Copyright

HarperVoyager

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018

Copyright © George R.R. Martin and the Wild Cards Trust 2018

See Copyright Acknowledgements page for further copyright information

Cover images © Shutterstock.com 2018

Cover design by Mike Topping © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018

George R.R. Martin and the Wild Cards Trust 2018 assert the moral right to be identified as the authors of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008285197

Ebook Edition © October 2018 ISBN: 9780008239626

Version: 2019-05-07

Dedication

To Pat Rogers

the one who escaped

(we all miss you)

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Copyright Acknowledgments

Texas Hold ’Em

Bubbles and the Band Trip by Caroline Spector: Prologue

Tuesday

Bubbles and the Band Trip: Part 1

The Secret Life of Rubberband by Max Gladstone: Part 1

Bubbles and the Band Trip: Part 2

The Secret Life of Rubberband: Part 2

Bubbles and the Band Trip: Part 3

Jade Blossom’s Brew by William F. Wu

Bubbles and the Band Trip: Part 4

Wednesday

Bubbles and the Band Trip: Part 5

Beats, Bugs, and Boys by Diana Rowland: Part 1

The Secret Life of Rubberband: Part 3

Beats, Bugs, and Boys: Part 2

The Secret Life of Rubberband: Part 4

Bubbles and the Band Trip: Part 6

Beats, Bugs, and Boys: Part 3

The Secret Life of Rubberband: Part 5

Bubbles and the Band Trip: Part 7

The Secret Life of Rubberband: Part 6

Beats, Bugs, and Boys: Part 4

Thursday

Bubbles and the Band Trip: Part 8

Dust and the Darkness by Victor Milán: Part 1

Bubbles and the Band Trip: Part 9

The Secret Life of Rubberband: Part 7

Dust and the Darkness: Part 2

Bubbles and the Band Trip: Part 10

Dust and the Darkness: Part 3

Is Nobody Going to San Antone? by Walton Simons

Dust and the Darkness: Part 4

Friday

Bubbles and the Band Trip: Part 11

Drop City by David Anthony Durham

Saturday

Bubbles and the Band Trip: Part 12

Sunday

Bubbles and the Band Trip: Part 13

The Wild Cards Universe

About the Publisher

Copyright Acknowledgments

‘Bubbles and the Band Trip’ copyright © 2018 by Caroline Spector

‘The Secret Life of Rubberband’ copyright © 2018 by Max Gladstone

‘Jade Blossom’s Brew’ copyright © 2018 by William F. Wu

‘Beats, Bugs, and Boys’ copyright © 2018 by Diana Rowland

‘Is Nobody Going to San Antone?’ copyright © 2018 by Walton Simons

‘Dust and the Darkness’ copyright © 2018 by Victor Milán

‘Drop City’ copyright © 2018 by David Anthony Durham

Texas Hold ’Em

The most popular poker variant in casinos. Two hole cards are dealt facedown to each player. Then five community cards are dealt faceup in three rounds: the flop, the turn, and the river. Each player seeks to make the best five-card hand from the combination of the community cards and his own hole cards.

Bubbles and the Band Trip
by Caroline Spector
Prologue

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, you need a chaperone for the band trip?” Michelle didn’t like where this conversation was going.

Adesina kept packing her electric bass. It was a sweet StingRay 5 with double humbuckers. That it was done up with a purple sparkle finish was the icing on the cake according to Adesina. Michelle had been learning about the whole jazz band thing from her daughter for the past year and a half, but she always felt a step behind. And the humbucker thing was just baffling to her.

“Sean’s mother was supposed to go, but then she came down with the flu and now we need another chaperone. Besides, Wally’s going to be there,” Adesina replied, as if her mother filling in as chaperone was the most natural thing in the world. “Oh, and so is Mr. Ruttiger, you know, the school counselor. Remember, you met him at the open house. He was on season two of American Hero. They called him Rubberband. He’s all stretchy.”

Michelle felt a coil of fear in her gut. “I can’t,” she sputtered. “I have … things … aren’t there other mothers who can fill in?”

Adesina flicked the latches on her case closed. “Jeez, Mom,” she said as she put her sheet music into a folder. “It’s just five days in San Antonio with a bunch of band nerds. It’s not saving the world.”

Michelle watched in dismay, knowing this was a battle she’d already lost.

Bubbles and the Band Trip
Part 1

THE BRAKES GAVE A farty hiss as the bus pulled up in front of the Gunter Hotel. Michelle sighed with relief. Being cooped up with her daughter and the rest of the Xavier Desmond High School Jazz Band for eighteen hours straight was about as much fun as she could stand. The kids sometimes called themselves the Jokertown Mob, but mostly just the Mob to keep it short.

“Ms. Pond!” Peter called from the back of the bus. Peter was the band’s trumpet player. He called himself Segway because his legs were fused together and he moved by rolling around on keratin wheels. “Can we get out now?” Michelle guessed she wasn’t the only one ready for a break from the enforced confinement.

“In a second, Peter,” she said. “Let me see where we’re supposed to check in first, so we don’t have to lug the instruments and suitcases all over the place.”

The driver opened the bifold door and Michelle stepped out into the beautiful, cool San Antonio spring morning.

And discovered she was in a little slice of hell.

Coming at her was a group of about twenty people carrying an array of placards that read: SPAWN OF SATAN! FREAKS! JOKERS ARE SUBHUMANS! JOKERS ARE WICKED ABOMINOTIONS: PROV. 15:9!

Michelle strode toward them. They kept coming at her. At her and the bus full of her kids.

Bastards.

“That’s far enough,” she said in her very best I’m-from-the-Committee-do-not-fuck-with-me voice. They actually stopped.

Okay, so far so good. They’re not complete morons.

“Where exactly do you think you’re going?” Michelle asked. She aimed at the protesters generally. She couldn’t tell if there was a leader or not, but right now she didn’t care. They were going to stay the hell away from her kids. Especially when she saw that a couple of the protesters were carrying sidearms.

Texas, sheesh. Also, compensating much? She wasn’t sure which bugged her more, the open-carry douches or the concealed-carry jerks. There was so much badness waiting to happen. At least if one of those guns went off and hit her, it wouldn’t do a damn thing except give her more fat. And she could totally deal with that.

