Date With A Rockstar (24 page)

Oh.
“Why do they do that?” I ask her.

“Budget cuts. I guess it costs a ton to maintain a barrier like that with all the wind and rain disrupting the signal. Besides, they always claim everyone is inside during major storms, so it serves no purpose.”

“I know this sounds stupid, but I kind of thought the dome was a permanent, physical structure.”

“Hey, that's not stupid. I used to think that, too, but I read a lot while I was in the institution.” She forces a laugh. “I find civil engineering fascinating.”

“Now that
is
insane.” I nudge her arm so she knows I'm joking. We dash from the overhang entrance to the shuttle. Eleanor checks off our names as we take our seats. No Jasmine. I expect Jeremy to be in a separate vehicle from us, but Jasmine…

The wind rocks the shuttle back and forth. Is it safe to fly in this weather? I press my fingers hard into the seat bottom as the shuttle revs. I need to see Jeremy. Even for a second, just a glimpse so that I know he's okay. I watch the hotel entrance, waiting.
Please be okay.

Derek slips out with a pile of luggage and hugs the wall to keep under the awning. I recognize the signature black box that Jeremy's gaming system was in. A moment later, a limo pulls to the curb. Jasmine pops out and runs to the shuttle. She has a sleek black raincoat over her shoulders. Underneath, she's wearing a bikini made of shells. I'm not close enough to check, but I'm fairly sure her breasts are encased in perfect clamshells like in a Renaissance painting. She looks like a goddess. Eleanor hands her a blanket from
the overhead compartment and I go back to watching the limo.

Jeremy's hair is plastered to his forehead as he emerges. He grabs the top two suitcases from Derek and they both run to the open trunk. His hair and skin are even brighter next to the gray weather. I press the palm of my hand against the window, wishing I could hug him, kiss him, just once more. Then we're off. The driver speeds down the street Derek and I ran along, and then we turn off and zip toward the airport.

We load onto the plane with Eleanor yelling constantly about hurrying and staying in line. The white leather couches Jeremy sat on during the first flight are empty, but he left after us, so he'll probably arrive in a second. “Buckle in. It doesn't matter where you sit.” A flight attendant goes over how to use the life vests and oxygen masks, which is very unsettling since we didn't receive those instructions the first time.

I keep waiting in my seat for another glimpse of Jeremy, but the world is not cooperating with me. He must be on the plane by now. I know he's not avoiding me. I mean, he couldn't be.

The plane bounces through the sky in a series of jerks and drops. Jaime pukes into a bag and Mel complains constantly. Well, if the plane crashes I won't have to worry about the Fluxem cure anymore. Though it would be nice to kiss Jeremy again before I die. When we land in Newark, New Jersey, I'm still expecting Jeremy to open the curtain between his part of the plane and ours. Even when we climb down the stairs and onto the tarmac, I'm sure he'll be right there waiting.

He isn't.

When we pull into the Blue Finn Inn, I start to feel particularly desperate. Even I know the difference between a nice hotel like the last one, and a cheap-ass
inn like this one. The whole place feels abandoned. Jeremy isn't here and I'm pretty sure he won't be staying at this establishment.

Mel stands in the open door of the hotel transport. “Are they sticking us somewhere cheap to cut costs, or what?”

Jasmine pushes past her. “Why aren't we in New York City?” I shrug. With the final show and concert being in the city, it would have made sense for us to stay close by.

“Maybe the ratings suck,” Jaime says, hunching into her jacket.

I wait next to the vehicle, appraising the one-story, flat-roofed inn. No one builds single-story buildings anymore, so the place has to be at least fifty years old. To preserve what's left of the green space, the government started really limiting building permits. Boston was already too built up to notice the difference. In the suburbs however, residents were pissed. Many were making money subdividing their lots and letting people build in what had been their backyards. The idea makes sense to me. There's all that empty space in the sky, might as well go up.

Around the inn, puddles are slick with oil on the pavement. Rain mists down on us, destined to get worse as the storm works its way up the coast. Across the street, a twelve-foot, barbed-wire fence cuts through the industrial landscape. An Air Force sign hangs at an angle from the post closest to us. Behind the fence, weeds sprout through the concrete in tall patches. Well, it could be worse. The place isn't that bad, a little old, but plenty big enough.

