His lips pulled into a snarl. "I'm talking to Kate here!"
"She doesn't want to talk!"
He was immovable, a tree, a mountain. He could muscle his way in if he wanted, and they couldn't do anything about it. He really seemed as if he meant to.
"This is our room. You can't come in!" Ana said.
The plywood door cracked, then crunched as DB's hand went through it.
"Hey!" Kate shouted from inside. DB stepped back in apparent surprise, six arms raised in a gesture of innocence.
Ana slipped in and slammed the door shut. She grabbed one of the chairs and pushed it against the door. Like that would keep him out.
But DB didn't try to get in again. "Bitch!" he hollered instead. "Earth Bitch!"
After that, the hallway was silent.
Ana sighed at the splintered hole in the door. Somehow, she found the edge of her bed and sat. She didn't have any earth to use inside. She wouldn't have been able to stop him if he'd really wanted to get in.
Kate was sitting on her own bed, looking as shell-shocked as Ana felt. Her gaze turned downward, to her hands resting in her lap.
"Maybe I should talk to him. Do you think I overreacted?" Kate asked. Ana automatically shook her head, though she honestly didn't know. Kate ran her hands through her hair." I fell for it. I can't believe I fell for it. Big famous rock star hitting on me, and what do I think? 'Wow, he really likes me.' I'm such an idiot." She threw herself back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
Ana's heart was still pounding hard. She'd spent an hour in the backyard discovering how much she could do with all these fantastic powers. And now she was learning about her limits. Inside the house, she was useless. And she couldn't say anything that would make Kate feel better.
"You're wrong about him," Ana said.
"No, I'm not. Just wait, it'll be Diamonds House he sneaks back from next."
"Yeah. But he's not going after every woman on the show. He's never looked twice at me."
Kate glanced at her, distracted from her introspection. Then, she laughed. "Is he really that shallow?"
Ana was fairly sure he wasn't, but on this matter, she couldn't argue."
Don't worry about it, Ana. He's totally not worth it."
More cameras invaded the next day. Like Ana could be bothered by the presence of more cameras. But these came with complications.
John Fortune opened the door to the house without knocking. "HeyJohn here! Anyone home?"
"Yeah." Ana came out to meet him from the kitchen, where she'd been snacking. She'd been taking advantage of the food she didn't have to buy or cook herself. That was probably what the cameras would showround-faced, unsvelte Ana, always eating. "What's up?"
"We just stopped by to do some interviews. Where is everyone?"
"I thought you guys check the footage every day."
"We haven't gotten to last night's yet."
She said, "There was kind of a blow up. Big TV drama, as Bugsy would say."
"Then it'll be a good time for interviews, won't it?" Michael Berman, all smiles, pushed his way in past the couple of crew who were lugging equipment. "Is Curveball around?"
Ana felt her gaze darken, her expression shutting down. Getting protective. Kate did not need to be talking to this guy today. "No."
"Are you sure?" Berman persisted.
"Yeah."
John, always diplomatic, stepped between them. "We've got five other people here to interview. Maybe DBhe's always ready to talk. We'll be setting up on the back porch."
Oh, not the backyard . . .
"Uh, yeah, about that," Ana said, fidgeting suddenly. "That may not be such a great idea. I'm not sure you want to go out there." What was she going to tell them? It wasn't like she could hide it, they'd see footage of the whole thing.
"Why not?" John saidand headed straight for the back door.
Ana followed him. Even from the window the churned-up soil and mounds of earth were visible. How was she going to explain this? Maybe she could put it back the way it was. Flatten the ground, talk Gardener into planting some grass . . .
"Holy shit!" John stepped onto the porch.
Quickly Ana said, "II was sort of . . . practicing."
When he turned to her, though, he was smiling. "That's a real mess out there."
"Yeah, well. The craters are Kate's."
John just kept grinning. "Oh man, I love you guys."
Drummer Boy dwarfs his chair, dwarfs the surroundings. He fills the frame, so that it's hard to tell if it's a trick of the camera that makes him seem huge or if he really is that big. All six hands are in motion, tapping the arms of the chair, tapping the air as if working imaginary drumsticks, or just twitching to an unheard beat.
His expression changes in response to a question. He glares, evoking the punk rock persona that made him the front man for the hottest band going. When he speaks, all six hands clench.
"You want to know who I think should win? Who the cares! This whole thing is bogus. Everyone who says I'm just here to get publicity for the band? They're right, 'cause that's all this show is good for. Cheap thrills and shameless self-promotion. It sure as isn't about heroics. Maybe Kate's right. Maybe I should just worry about getting all the hot chicks here into bed and let the show take care of itself." He laughs, then, but the sound is bitter. "All of 'em except her. 'Cause if she wants a reputation as the Ice Queen, that's fine with me."
A rare look of uncertainty darkens his gaze for a moment, as if he's realized he's said too much. But the expression only lasts for a heartbeat, to be replaced by his usual, solid glare.
Jonathan Hive
Daniel Abraham
FIRST AMONG LOSERS
JONATHAN SAT AT HIS laptop and didn't write. The cursor blinked.
Well, I've been voted off.
He backspaced to the beginning and sat, tapping his hands on the kitchen table. It was smaller than the formal dining table big enough to house almost thirty people. This one would only fit ten or twelve, even though there were only three of them in the great rambling mansion they called the Discard Pile.
Or, colloquially, Losers Central.
The thing about Hollywood is that it's made up of total fakes and posers. Television is brimming over with people who have the depth of mud puddles and the compassion of sex-starved piranhas. I'm actually glad to be off the show. Delighted. Seriously.
He highlighted and deleted it.
The problem was how do deal with the public in a way that acknowledged the humiliation of having gotten booted in the first round without actually losing face. It wasn't a simple thing.
"Hey!" Joe Twitch said, "Isn't this place fucking great?"
Jonathan looked up. "Joe . . ." he began.
Twitch held up a hand fast enough to make a whooshing sound like some cheap kung fu sound effect.
"I know, you buy the whole 'we lost' thing," Joe Twitch said. "But I'm telling you, they're gonna bring us back. Like later in the show, we're gonna go back in. Why else are they keeping us in this kick-ass mansion, eh? Butlers and maids and everything. There's a pool."
"Joe," Jonathan said. "We lost. They're keeping us around because they think we're amusing. We're a fucking sideshow."
"That's what they want you to think," Joe Twitch said. "But you wait. You'll see. These shows do it all the time. Bait and switch, they call it. Or hey, bait and twitch. Get it? Twitch and . . . Ow!"
Twitch slapped himself fast enough to make a little popping sound where the air rushed back in behind his arm, and Jonathan felt one of his wasps die. It was a small price to pay.
"Can't you keep those things under control?" Twitch asked. "Fucker stung me."
"Sorry. Sometimes a few just slip out," Jonathan lied. "You should put something on that welt, though. I think they have something in the bathroom."
Joe Twitch vanished. The laptop stayed the same.
Some people might say we've lost. I think of it as being differently victorious.
[Backspace.]
John Fortune came into the kitchen with a couple of grocery bags on each arm. He smiled and nodded to Jonathan.