“You and those freaks are abominations unto the Lord,” said one of the protesters, pointing at the bus. “He will smite them. They are wicked, for the Mark of Satan is on them.” She wore oversize cat’s-eye sunglasses and an electric-blue polyester pantsuit. Her hair looked like pink cotton candy. It rose at least seven inches into the air.

The bigger the hair the closer to God? Michelle thought. Yeesh. Michelle narrowed her green eyes and cocked her head to one side. Wow, toots, big mistake. And not just the ensemble. You just bought yourself a world of hurt.

“The only abomination is your spelling and grammar. ‘ABOMINOTION’? Seriously? Also, your manners are appalling. Yelling at children? Total dick move.”

“You don’t frighten us, Miss Pond,” the woman continued. “For the Lord shall protect me. He will protect all of us.”

A round of “That’s right” and “Praise Jesus” rumbled through the protesters. “You tell her, Betty Virginia. You tell that filthy freak.”

A bubble began forming in Michelle’s hand. After Kazakhstan, her temper was shorter and her desire to bubble was sharper. It wasn’t a good combination. “Yeah, you wanna test that theory,” Michelle replied.

The protesters were an odd bunch. There was a pair of twins in their thirties who wore identical clothing and bore a striking resemblance to Tweedledee and Tweedledum minus the beanies. A woman with greasy hair wearing a muumuu carried a sign with a picture of a dead and horribly deformed joker on it. Off to one side, a pimply-faced teenage girl stood slumped-shouldered, looking as if she were about to cry. The men in the group wore jeans, T-shirts with God Loves Humans written across the chest, and gimme caps. The women seemed to take their sartorial lead from Betty Virginia. There were a lot of big, back-combed bouffants in a variety of shades. These gals loved the blackest of blacks and the reddest of reds. And they had embraced neon-colored pantsuits in the most sincere of ways. The protesters all had the same angry, hateful, self-righteous expressions on their faces.

God’s Weenies, Michelle thought. She knew they were here to protest the Mob playing in the Charlie Parker High School Jazz Competition, as they were the only band playing that had any jokers. Okay, so they had all the jokers.

One of the men in the back had dropped his hand to his holstered piece. Michelle gave him a cold smile. “I’ll be happy to show you my open carry. And you know bullets don’t scare me.”

Betty Virginia turned to see who Michelle was speaking to. He was a plain-looking fellow with cat-shit brown eyes and a comb-over. His sidearm was holstered, but he had the snap lock undone. His denim cowboy shirt was rolled up at the sleeves.

“Now, Earl Walker,” Betty Virginia said with a honeyed tone as she gave her cotton-candy hair a pat. “You just keep that snub nose where it belongs. We don’t advocate violence. You know that.”

“Oh, that’s hi-larious,” Michelle said. “You just rile things up to make sure someone else gets their hands dirty. Stay away from my kids.”

She released her bubbles then. The protesters shrieked. But these bubbles weren’t designed to kill or maim, they just boxed the protesters in, keeping them from moving. A box of iridescent, translucent, and very strong bubbles.

Pretty, Michelle thought with a smile.

And as she was admiring her handiwork, she saw the other chaperones—Wally and Robin—the band, and the music director, Sharon, hustling past the protesters into the Gunter Hotel.

The lobby was packed with teenagers carrying instrument cases and talking excitedly. The adults—chaperones, parents, and music teachers—looked like they were about to lose their minds.

“Gosh, where are the cowboys?” Wally asked, looking around the lobby. He was good-natured and sweet, but his large size, iron skin, and yellow eyes made him look intimidating. His skin would rust, but he’d done a good job at keeping it well-scrubbed on the trip down. It helped that his daughter liked to help him scrub it.

Wally had insisted that he come along as a chaperone on the trip. His daughter, Ghost, was the sax and clarinet player for the band. She was ten years old and had only recently started playing with them. Though she was an ace—and still in elementary school—the band members had embraced her. And not just for her smoking sax solos. Her indifference to them being jokers had won them over. And, after all, her father was a joker, as was her best friend, Michelle’s daughter, Adesina.

“Wally!” Ghost said, tugging on his sleeve and pointing across the lobby. “There’s the clarinet player from the Modesto Melody Makers. She’s awesome!”

Michelle smiled at Ghost’s enthusiasm. Ghost and Adesina had hung out at Michelle’s apartment watching YouTube videos of all the other bands in the competition. By now, the girls knew the band members from the other bands by sight. Michelle surveyed the room, wondering how the girls could keep this many players straight.

A young girl, tiny compared to Michelle’s six-foot height, came up to her. “I’m sorry to bother you,” the girl said. She had long chestnut-colored hair, and was wearing a floaty floral print dress with black Converse sneakers. “But aren’t you Michelle Pond?”

Michelle gave the girl a wan smile. She wasn’t feeling up to a fan encounter, but she felt a strong obligation to not be a jerk when someone just wanted a moment of her time. She’d had her own fangirl moments in the past and knew how much it meant to have contact with someone you admired.

At least Michelle assumed she was being admired. Sometimes it was difficult to be sure. “Yep, that’s me,” she replied.

The girl beamed at her. “So, that’s the Mob?” she said with a nod to the joker kids grouped by the door. The door to the hotel opened and the bleating of “Jokers are abominations!” and “Spawns of Hell!” floated in. Michelle thought about going outside and introducing them to less gentle bubbles.

The girl followed Michelle’s gaze. “They’re from the Purity Baptist Church. They’re awful.”

“Yep,” Michelle replied tersely. “I’ve already had a super-special moment with them.”

“I’m Kimmie,” the girl said, reaching out her hand. Michelle took it and gave it a quick shake. “Would you mind if I met the band? I don’t know any jokers. But from their YouTube videos, they sure can wail. I play flute in the Plano Originals.” She blurted this all out while tucking a stray hair behind her ear nervously. “This is our third year in a row being invited. But we haven’t won yet.”

Michelle looked at Kimmie suspiciously. Most nats would be freaking out about seeing a pack of jokers, but the only thing she saw on the girl’s face was clear and honest curiosity.

“Sure,” Michelle said. She led Kimmie over to the Mob. “Guys, this young lady would like to meet you. She’s in the Plano Originals band.”

