flicker across her face for a second. Then it’s gone.
“Here,” she says, handing my computer back to me. “I filled out yours.”
I gulp. Right now, I can only bear to skim it.
PHOENIX
AGE: 18
FAITH: Atheist
HEIGHT: 6’0”
BODY: Strong enough
DRINKING/DRUGS: Sometimes
ABOUT ME:
I grew up in the dark. Not all DZs really do—some have fire all the time. They have enough to burn that they can do that. But there’s not much where I’m from. I’ve never had enough. So I’ve spent my days hungry and cold. Not going to recover from that quickly.
HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN LOVE?
Not yet.
WHAT ARE YOU GOOD AT?
Good aim. Give me something to hit—anything, any time, in any weather—and I will. When I have my eye on something, I get it.
WHAT CAN’T YOU LIVE WITHOUT?
Freedom. I’m not here to be chosen by any prize. I’m here to see if there’s a prize I want to choose. I play by my own rules.
WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM THE CARNIVAL?
Someone to run with.
Not yet.
Her answer to the question—“Have you ever been in love?”—echoes in my mind. Of course I’ve been in love. For five years, I haven’t stopped being in love. I imagine Star reading th
ose two little words and crumbling. I touch the screen to change it, but it won’t let me.
“It’s done,” Elektra says. “I submitted it for you.”
Her words hit me like bricks. As the rest of my profile washes over me, I feel like I’m drowning. I’m sixteen, not eighteen. I’m five foot ten, not six foot. And I have without a shadow of a doubt been in love—that answer alone would make me a completely different person. She’s turned me into a stranger.
“Does it matter if this is true?” I snarl.
She shakes her head no, but she’s not really paying attention.
“Tinder, this is perfect,” she says. “I’m not changing a thing.”
“Let me see that,” I say.
I grab the laptop from Elektra and pore over the profile.
TINDER [Click to Edit]
AGE: 17
FAITH: Christian
HEIGHT: 5’8”
BODY: Smaller
DRINKING/DRUGS: Never
ABOUT ME:
I’m curious. I grew up in a university still filled with books, and I guess I got used to being able to know what I wanted to. There aren’t a lot of people my age where I’m from, because I guess there aren’t a lot of people there anyway, so I spent a lot of time reading by myself or with adults. I guess I just like learning.
HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN LOVE?
Honestly? Never.
WHAT ARE YOU GOOD AT?
I’m real. I don’t really hide things about myself. When I tell lies, I just get too nervous and end up having to tell the truth anyway. So I learned to just start with the truth.
WHAT CAN’T YOU LIVE WITHOUT?
Other people. Everything at home was delegated in my family, so no one knew how to do everything themselves. We each had our own tasks. Here, I guess it’s different, but still I don’t know how a lot of your stuff works yet. So I rely on others.
Blackout (Darkness Trilogy) Page 11
