hand and squeezed it.
Amy choked out, “I’ll stay.”
“Good,” Alex said, “we’re happy to have you. Now, the next important thing—none of you are allowed to blog about the show, or Tweet about it, or post anything about it on Facebook or anywhere else on the Internet until Myra and I give you the go-ahead. That’s in your contracts, and we mean it. You can send private e-mails, messages, or Tweets to your family about your participation, but nothing public. Doing so will result in not only dismissal from the show but legal action. Everybody understand?”
Everybody did. Alex finished explaining the show, adding that the first episodes would air very soon as a replacement for a show that had been abruptly canceled.
Until then, Amy realized, she would never know whether anything that happened outside of her apartment was real or not. Well, she would just spend a lot of time in her apartment! Unless—
“Can you film us in our homes?”
“No, of course not,” Alex said.
“Will we come to work here each day?”
“Yes, and your hours here are eight thirty to six, with an hour for lunch, which is free to you in the company cafeteria. You’ll be doing a variety of tasks, including previewing new TV shows, testing computer games from our games division, even assisting on the sets of different programs. It’s great training for anyone wanting a career in TV, or a spectacular assist to your résumés.”
Violet said, “I was promised a spot in the chorus line of
Dance Dance Dance
.”
“With one guaranteed appearance on air, I know,” Alex said. “You’ll get it, after this show has filmed all its episodes. You’ll all get whatever you were promised in your contracts. Now, let’s introduce ourselves. Lynn? Tell us a little about yourself.”
The small, sharp-faced girl to Alex’s left said, “Well, I’m Lynn Demaris; I’m eighteen years old. I just graduated in December from a full-form high school, and I want a career in TV production. That’s why I’m here. And I’m grateful for the opportunity, Alex.” She smiled, eyes downcast as if overcome with gratitude.
The abrupt phantom in Amy’s mind astonished her: the same empty box that had appeared twice before. But about this girl—what did it mean? Lynn Demaris, dressed in undistinguished jeans and sweater, had nondescript features and brown hair that would frizz at the first hint of dampness. She looked completely ordinary.
Alex prompted, “And do you have any hobbies, Lynn?”
“Playing computer games. And I’m
good
.”
A few laughs and smiles around the table; everyone was relaxing except Amy. Alex said, “Waverly?”
The blonde who had thrown herself on the doll gave them a practiced smile. She wore clothes that Amy thought of as “punk socialite”—expensive jeans, silk top artfully sewn in ragged layers, and the Louboutin red-heeled sandals. Her spiked jewelry, including a nose ring, said
trendy
and her perfect teeth said
money
. “I’m Waverly Balter-Wells. I’m seventeen and I’m an actress. This is my first big break, but it won’t be my last. I hold a brown belt in karate and I enjoy golf and racing my parents’ sailboats.”
“La di da,” Violet whispered to Amy.
Amy had to lean forward and crane her neck to see the next speaker, mostly hidden by the huge bulk of another boy. The moment she glimpsed him she knew two things: that he was the one who had assaulted the fake criminal in the lobby, and that he was the most gorgeous person she had ever seen.
“I’m Cai Marsh,” he said.
His thick black hair fell over his forehead; instantly Amy wanted to run her hands through it. Pale brown skin like warm sand. Eyes like pieces of blue sky. Full red mouth. Amy felt her body grow taut and she crossed her arms across her chest.
No no no
. This job was complicated enough without any stupid yearning for a boy who would never look at her.
“I’m eighteen, half Hawaiian and half Welsh, which is where I get
Amy choked out, “I’ll stay.”
“Good,” Alex said, “we’re happy to have you. Now, the next important thing—none of you are allowed to blog about the show, or Tweet about it, or post anything about it on Facebook or anywhere else on the Internet until Myra and I give you the go-ahead. That’s in your contracts, and we mean it. You can send private e-mails, messages, or Tweets to your family about your participation, but nothing public. Doing so will result in not only dismissal from the show but legal action. Everybody understand?”
Everybody did. Alex finished explaining the show, adding that the first episodes would air very soon as a replacement for a show that had been abruptly canceled.
Until then, Amy realized, she would never know whether anything that happened outside of her apartment was real or not. Well, she would just spend a lot of time in her apartment! Unless—
“Can you film us in our homes?”
“No, of course not,” Alex said.
“Will we come to work here each day?”
“Yes, and your hours here are eight thirty to six, with an hour for lunch, which is free to you in the company cafeteria. You’ll be doing a variety of tasks, including previewing new TV shows, testing computer games from our games division, even assisting on the sets of different programs. It’s great training for anyone wanting a career in TV, or a spectacular assist to your résumés.”
Violet said, “I was promised a spot in the chorus line of
Dance Dance Dance
.”
“With one guaranteed appearance on air, I know,” Alex said. “You’ll get it, after this show has filmed all its episodes. You’ll all get whatever you were promised in your contracts. Now, let’s introduce ourselves. Lynn? Tell us a little about yourself.”
The small, sharp-faced girl to Alex’s left said, “Well, I’m Lynn Demaris; I’m eighteen years old. I just graduated in December from a full-form high school, and I want a career in TV production. That’s why I’m here. And I’m grateful for the opportunity, Alex.” She smiled, eyes downcast as if overcome with gratitude.
The abrupt phantom in Amy’s mind astonished her: the same empty box that had appeared twice before. But about this girl—what did it mean? Lynn Demaris, dressed in undistinguished jeans and sweater, had nondescript features and brown hair that would frizz at the first hint of dampness. She looked completely ordinary.
Alex prompted, “And do you have any hobbies, Lynn?”
“Playing computer games. And I’m
good
.”
A few laughs and smiles around the table; everyone was relaxing except Amy. Alex said, “Waverly?”
The blonde who had thrown herself on the doll gave them a practiced smile. She wore clothes that Amy thought of as “punk socialite”—expensive jeans, silk top artfully sewn in ragged layers, and the Louboutin red-heeled sandals. Her spiked jewelry, including a nose ring, said
trendy
and her perfect teeth said
money
. “I’m Waverly Balter-Wells. I’m seventeen and I’m an actress. This is my first big break, but it won’t be my last. I hold a brown belt in karate and I enjoy golf and racing my parents’ sailboats.”
“La di da,” Violet whispered to Amy.
Amy had to lean forward and crane her neck to see the next speaker, mostly hidden by the huge bulk of another boy. The moment she glimpsed him she knew two things: that he was the one who had assaulted the fake criminal in the lobby, and that he was the most gorgeous person she had ever seen.
“I’m Cai Marsh,” he said.
His thick black hair fell over his forehead; instantly Amy wanted to run her hands through it. Pale brown skin like warm sand. Eyes like pieces of blue sky. Full red mouth. Amy felt her body grow taut and she crossed her arms across her chest.
No no no
. This job was complicated enough without any stupid yearning for a boy who would never look at her.
“I’m eighteen, half Hawaiian and half Welsh, which is where I get
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