Adesina came forward immediately. “Hey there,” she said. Her wings spread out, then snapped shut. She’d been having trouble controlling them of late. “OMG, your band is awesome! I loved that video you guys posted playing ‘The “In” Crowd’ in last year’s competition. Your flute solo was hella kewl.”

Kimmie looked down and her cheeks got red. “Thanks. I’m pretty proud of it. I like your wings. And your dreads. And your bass is awesome! I’ve never seen a bass tricked out like that. I mean, someone using one in a jazz band.”

“Thanks,” Adesina said, a smile blooming across her face. “I figured, I already look like this”—she gestured to her body—“so I might as well go big or go home. And who doesn’t like purple sparkles, ya know?”

Kimmie laughed. She leaned forward conspiratorially. “I never would have had the guts to do something like that.”

Michelle decided she liked Kimmie a lot. Her daughter may have been a joker, but Michelle had always thought she was beautiful. Adesina’s skin was leathery and the color of obsidian; her eyes and dreads were coppery. She did have four vestigial insect legs, but they were small. Antennae sprouted from her forehead. Adesina and Michelle agreed the physical part of her latest transformation was filled with awesome sauce.

“Who’s that?” Kimmie asked, gesturing toward Peter. Instead of pants, he wore a kilt. Michelle was pretty sure he wore it in the traditional way, and that brought up a lot of other questions she decided weren’t really her business. But then she saw him grin at Kimmie and Kimmie smile back, and Michelle realized that Peter was also a cute boy and Kimmie was intrigued by him—joker or not.

Peter rolled over to Kimmie and bowed at the waist in front of her. That he could easily keep his balance always amazed Michelle. “O beautiful maiden,” he said with a slight British accent that was totally put on. “How may I serve you?”

Michelle rolled her eyes. Peter was a gamer and especially into role-playing.

Kimmie laughed and held out her hand. He took it and made much of kissing it.

“Oh, for the love of Mike,” Michelle said with a groan, “I cannot believe … hand kissing!”

“Mom’s a monster when she’s annoyed,” Adesina said, laughing. She posed then, standing with her hands raised palms up, her feet firmly planted, and her face set in a stern expression. It was a perfect imitation of Michelle’s usual “fight mode.” Michelle glared at her.

Adesina smiled. “Yeah, that is so not working, Mom.” She turned back to Kimmie. “Antonia is our drummer.” She gestured at the girl with tentacles for hands. Antonia nodded at Kimmie. “And Marissa plays keyboards.

“This is Sean, our other sax player.” Kimmie smiled and gave him a small wave. Colors began rippling across his skin until they ended in bright neon shades.

Adesina leaned in close. “He likes you and he’s also totes embarrassed,” she whispered.

“Am not,” Sean cried.

“Are too,” Adesina retorted.

“Oh, here’s Asti—” She pointed at the boy holding a guitar case. “He plays guitar, obvs. And he’s totes cute with that peach fuzz all over. Now don’t be embarrassed, dude. And those bubbles coming off his head? They smell like peaches. So yummy.” Her voice dropped and she leaned in to whisper in Kimmie’s ear, “And OMG, you should see his abs.”

The kids shook Kimmie’s hand, chatting about the songs each band was going to play.

“Michelle, what are we going to do about those protesters?” Robin asked. “They’re going to hassle the kids for the entire time we’re here.”

“They’re obviously reptoid people.” That was Jan, Robin’s landlady. Jan was a conspiracy nut. Pure tinfoil hat stuff. Michelle wasn’t entirely sure why Jan had come along on the trip. But she was getting on Michelle’s very last nerve.

“They’re not lizard people, Jan,” Michelle said with exasperation. She’d had about enough of the whole lizard people, gray aliens, Denver Airport, and MKUltra conspiracies to last a lifetime. Well, in all fairness, the MKUltra stuff was true.

“Jan,” Michelle continued. She glanced over at the kids. They seemed to be enjoying meeting Kimmie and talking about music. It was a relief. She’d been afraid that everyone would treat her kids the way God’s Weenies did. “You do know that all this conspiracy stuff is just, well, bullshit?”

“Ha!” Jan said with maniacal glee. Blue sparks glittered between her teeth and the veins in her temples pulsed. Despite Jan’s all black attire and dark sunglasses, she couldn’t hide that she was a joker. And it was clear she wasn’t really trying to hide it much anyway.

“An alien virus created all the wild cards,” Jan continued. “And MKUltra is a real thing. It just follows that there are other secret shenanigans going on. And they’re reptoid, not lizard people.”

“Sweet baby Jesus,” Michelle groaned. “That doesn’t follow at all.”

“Well, you’re a part of the Committee and we all know they’re nothing more than lackeys for the New World Order. And they’re butt monkeys for the Gnomes of Zurich. Also, you’re a product of aliens messing with human DNA.”

Arghhhhhh, Michelle thought. Just enough truth balled up with the crazy to make things sound real.

“Give it up, Michelle,” Robin said. “You’ve lost that fight. Those suitcases should have been here already.”

Michelle took a real look around the lobby of the Gunter.

The Gunter was sponsoring the competition and had also discounted the rooms, which made them affordable for the students. Most of the kids in the Mob came from families without a lot of disposable income, and instruments and music lessons weren’t cheap. Michelle had paid out of her pocket for the band’s transportation to San Antonio with the promise from the band’s director, Sharon Oberhoffer, that no one was to know it was from her.

Sharon was a joker, too. When her card had turned, she’d been a professional trumpet player, but now her lips were freakishly small and puckered tight like a rosebud. It had prevented her from playing trumpet professionally anymore. Because she couldn’t speak, she whistled or used ASL to communicate. But mostly she whistled. It was like trying to carry on a conversation with Harpo Marx.

“Snazzy place,” Michelle said as she looked around the lobby. Sharon gave a low whistle in agreement.

Adorning the lobby ceiling were intricate, bright white crisscrossing moldings. Enormous chandeliers hung from medallions centered in the squares created by the crisscrosses. The walls were painted Texas sky blue. The second floor had a balcony overlooking the lobby.

“I’ll check us in,” Michelle said to Jan and Robin.

She walked to the front desk and gave the clerk her best professional model smile. “Hello, there are five rooms under the name Pond.”

“Yes, Mrs. Pond,” the clerk replied, returning Michelle’s smile. “Your rooms are ready.”