Eleanor exits the transport last and wrinkles her nose. “Okay, then. Welcome to Newark.” She doesn't conceal the inadvertent grunt that escapes her throat. “We're here for six days, girls, while the rest of the world watches the dates. The studio thought it best
for you not to be recognized on the street by anyone. So, in their infinite wisdom, here we are.”

Jasmine narrows her eyes. “This location was not in the paperwork I signed. My lawyer read through those documents and he wouldn't have let me come
here.
”

“Look, Jasmine, I don't have control over the show. Either you want to be in this or you don't. By all means, have your lawyer come pick you up if you'd like to withdraw from the competition.” Eleanor straightens her rain jacket. “Anyone else have a problem?”

Everyone stays silent.

“We'll keep the same room assignments, since Jeremy won't be here for you to worry about.” She takes a look at us and then at the motel, shaking her head.

Great. Having Jeremy nearby is the only thing that makes living with these girls tolerable. Well, that and the hotel restaurant, because I bet the food here isn't going to be anything like Key West.

Checking into the inn takes a while. They don't have a modern scan system and the person in charge is about one hundred and fifteen. The old lady types in each of our names with shaking fingers and provides a plastic card. I feel like I'm in an old movie.

Six days. I bet this was in the producers' plan from the beginning. This is the twenty-five percent they're donating to cancer research. They didn't take it out of their own paychecks; they just downsized our comfort level. I shrug. I've lived in worse places.

I wiggle the key in the lock of our door and push it open. The door catches on burnt orange carpet. I press harder, until the opening is wide enough for Praline to drag in her suitcase. Floral bedspreads contrast sharply with the wall art—abstract paintings from China.

I leave the door open, letting the stale, mildewy air out. Praline sits on her bed in a serious depressive funk. She slips the bracelet Jeremy gave her from one wrist to the other. Her head tips back against the glued-up headboard, and her entire face droops like weights are attached to every feature. “Your show wasn't that bad,” I tell her.

She doesn't move. A wired phone in the corner gives two buzzes. I pick up the antique device and fit it against my head. So weird.
Eleanor,
I mouth to Praline.

She sounds irritated. “This is the situation. The hotel doesn't even have room service, so in a half-hour we're taking a field trip to the local supermarket to get enough supplies for the week.” The phone clicks off.

“What'd she want?” Praline asks in a monotone voice.

“We're going to the market. There's nothing to eat here.”

When Praline nods, her head bangs against the headboard.

“Come on, get out of bed.” The carpet squishes as I walk over and prop her upright.

Praline nods slightly.

“Up. Up. You want to eat, don't you?”

“Not really.”

Oh, man. Suck it up. This is a competition.
“Too bad. And if you don't cheer up, I'll trade rooms and make you stay with Jasmine.” That finally motivates her.

“Hold on, I gotta get my shoes.”

We climb onto the shuttle with the other girls. I shift in my seat, checking out the landscape as we cruise down an empty road. I had no idea there were parts of the country largely uninhabited. The news always focuses on the over-population problem. I've seen tons of footage of clusters of people and buildings, plus all the warnings about scarcity of food and skin-eroding pollution. But I've never heard about
abandoned parts of the country. There's probably a reason there aren't many permanent residents here, leaking nuclear waste buried underground giving everyone cancer, or something even worse. Boston is looking pretty good.

Kreeger's Market has a glass front and three stories. I'm a little excited. I wonder what sort of budget they gave Eleanor for us. I can't imagine the other girls would be content with a diet of veggie-spread sandwiches. I bet the producers are trying to protect themselves from getting sued by bringing us all to the supermarket. No one can say they weren't fed if we have the opportunity to pick out our own food.

