I wanted to go behind the curtain, grab the needle that the prop department was setting up, and stab her in the eye.
Self-control. I needed self-control.
The director came in and ordered us to practice one last time before we got it on film. Astrid moaned and rolled her eyes. He was calmer than before, when he saw all the extras. He didn’t say anything racist. He didn’t really say anything at all. There were rumblings about the budget, which was already tight and was about to get even tighter. Over budget by a few hundred thousand. Probably over a million by the time the big scene rolled around. I couldn’t comprehend that amount of money. I had five bucks to my name, and that was because Mom gave that to me just in case I needed some spending cash.
“I need more from you,” the director said to Astrid, who was getting frustrated with the direction he was giving her.
She was about to walk off set when he called for a five-minute break.
The director left to take a phone call, probably from a finance man.
I went over to the food service table and grabbed a banana.
“He’s in over his head,” Astrid said, standing beside me and grabbing a grape off the vine in a bowl.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m not talking to you. I’m just thinking out loud,” she said, smiling and taking another grape and popping it into her mouth.
“The light—we’re going to lose the light,” Mr. Edman yelled.
“Honestly, we’re inside,” Astrid said to herself, most definitely not to me.
I dropped the banana peel in the garbage.
The director was literally pulling his hair out. He was literally becoming bald before my eyes. “One take and we’ll film,” he said, yelling into his bullhorn, even though the cafeteria wasn’t that big. “Quiet on the set. Quiet on the set. And action!”
-
The macabre scene comes after they prick their little fingers to actually test their blood.
They’re given ID cards to carry in their wallets and clutches. Cards with their name, address, and blood type. The circle smeared with their blood. The students wait in line until their name is called.
“Next,” says Nurse Murphy.
Helen moves forward, her arms at her sides. She’s cold in nothing but her brassiere and skirt. She sits on a cot and waits for her turn, picking at the loose thread on her hem.
Nurse Murphy orders Helen to lift her arm. She wipes the X mark. Helen flinches at the coldness.
“Is it going to hurt?” Helen asks naively.
“Only for a bit, but don’t worry—the pain will subside.”
The tattoo gun buzzes as it comes toward her. She screams, but the nurse does not stop. The gun touches her skin. It tickles. She laughs, but the pain comes and she starts. Tears run down her cheeks, down her chin, onto her bosom.
“All done,” Nurse Murphy says. “See, it didn’t hurt one bit.”
Helen’s body, once pure, is now defiled with an O and a positive sign.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The “congratulations; we made it one week” party was tonight. The temperature had dropped, but everyone was still determined to celebrate. So the school administration graciously opened the doors to the high school gym. The same gym where I got pelted during dodgeball last week.
I waited in line for food. BBQ and potato salad filled my plate, and a piece of Wonder Bread.
“It’s, like, so totally going to look like a mushroom cloud. I worked it to a T. It’s going to be so gnarly,” Skeet said, scooping coleslaw onto his plate. Skeet’s in charge of the explosives on set. He’s the one who’s going to be making the bomb look like the real thing.
“Gnarly,” I said as he was trying to explain it to me.
“Righteous.”
The last time I saw him—yesterday—he’d had a lit cigarette in his mouth. He was holding a stick of dynamite in his right hand and a brick of C-4 in his left. He could have taken out me and everyone around us that day. Unless he was holding props. It was hard to tell sometimes.
I found a table in the back for Max and me.
“They want to use my land,” he said glumly as he sat. He placed a chocolate cupcake on my plate.
“Thanks and what?” I said, licking the frosting that I had swiped with my index finger.
“For your death scene.”
“Cool.”
“Not cool. That’s my place, and my mom gave them permission to use it. Ugh. Annoying woman. She signed papers and everything.”
“But it’s going to be in a movie. That’s pretty awesome.”
“Ugh.”
I shook my head. “You’re being crazy.”
“Am not. But I’ll tell you what, I’m going to be there,” he said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because I’m going to be in this movie if my land is going to be in this movie.”
“I thought you don’t care about this movie.”
“I don’t.”
“Well, I think you do.”
He rolled his eyes and dug into his fried chicken leg like a dog gnawing on a bone.
“Can I have everyone’s attention?” Mayor Hershott said to the crowd. His voice echoed throughout the gym.
A few people stopped eating and looked toward the stage, but most kept talking to who they were talking to and pretended that Mayor Hershott did not exist. I know I didn’t go up to the stage.
“Thank you all for coming,” said Mayor Hershott. “What an awesome turnout.” Most people here had come for the food. “Everyone has been great this week. But we’ve got one week left with Hollywood, and let’s make it the best week ever. Who’s with me?”
Most kept on eating their lime-green salad and pickled eggs, but the kids cheered.
The director approached the microphone. Once again a piercing sound went through the speakers and made all of us, even the ones not paying attention, i.e., not me, place our hands over our ears and scream out in pain.
“Okay,” he said, finally getting the attention back on him—even the ones who hadn’t been paying attention to Mayor Hershott. “You all have been great with your turnout as extras this past week.” People clapped for themselves. “I’m requesting an even bigger turnout for this upcoming Thursday’s last but biggest shoot.”
Next Thursday marked the end of the world for Pikesville. As the bomb went off, I would be watching from the top of Crow Mountain. Blast. Heat. Radioactivity. End the Arms Race—Save the Human Race. Really, one big bang and we all fall down. Winning the contest meant I got to survive. Sort of. (Sorry, spoiler alert for whoever hasn’t read Eve of Destruction yet, but I died. The Red Warning from Mount De Soto and my death scene, the sacrificing my life for the boy I love. Like I said—spoiler alert.)
“I don’t know why this morbid stuff is so fascinating to me,” Freddy said.
“I think it’s because no matter how bad our lives are, it could be a lot, lot worse.”
“True. Where’s Terrence?” he asked.
“Um,” I said, looking around, “he’s over there by the tree with Rodney.”
He smiled, knocked his shoulder with mine, and walked away.
The director was still talking about what would happen after the bomb went off.
“I need smiles and happy faces. True, a lot of people are going to die, but it’s all worth it in the end. It’s going to be visually appealing. You won’t even know it’s fake. There will be casualties, and if any of you all are interested in being a part of the blast sequence and also the aftermath scene, we would love to have you. We need bodies—dead ones. For the ones playing live victims, we are asking for you to come in ratty clothes from the early ’50s—and surprise! If you choose to go the extra mile, a seventy-five-dollar bonus will be paid to those who shave their heads bald. Everyone will be covered in mud and other ways that our makeup department can come up with to mimic the effects of radiation. We will also be setting up the blast zone, and if you do live in the proximity of what we are calling ground zero, we need you to evacuate. For your inconvenience, every adult will be paid ten dollars and every child five. Starting at six a.m., we will be knocking on doors. The local police have agreed to help. Thank you for your understanding. And don’t forget what Mr. Beauchamp said in his great novella: ‘If you’ve seen one nuclear war, you’ve seen ’em all.’”