“It’s Ms. Pond. Are the rooms together?”

“Oh yes, we planned for that.” A few moments later the clerk slid the keycards across the desk. “You’re on the sixth floor. Elevators are just over there.” The clerk leaned forward and said, “But you should know, that floor is haunted.”

The Secret Life of Rubberband
by Max Gladstone
Part 1

THE BAGS WERE LATE, protesters howled outside, and Robin Ruttiger, guidance counselor of Xavier Desmond High, had lost a student.

“You have so many,” observed his unhelpful friend Jan Chang, who nobody called Sparkplug where she could hear them, before she turned the page of her highlighted and ballpoint-pen-annotated National Enquirer. She wore black jeans and a black leather jacket and would have looked completely foreign to San Antonio, Texas, even without the pulsing blue veins that webbed her skin. “Surely you can miss just one.”

Robin scanned the posh chaos of the Gunter lobby, which boiled with teachers, parents, and kids who wore the T-shirts of eight different high school jazz bands. He covered the mic of his phone, even though the hold music probably didn’t care about the noise. “Antonia was over by the ferns a second ago. You’re sure she didn’t come out this door?”

Jan did glance up this time, over the rim of the thick black sunglasses she wore to protect other people’s eyes from hers. Robin raised a hand to block the electric glare. “That would require my having any clue what she looks like.”

“Why did you even come, if not to help?”

She rolled her eyes, then pressed her sunglasses back into place. “I’m here because my niece is competing against your students in a band meet or match or whatever they call these things; said niece, charmingly devout, is convinced that residing in a historically haunted hotel puts her soul at risk; my breeder kid sister indicated that if I showed up to protect her against the ghost, she’d stop bugging me about having forgotten the birthdays of her various spawn for the last six years; and you owe me half a month’s rent and don’t get to throw shade.” She turned the page. “If one of your kids has been kidnapped by our reptoid overlords, that’s your problem.”

“I’m more worried about those asshole protesters, who do exist, than about the reptoids, who don’t.”

“Spoken like a reptoid stooge. And I don’t think they’re protesting assholes.”

“When there are real aliens in the world, I don’t know why you feel the need to invent—” He stopped himself. “Antonia’s a dark-haired girl, about five four, black gloves.”

Jan raised the tabloid between them.

“Fine.” He turned from her, covered the mic again—the hold line had started playing what he really hoped was not a Muzak cover of James Brown’s “I’ll Go Crazy.” “Wally, have you seen Antonia?”

The enormous pile of iron whose birth certificate read Wally Gunderson, and whose ace name was Rustbelt, though most people shortened it to Rusty, shrugged. Joints creaked and red flakes drifted down to the lacquered wood floor Rusty was trying not to scuff with his enormous boots—or were those feet? Rusty didn’t need to wear clothes, but Robin was glad he made the effort, even if his sharp metal edges pressed disconcertingly against his lime-green polo shirt and dad jeans. “Oh, she’s here for sure, yeah. We brought them all in from the van, right through the door, and then Bubbles told off those jerks outside. The kids are fine. Have you got through to that delivery company there about our bags yet?”

Robin didn’t know what he expected an enormous metal man to sound like, but the strong North Range accent always caught him by surprise. “I’m listening to the hardest working hold music in show business.” Outside, the protesters’ roars gained a rhythm: Hell no, jokers gotta go. Christ Jesus. “I just—I really need to know where everyone is. Okay?” How could he have lost a kid already?

“Well, that’s Yerodin right there.” Rusty pointed through the crowd, past mounds of instrument cases, to his adopted daughter, Yerodin, who he hadn’t let out of his sight all day. Yerodin, who the other kids called Ghost, hovered over the arm of a couch, hugging one leg as she talked with Adesina Pond, who looked like an animate obsidian statue with cobalt wings.

“That’s two out of seven, at least.” The speaker on Robin’s Nokia hadn’t worked right since he dropped the phone in a vat of acid six years back, but even with the pops and fuzz he could hear the bad synths had marched on to “Try Me.” “Hold this.” Wally took the phone with the care of a man trying not to break a butterfly wing, and raised it to the geared pit where his ear should have been.

Robin craned his neck over the crowd. He was six feet two, and would have had a decent angle on the lobby even without playing his card—especially since most of the crowd were teenagers. But he was here to chaperone the students of Xavier Desmond High, and he’d just shouldered through a horde of angry nat protesters after an armed standoff. No use pretending to be normal.

So he stretched.

Body mass pressed up into his neck. Skin expanded. The bones he was very good at pretending to possess stopped mattering. His chest caved in, his arms grew frail, his watch clattered to the floor, and it all felt so relaxing. He smiled, and made himself stop when his neck was only twelve feet long.

From up here he could see most of his students, though the Xavier Desmond High School Jazz Band—the Jokertown Mob—was certainly living up to the “Mob” part of its name. Lanky Peter Jacobson, aka Segway, zipped through the crowd on his wheels. Morpho Girl, there, was still talking with Ghost—a ten-year-old girl raised, if you call it that, by people who hoped she’d one day be a weapon. Ghost, intangible, glanced over her shoulder at the crowd beyond the hotel doors. Marissa, aka something—she changed her handle every few weeks—had struck up a conversation with a Chinese girl wearing a bright silver cross and a Detroit Detonators T-shirt. He spotted Asti and Sean showing something he really hoped was not a fake ID to the lobby bartender, and—

“How’s it going, Mister R?” Jacobson hopped over a luggage cart, spun midair, and landed with a squeal. A bellhop glared.

“Fine,” Robin called down. “Segway, have you seen Antonia?”

Jacobson beamed at being called by his card name. Robin often wondered what it was about drawing the card that triggered an obsession with pseudonyms. Not that Robin Ruttiger himself, aka (no matter how he tried to forget it these days) Rubberband, had a leg to stand on in that regard. “She looked tired. Maybe she, like, went upstairs for a nap?”

“Thank you.” He snapped back down to size. Segway swept past, bent down, and tossed Robin his watch. He stretched his wrist thin to slide it on. “Wally, can you watch the door? And stay on the phone?”

“You bet.” Rusty stuck up his thumb, ground his jaw, and listened to James-less Brown.