The ten of us, tromping through the aisles, don't look like we belong, except for me. They're more like misplaced fashion models. We end up with a lot of prepared food. Vitamin bars, bread, and chips—all of the essential nutrients, no need for cooking. Eleanor picks out these ready-heat mac and cheese containers. When you rip away the metal wire on the bottom there's a short burst of heat that cooks the pasta. I've never had one, but I've seen the commercial on TV. I'm surprised when she scans three bags of oranges into the cart. I watch the dollar increment on the handle shoot up.

And so begins six days of hell.

Jeremy doesn't call. No one knows where he's staying. Presumably in New York. The Fluxem splotch on my back spreads. A third one starts on my hip, right on the side I usually sleep on, so I spend half the night trying to get comfortable and then sleep like crap. The room smells weird, and I can't tell if it's just the hotel or if I'm starting to smell like a basement, too. The weather gets worse as the storm moves up the coast. Horizontal rain pelts the roof of the inn, destroying my sleep even more.

Every night another contestant gets knocked down in front of the world. The Blue Finn Inn isn't equipped with a viewing room, so we all crowd together in Eleanor's room for the show. A single camera films us, but I doubt the footage will be usable. Shelley Anne has weight issues, but the majority of her episode focuses on her battle with skin cancer. Mel is a pill addict. Brie drinks, smokes, and plays in an underground gambling ring. I try to gauge Jeremy's reaction to her after what Derek said about their shared interest in throwing away money. Jeremy flashes his devilish half-smile throughout the date, but I can't tell if he's flirting or just pleased with his cards. With the amount of chips he lays down on the table, I assume he's being dealt killer hands. I never thought of one vice being more attractive than another. Maybe I should have been picking out more glamorous, slightly illegal hobbies other than scratching. Brie is far cooler than me. After her show, I almost want to talk to her and find out more. Her dirty secrets are so much more exciting than mine.

The studio couldn't have planned a better mix of messed up girls—but then, they probably
did
plan them. Bastards. As the days pass, I start to obsess about Jasmine's secret. She still doesn't seem worried. Every night she watches the episodes with a detached calm, smirking and silently passing judgment. On day four, I'm convinced she's managed to bribe a producer. All my missing Jeremy energy is devoted to fantasies of her downfall.

Then her show airs.

The familiar words flash across the screen—
Who will win a date with a rockstar?

Rod Bing sits down behind the desk and the audience claps. His scarf is black and white stripes. “Tonight, the last contestant's date and secret will be revealed.”

Here we go. What I've been waiting for. Jasmine slammed down a notch.

“Meet contestant number ten, Jasmine.” She enters the interview room with calm poise. She's polished. Dictionary perfect.

Get on with it, bring out the dirt. Praline's hands are balled like she's thinking the same thing. Even the clones eagerly lean forward, waiting for the gossip. The show continues. Blah, blah. Jasmine loves Jeremy's music and is overwhelmed by his attractiveness. She only hopes she can be “worthy of his attention.”

Rod Bing widens one eye. Here we go. “Now, we didn't know this at the time Jasmine was selected, and her modesty does her credit…” A picture of a little boy and girl fills the screen. Their arms are linked and the boy has mud up to his knees. I guess their age to be around five, the boy is missing a front tooth and smiles a familiar smile. I fill with dread. A big hand flips the photo over and then the camera pans up to show a woman who's an exact older replica of Jasmine. The focus shifts back to the writing on the back of the photo.

Jasmine and Jeremy age five, Whisper Creek.

There's a collective gasp in the room. My ears are ringing, but the noise does nothing to block out the TV.

“Jeremy was always hanging around our house when he and Jasmine were little.” Jasmine's mom leans in like she's going to tell the camera a secret. “I think he had a bit of a crush on her.” My knuckles crack as my hands tighten into fists. I want to cry. Please let them have actual bad stuff about her. This can't be it. “When he moved away, I know we all missed him. I think it's a blessing that the two can be reunited on the show.” The picture fills the screen again. Jeremy
as a little boy. What a cutie. And Jasmine…she was beautiful even then. Tears prickle my eyes.

The screen shifts to Jasmine at the hotel. No wonder she's been so smug. They filmed her while we were all going through hell, wondering what was going to be revealed. I'm furious. I'm beyond furious. She has the nerve to accuse me of cheating. The footage only gets worse.