such a weird name. ‘Cai’ means ‘full of color’ in Chinese and ‘rejoice’ in Welsh. I surf, or at least I did when we lived in Hawaii. I have no idea what I want to do for a living eventually, and I didn’t know what I would be doing here until the dog-in-a-tree thing Thursday night. But I’m really glad to meet you all.”
Oh, God, he sounded as if he meant it. Nice as well as hot. Amy deliberately looked away from him.
“I’m Violet Sanderson, a dancer. I trained with the Caroline Mallard Company for six years. I’m eighteen, and with dance class every day and now this job, I don’t have time for any other hobbies. Although I do like shopping.”
Waverly rolled her eyes. She and Violet seemed to have taken a dislike to each other on sight.
Next to speak was the thin, brown-haired boy whom Amy had glimpsed at her callback audition. “Rafael Torres—Rafe,” he said flatly. “I’m here for the money.”
Amy looked at him more closely, both liking and surprised at his bald honesty. He said, “I’m sixteen. I work a crappy job, or I did until now, doesn’t matter what it was. I’m interested in politics and science. Someday I’m going to med school and becoming a doctor, and after that I’m going to solve the Riemann conjecture.”
Everyone looked puzzled. Apparently only Amy knew that the Riemann conjecture was math’s holy grail, a problem the best mathematical minds in the world had not been able to solve in over a hundred and fifty years. Rafael Torres was very smart, and either he was very arrogant or his brusqueness covered up massive insecurity. There was a little silence.
“Tommy?” Alex prompted.
The tall boy sitting next to Amy blinked twice. Slowly, as if dragging the words from memory, he said, “My name is Tommy Wimmer. I’m eighteen. My address is 643 Sycamore Lane Apartment 3B. I live with my uncle Sam. His phone number is—”
“That’s fine, Tommy,” Alex said as shock replaced the dregs of Amy’s anger. What was this boy doing here? Either his IQ was subnormal or he was mildly autistic. A girl like Tommy had lived next door to Amy pre-Collapse, before Gran’s investments tanked and she got sick and lost both her job and the house. Amy had tried to be extra kind to Elise, because most of the other kids were not.
Alex said, “What do you like to do, Tommy?”
“I like insects and spiders. I make plastic models of spiders. There are over thirty thousand species of spiders. The hairy mygalomorphs like—”
“Good, good. Amy?”
“I’m Amy Kent. I’m sixteen, and I like chess, math, and gymnastics.” Let them know right away how much of a nerd she was. “Anybody else here play chess?”
Nobody answered, unsurprisingly, although she’d thought that Rafe might play. Well, at least she had Paul O’Malley across the street. Waverly’s lip quirked with superior amusement.
Alex Everett opened a box on the table and pulled out papers. “Well, then, let’s fill out the paperwork that Human Resources demands. Now, these forms are W-2’s—”
Afterward, as they all left the conference room, Amy put a hand on Violet’s arm until they trailed behind the others, out of earshot. “Violet, you told me to ‘do something’ in that fake lobby attack, and you were going to take me with you when you leaped up for the cameras. Why are you helping me? Aren’t we supposed to be rivals?”
“No, it’s not a direct competition, One Two Three—weren’t you listening? But if it becomes one, and I wouldn’t put it past that bitch Myra Townsend, I want an ally. Together we can come up with more camera-pleasing ploys than one person alone. You in with me?”
Amy didn’t want to “come up with camera-pleasing” anything. Nor was she ambitious to succeed at this show. But she didn’t want to be fired, and she liked Violet. “Yes, I’m in.”
“Great!” Violet said. “Now look at that Cai! Too bad I already have a boyfriend. Did you ever see anything so hunky
Oh, God, he sounded as if he meant it. Nice as well as hot. Amy deliberately looked away from him.
“I’m Violet Sanderson, a dancer. I trained with the Caroline Mallard Company for six years. I’m eighteen, and with dance class every day and now this job, I don’t have time for any other hobbies. Although I do like shopping.”
Waverly rolled her eyes. She and Violet seemed to have taken a dislike to each other on sight.
Next to speak was the thin, brown-haired boy whom Amy had glimpsed at her callback audition. “Rafael Torres—Rafe,” he said flatly. “I’m here for the money.”
Amy looked at him more closely, both liking and surprised at his bald honesty. He said, “I’m sixteen. I work a crappy job, or I did until now, doesn’t matter what it was. I’m interested in politics and science. Someday I’m going to med school and becoming a doctor, and after that I’m going to solve the Riemann conjecture.”
Everyone looked puzzled. Apparently only Amy knew that the Riemann conjecture was math’s holy grail, a problem the best mathematical minds in the world had not been able to solve in over a hundred and fifty years. Rafael Torres was very smart, and either he was very arrogant or his brusqueness covered up massive insecurity. There was a little silence.
“Tommy?” Alex prompted.
The tall boy sitting next to Amy blinked twice. Slowly, as if dragging the words from memory, he said, “My name is Tommy Wimmer. I’m eighteen. My address is 643 Sycamore Lane Apartment 3B. I live with my uncle Sam. His phone number is—”
“That’s fine, Tommy,” Alex said as shock replaced the dregs of Amy’s anger. What was this boy doing here? Either his IQ was subnormal or he was mildly autistic. A girl like Tommy had lived next door to Amy pre-Collapse, before Gran’s investments tanked and she got sick and lost both her job and the house. Amy had tried to be extra kind to Elise, because most of the other kids were not.
Alex said, “What do you like to do, Tommy?”
“I like insects and spiders. I make plastic models of spiders. There are over thirty thousand species of spiders. The hairy mygalomorphs like—”
“Good, good. Amy?”
“I’m Amy Kent. I’m sixteen, and I like chess, math, and gymnastics.” Let them know right away how much of a nerd she was. “Anybody else here play chess?”
Nobody answered, unsurprisingly, although she’d thought that Rafe might play. Well, at least she had Paul O’Malley across the street. Waverly’s lip quirked with superior amusement.
Alex Everett opened a box on the table and pulled out papers. “Well, then, let’s fill out the paperwork that Human Resources demands. Now, these forms are W-2’s—”
Afterward, as they all left the conference room, Amy put a hand on Violet’s arm until they trailed behind the others, out of earshot. “Violet, you told me to ‘do something’ in that fake lobby attack, and you were going to take me with you when you leaped up for the cameras. Why are you helping me? Aren’t we supposed to be rivals?”
“No, it’s not a direct competition, One Two Three—weren’t you listening? But if it becomes one, and I wouldn’t put it past that bitch Myra Townsend, I want an ally. Together we can come up with more camera-pleasing ploys than one person alone. You in with me?”
Amy didn’t want to “come up with camera-pleasing” anything. Nor was she ambitious to succeed at this show. But she didn’t want to be fired, and she liked Violet. “Yes, I’m in.”
“Great!” Violet said. “Now look at that Cai! Too bad I already have a boyfriend. Did you ever see anything so hunky
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