Robin flattened himself, everything except his feet. (He didn’t need shoes, but he liked wearing them.) He caught his watch in his hand this time—no sense testing the “full shock-absorbing power” any more than necessary—as he snaked through the crowd. “Excuse me. Pardon. Pardon me. Passing through.” The mothers and kids and hotel employees didn’t notice, or did and didn’t care, or did and recoiled in horror, for which he didn’t blame them. Flattened out, he looked like people did in cartoons after they’d been bulldozed by an enterprising coyote. He wriggled to the stairs, stretched his arms up fourteen feet—ten years of practice and it still felt weird reminding himself he didn’t have shoulder joints anymore—caught the overhead railing, pulled his skin like a, well, like a rubber band, and snapped up through the air to land on the second floor in a tangle of overextended limbs.

The mezzanine, at least, was quiet. He sorted himself out, adjusted his watch, and straightened his collar.

Antonia Abruzzi stood alone by the window, staring down in silhouette at the protesters’ flags and signs. Her long dark hair perched on her head, wound in intricate braids. She looked fifteen and fifty at once. She wore gloves, even if her hands didn’t fill them right. She had removed her left glove, and the long thin tentacles she had instead of a hand fanned over the window like brush bristles mashed flat.

He approached. The chant rhythm outside had changed; he couldn’t guess the words, now. Below, Sean led the kids in a chant of their own:

Jokertown, Jokertown, Jokertown Mob!

Stick that bullshit in your gob!

“Hey,” Robin said. “I know it’s a mess down there, but Ms. Oberhoffer and Ms. Pond and Mr. Gunderson and I really need to know where everyone is.”

“You know where I am,” Antonia said.

“I do now, yeah.”

She didn’t turn.

“Would you like to talk?”

“No.”

“Antonia, I know walking through that crowd was hard. They’re small-minded, angry people. But we won’t let anyone hurt you.” It was hard to keep the anger from his voice. “Until Ms. Pond has us all checked in, we really need to know everyone’s in the same place, and safe. Could you please come join the others?”

Jokertown, Jokertown, Jokertown Mob!

There aren’t many words that rhyme with “ob”!

Antonia turned away from the street. Her face was another country. He thought she might be about to speak.

A slow wave passed through the protesters outside and below; placards and crude signs parted to reveal a black delivery van. Rusty shouted from the lobby: “Hey, Robin! I just got through! They say their fella’s arriving now.” His volume would have been perfect on a construction site, but was out of place in a four-star hotel.

Robin spread his hands, apologetic. “Those are the bags. I really have to go. Could you please come downstairs with me, and join the others?”

“Fine.” The edge in her voice meant he’d screwed up. He told himself he was okay with that, for now.

Robin had worked with teenagers long enough to wait for her to descend the stairs first. When she was back with the herd, he vaulted the railing, fell to the lobby, and slithered through the crowd to Rusty’s side. “Let’s go.”

Thank God the delivery guy was a nat, or looked like one. Robin didn’t think the protest would get violent—more violent, anyway, since words had a violence all their own—but it helped that they wouldn’t think the delivery guy was bulletproof. Scared and angry people turned to violence when they thought they lacked other options—and to violence more vicious the less hope they thought they had. Fifty years of American public education had barely scratched the comic book myths: people still thought bullets bounced off aces and jokers. There was always a chance those myths would make it easier for some asshole to pull a trigger.

He wished Bubbles had thought up a better way to defuse the situation than reminding the protesters she was invulnerable, but, hey, spilt milk.

Robin signed three times on the delivery guy’s iPad—once they found a stylus, since neither his nor Rusty’s skin conducted normally, though for different reasons—and wheeled a cart piled with a suitcase Jenga tower down a ramp to the street. Someone tossed a tomato that splattered on the hot sidewalk and sizzled.

“What the—”

“Keep walking, Rusty.”

The cart’s left wheel wiggled. A hotel doorman rushed to open the side doors, and they pushed through air-conditioned steam into the lobby. Another tomato flew, and landed by Robin’s feet. People shouted nonsense Robin tried not to hear. The tower of bags teetered overhead.

Together, Robin and Rusty shoved the cart through the door. Jacobson applauded. Bubbles, still arguing with the front desk, glanced over her shoulder and grinned. Marissa, who’d left her new friend with the cross to nap in a chair, tried to high-five Yerodin, but passed through. Wheeling the cart over toward the packed instruments, Robin felt, briefly, like he had everything under control.

Then he heard a high-pitched giggle, glimpsed a grinning, bleeding spectral face, and felt the luggage cart lurch to one side.

Robin and Rusty both grabbed the cart, but one particularly heavy suitcase on top of the stack had already tipped loose and arced through the air, tumbling toward the Jokertown Mob’s piled instruments.

Time did its slow-motion crisis thing.

Robin cursed. He and Rusty lunged for the suitcase at once. Robin’s arms stretched out, caught the case, pulled it clear of the instruments—leaving Rusty in midair, diving to intercept a case that did not exist. Which would have been fine, if his arc wasn’t set to bring several hundred pounds of iron down on top of the band’s brass.

Robin dropped the suitcase and reached for Rusty, thinking, Too late, too late—

He heard a whoop and saw a familiar flash of gold, and Rusty landed hard on the floor, three feet to the left of the instruments. His iron elbows dug deep gouges in the wood.

The milling musicians of the Gunter lobby had hushed in horror as they watched the suitcase fall. They held their breath as Wally dove through the air. The applause after the averted disaster, Jacobson hopping on his wheels, Yerodin cheering, even Ms. Oberhoffer whistling approval, deafened.

Years had passed since Robin had last seen the golden lasso that snared Rusty’s shoulders, but he recognized it at once, as he recognized the voice raised in a triumphant “Yee-haw!” and recognized the jangle of spurs. Because Jerry Jeff Longwood—or, God love him, Kozmic Kowboy—did nothing by half measures. Not even the hearty backslap that almost knocked Robin double.

“Howdy Robin! Buddy! Sorry ’bout the lasso, there, partner, but you looked like you were in a sore spot.”

Jerry Jeff knelt to help Wally free of the lasso, which had snagged on his shoulder gears. The Kozmic Kowboy wore his full regalia: chaps and vest and hat and boots and crossed belts, his big iron on his hip. (Robin hoped it wasn’t loaded.) His mustaches drooped beautifully, and if there were streaks of gray in that dark hair these days, the cowboy hat covered them. Riches and fame and family life seemed to have added nothing to Jerry Jeff but a few smile lines around the corners of the eyes.

“Thanks,” Rusty said, which Robin should have said first. But, in Robin’s defense, he hadn’t yet remembered how words worked.

“How” was a good start. “Jerry Jeff, what are you doing here?”

“You didn’t think you could come to Texas without your old friend Jerry Jeff dropping in, did you? This here competition’s been all over the news, and folk knew your school was coming, and I thought, maybe he’ll be in town. And good thing for you I did! Come on, put ’er there.” Before Robin could pull away, he found his hand enveloped in a calloused handshake that, in a pinch, could double as a hydraulic press. Jerry Jeff wasn’t a big man, but they made men tough in whatever comic book cowboy land he came from.

“Robin,” Rusty said, “you know this fella?”

“Yes.” Robin did his best to smile. “We were on American Hero together.” American Hero, the reality TV series spotlighting “tomorrow’s heroes today!,” was the opportunity of a lifetime for its contestants. Some applied for money, some for fame, some because they wanted to make a difference, and some because they didn’t see much difference between the three. When the second season casting call went out, Robin Ruttiger had been two years into his new life as an ace, using his gifts to rescue cats from the treetops of Akron, Ohio, and Jerry Jeff Longwood was already the darlingest, dandiest star-spangled rider, roper, and cowboy crooner on the rodeo circuit.

And years later, here they were.

After saving the instruments, Jerry Jeff accepted Ms. Oberhoffer’s half whistled, half signed thanks—he might not have been able to sign fast enough to follow <I’m your biggest fan> and the frantic list of his concerts she’d watched on YouTube, but he must have gotten the general notion, since he tipped his hat to her and bowed and said, “That’s right kind of you.” She blushed, and fanned herself.

Jerry Jeff tipped his hat to Ms. Pond, too—they seemed to have met somewhere, which he had to admit made sense, given Bubbles’ fame—and asked if he could borrow Robin to catch up for an hour or two. Robin tried to look utterly occupied, can’t leave the kids, first night in a new city, but Sharon was too busy swooning to object, and Bubbles wouldn’t hear of parting old friends reunited. “The kids have their rooms, and I think after this morning we’ve all earned a rest. Take a few hours off. Wally and I can handle the orientation.”

“Ah,” Robin said. “Great.” He wished he sounded more convinced. “I’ll be back in time for the mixer.”

<We’ll keep an eye on things while you’re gone,> Sharon whistled.

Bubbles and the Band Trip
Part 2

A MIDDLE-AGED WOMAN STOPPED Michelle as she reached the elevator. The woman’s hair was a dull gray and she wore a faded green cotton shirtwaist dress and espadrilles.

“Miss Pond,” the woman said. She had a twangy Texas accent. Miz Pawnd. “I’m Priscilla Beecher, the band’s liaison for the competition. I’ll be taking care of y’all. My job is to let y’all know where the children are supposed to be and when. After you get y’all’s rooms, we’ll need to head to the Tobin Center for orientation.”

It was a relief to have someone around who knew the ropes. And Miss Beecher seemed nice and didn’t once look askance at the Mob. “We were just going to drop our things off in the rooms,” Michelle said. “We’ll be right down.”

“I’ll wait here,” Miss Beecher said.

The rooms weren’t what Michelle had expected. There was an odd square-shaped protrusion from the west side of the wall in Michelle’s room and she could hear the elevator going up and down. She checked the other rooms and they were somewhat better and much less noisy, but even a “bad” room at the Gunter was pretty nice.

If it’s haunted, it’s not doing a very good job of feeling haunted, she thought as she reentered her room. The pillows were fluffy, the bed comfortable when she flopped down on it to check how it felt. There weren’t any creepy cobwebs, peeling wallpaper, or unexplained chills. Nope, her room at the Gunter didn’t seemed to be haunted at all. Unless being haunted by nice marble floors in the bathroom was a scary thing.

The rooms were clumped together as asked. Asti and Peter were sharing one room. Adesina, Marissa, and Antonia were in another. Adesina and Michelle had argued before they left about whether or not she would be staying in Michelle’s room or in the room with the other girls.

“Mom!” Adesina had said. Her antennae twitched furiously. “I’ll look stupid if I stay with you! I’m grown-up now! You can’t do this to me!”

Michelle flopped onto her favorite chair, a mid-century modern piece upholstered in a gray-and-yellow atomic print. “You’re still my little girl,” she said. She wasn’t loving the newly adolescent Adesina much just then. “Why do you need to stay in their room anyway?”

Adesina’s antennae went wild. It was disconcerting. “Because it makes me look like you don’t trust me. Okay, Ghost is staying in Ms. Oberhoffer’s room, but she’s just a kid. I’m an adult. I don’t need to be babysat.”

It was some impressive teenage logic. As in not so much.

“Fine,” Michelle said, not wanting to have the whole teenage scene right now. “But you better be on your best behavior. And you’re not an adult yet. You’re not an adult until you can keep your room picked up, do your own laundry, and support me in my old age.”

One of the things Michelle was learning about having a teenager was to pick your battles. And this one had been too much of a pain in the ass to fight.

“You guys have ten minutes to get settled, then we’re meeting downstairs,” Michelle said. She thought she was starting to get the yes-I-am-in-control-of-you-kids voice down. “Don’t be late.”

But her words were met by closing doors. Wally gave her a look of sympathy, then he went into the room he was sharing with Robin. Sharon gave a whistle, signed, <See you in ten,> and shoved her own door open. Ghost floated inside and Sharon let the door swing shut.

Michelle turned. Her door had closed automatically and locked. And her keycard was inside the room.

Great, she thought. Just great.

“I want to thank all the bands participating in the Gunter-Sheraton Charlie Parker High School Jazz Band and Ensemble Competition. Whew! That was a mouthful!” The director of the competition, Dr. Amelia Smith, beamed at them.

Laughter rippled through the small theater. It was a bare-wall, flat-floor theater. Between the bands, the chaperones, the parents, the music teachers, and the judges, they filled up about half of the space. Priscilla had explained that they were in the Carlos Alvarez Theater just for orientation and master classes. The actual performances would take place in the main auditorium.

“Most of you have put videos up on YouTube, so I’m guessing y’all are familiar with each other’s bands. But I’m going to introduce everyone just the same.” She looked down at her notes then said, “From Texas—and third-year attendees—the Plano Originals. Please stand up so we can see you!”

A group of five teenagers stood. They all wore matching outfits except Kimmie. Michelle saw her pop up and sit down quickly. The rest of the band could have been in a Ralph Lauren catalog. They were clean-cut and fairly reeked of money and privilege. There was enthusiastic applause from the entire audience, including the Mob. The Originals waved like conquering heroes, then sat down.

“Folsom Funkalicious Four, from Folsom, Louisiana.” A quartet seated in front of the Mob stood. A gangly girl who had a cloud of umber curls flourished her drumsticks, then did an insanely fast riff on the back of the seat in front of her, then turned around to look at the Mob. Michelle flashed her a smile and the girl got a look on her face like she was about to faint. She whipped back around and sank down in her seat.

“All right, settle down,” said Dr. Smith. “The Modesto Melody Makers from California are here in the front.” Michelle was tickled to see that the Melody Makers were all girls except for a single dark-haired boy.

“Oh. My. God! It’s Mindy-Lou Gutiérrez!” Michelle heard Sean say. “What’s she doing here? I heard she was going to drop out of school and start playing professionally.”

“Nah,” Asti replied. “I heard her family wasn’t going to let her. They’re super-strict.”

“Well, doesn’t really matter. She’s going to have record companies lining up no matter what.”

Mindy-Lou was pretty, very pretty. Michelle assessed her with the eye of a professional model. With her brown hair and brown eyes and six-foot frame she would be a lethal combination on her looks alone. According to Adesina and Yerodin, Mindy-Lou was also all kewl and hep to the jive. Though Adesina was quick to explain that they totes lifted hep from Cab Calloway. And jive was, well, a jazz thing. Michelle looked at them blankly.

“Lubbock High School Jazz Band. Detroit Detonators.”

When the Detonators were introduced, a pretty girl wearing a black Detonators tee with a dramatic silver cross around her neck blew a few bars of “Satin Doll” on her trumpet. Appreciative laughter ran around the room.

Each band stood as their name was called and the audience gave them all warm applause. “The Seattle Wailers—I see what y’all did there—and finally, the Xavier Desmond High School Jazz Band.”

The Mob stood up. There was a smattering of applause, and then someone in the back of the house yelled, “Go back to New York, you freaks.” Michelle saw that the Plano Originals applauded at the catcall, but she did note that Kimmie hunched farther down in her seat, jammed her hands under her armpits, and looked as if she’d rather be anywhere else.

“That’s enough of that,” Dr. Smith said, tartly. She frowned, yanked the bottom of her jacket down, and then glowered at the audience. “The Xavier Desmond High School Jazz Band got here the same as the rest of you did. Blind auditions.

“And while we’re at it, there are some people who are protesting the Xavier Desmond High School’s participation. You are to ignore and not to accost them in any way. We are an inclusive organization with our sole measure of merit being music.”

The Funkalicious Four started clapping, led by their drummer. The Modesto Melody Makers followed suit, and after them, the Lubbock High School Jazz Band. The chaperones for those bands were applauding as well. But there was only a mixed reaction from the rest of the bands. Some sat stone-faced. Others clapped but without enthusiasm. The Plano Originals glared at the Mob.

Adesina said loudly as the applause was waning, “We’re just the Mob. It takes less time to say.”

“Moving on,” Dr. Smith continued. “You all know our judges: Buddy Robins.” A lanky man with a shaved head and light brown skin stood. He wore a blue Henley top and black pants. His eyes were kind and he gave a wave to the kids. Adesina and the other bass players gave excited yelps. The bands applauded him warmly.

“Pipe down,” Dr. Smith said. “Regina Carter, Mary Halvorson, and Wynton Marsalis.” The bands erupted with excited applause. There was whooping and excited clapping. Michelle knew from Adesina that the judges were heroes to the kids and even Michelle had heard of Wynton Marsalis. “There are a few announcements, then we’ll meet up at the mixer at seven and everyone can get acquainted.

“As you all know, we have a special visitor at the mixer this evening—film star Haley Mok, Jade Blossom from season one of American Hero.” The Folsom drummer gave an excited squeak.

“Sheesh, LoriAnne, fangirl much?” asked the boy sitting next to her.

“C’mon, Howard,” LoriAnne replied. She hiccuped and then gave another excited squeak. “This is, uhm, kewl. Is that how you say it?”

“Yes, but you’re not a gamer so you just sound weird,” he replied.

LoriAnne slunk down in her seat.

Dr. Smith continued, “She’s here to promote her new movie, Lord Jim, and one of you was lucky enough to win an evening with her.” She pursed her lips. “Cesar Chao, the judges chose your essay. You’re the winner! Stand up so everyone can give you a hand!”

A short, raven-haired boy stood. His shoulders were hunched and there was a chagrined expression on his face. The rest of his band catcalled and clapped. But the chagrined expression didn’t stay. He looked around at his bandmates and glared. Their applause died and he sat down.

“I can’t believe Jade Blossom is here,” Michelle hissed. “She’s awful.”

“Shhhhh, Mom, please.” Adesina gave Michelle her very best you’re-embarrassing-the-hell-out-of-me look.

“That’s all the announcements I have, ladies and gentlemen,” Dr. Smith said. “You’re free to go. And I’ll see you at the mixer at seven o’clock.”

The Secret Life of Rubberband
Part 2

ROBIN FOUND HIMSELF AT a sprawling Tex-Mex place on the San Antonio River Walk, eating corn chips and drinking a margarita Jerry Jeff had ordered for him without asking if he wanted one. Robin told himself he would not have rather faced down the mob again. He would not have rather been stuck in Dr. Hastings’s lab again, being experimented upon. He told himself that as he scooped another tortilla chip in salsa, keeping one hand underneath as he brought the chip to his mouth, to save his khakis from red sauce.

Jerry Jeff ate with a mannered disregard for manners, one elbow on the table, hat cocked back, jacket rhinestones glinting. “After the second album did so well, we figgered Grandpappy’s ranch started to feel a bit small, so we found a nice big place, you know, rolling grass range, this house like you would not believe. And Jim Anne took to it real well, and the kids, they just can’t get enough of the place.” His face got a dreamy look, and—were those tears in the corners of his eyes? “But now you’ve got me going on and on about my business, and you haven’t said word one ’bout yours! My money was always on you, you know, in the pool—there were big things coming your way, Mister Rubberband. Come on, you haven’t even touched your drink!”

Robin clinked margaritas with him, and raised the glass to his lips, but tasted only the salt. Jerry Jeff was on his second already. “I’m working,” he said, “so I can’t drink too much. You know how it is.”

“Aw, like them kids have never seen a body enjoy himself before?”

“Not a teacher, I hope. At least, not on duty.”

“Shit”—which was a two-syllable word the way Jerry Jeff said it—“they can take care of themselves.” He finished his glass and raised it, empty, to the waiter. “iUno más, por favor!” Back to Robin: “Come on, catch your old friend Jerry Jeff up on the gossip.”

Robin looked down into his margarita.

He’d kept the conversation away from himself on the walk over, and through Jerry Jeff’s first two drinks. It helped that Jerry Jeff welled with stories: he’d talk about anything and everything with a whitewater rapidity of gab. And Robin liked to listen, even though he already knew most of Jerry Jeff’s stories, or their outlines at least, from those square celebrity journalism ads that popped up at the bottom of articles he read on the Internet—not to mention the Google Alert he’d set up on his fellow contestants one night while depressed, and had never worked up the nerve to cancel.

Whatever Robin had to say about the second season of American Hero—and he could say so much that most of the time he preferred to avoid saying anything at all—the show had been a great launchpad. Some people, like Jerry Jeff, knew show business well enough to use their brief spotlight to leapfrog into a stronger spotlight. For Robin, who spent so much of his life trying to avoid notice, the cameras and the sets and the significance bubbled inside him, and he glowed, drunk on fame, until the hangover. And when the drop hit, he made the good hard choice, and stepped away. He didn’t want album deals, and he didn’t want a manor house. He wanted to help people. He wanted his own path.

He’d found it. And along the way he’d found a tiny basement apartment with mysterious stains on the walls, the rent on which he was half a month behind. And he’d found a public school teacher’s salary, a love life in need of love life support, students who rarely listened, and a bank account balance so low cartoon moths flew off his cracked laptop screen when he logged in.

“I’m doing great,” he said. Meaning: Help. “My students are wonderful. Tough. Determined.” Thinking of crowds and chaos and Antonia’s scorn and sullen silence. “New York is like nowhere else.” Big and smelly and tangled and broken, with rising rents and trains that caught fire or stopped on bridges for no reason, surging, torrid. “It’s a good life,” he kept telling himself. “I have everything I wanted.”

Jerry Jeff looked up through the bushes of his eyebrows. Did he doubt the act? But the silence passed so quickly it might have never been. “Well,” Jerry Jeff said, “here’s to that!” He raised his glass, only to find it still empty. He turned to shout at the server, just as she materialized with his third margarita. They toasted, and this time Robin took a sip. “You don’t know how glad I am to hear that. I mean, boy, you had it all right there if you wanted it, right in the palm of your hand. And this is a good thing you’re doing, that’s for damn sure, but whenever they get the teachers on the TV, you know, they’re talking about pay and the tests and the unions and how damn bad it all gets, I just think about you, you know.”

“Oh, I’m fine.” He wasn’t. “Hey, so, your kids—how are they? It’s hard to imagine you as a dad.”

“Aw, I do fine. Kids ain’t too different from cattle, you know, just give ’em plenty of hay and space to run.”

It sounded simple when somebody else said it.

“Hey,” Jerry Jeff said, “you ever run into Woodrow at all these days? Or Stacy?”

And just like that seven years evaporated and they were back in the house after a long day of absurd random challenges, drinking the bad beers with which Our Beloved Corporate Sponsors had stocked the fridge, sharing gossip.

The enchiladas came, and they tucked in. “Speaking of which, Robin, you will never believe who I ran into last time I was out in Los Angeles—” Pronounced, of course, with a hard g.

“Denise?”

“Naw— the Laureate! Poet kid, you know, him what wrote those words that sometimes came true? He’s tryin’ to make it in Hollywood, screenwriting—you remember when we had that team forest matchup and him and Crazy Quilt got caught in flagrante delectable?”

Robin considered telling him that wasn’t how you pronounced that word, then ordered a second margarita instead. “She went back to grad school, didn’t she? Alice?”

“Grad school in kickin’ ass, maybe! Always thought she shoulda made it further, even if the old Colonel did theoretic’lly win that swimming challenge by freezing her in a block of ice.”

“She might have been able to challenge it if she hadn’t set his clothes on fire when the med team got him out.”

“Aw, he’s a coldster, a little fire weren’t gonna hurt him none.”

“I thought that was exactly how you hurt coldsters.”

“Well, to be fair, fire was his weakness, but Alice didn’t know that. And you dumped him into the lake to put the fire out, so, no harm done, and anyway it couldn’t have happened to a nicer pain in the hindquarters. Weren’t nobody sad to see him stung.”

“Yeah,” Robin said. “No arguments there. Had me fooled, though, at first—Colonel Centigrade really seemed like a nice guy until Terrell and I went public with our relationship.”

“Speaking of which,” Jerry Jeff said, a bit too drunk to realize he shouldn’t, “Terrell’s doing good—still run into him every once in a while when I’m up Chicago way.”

“Thanks,” Robin said, and guzzled his margarita. “I keep tabs.” The booze sparked in his head. “Most of us turned out okay, I guess, more or less. Except Tesseract.”

“Shit. Did you ever figger her for … well, did you ever think she could do anything like …”

“Like Kazakhstan?” He shook his head.

“And to think she and I—”

“Really?”

“Well, I didn’t know Jim Anne at that point, you know. But a gentleman never tells.” And then the fourth margarita arrived, and the afternoon blurred blue.

“Awright,” Jerry Jeff said when he came back from the restroom, hitching up his belt by its dinner-plate-size buckle. “Let’s get you back before that Ms. Oberhoffer comes huntin’.”

“We have to pay the check.”

“I picked it up.”

“Jerry Jeff, come on.”

“Naw, you can get the next one. I got us a table at Bob’s Steak and Chop House tomorrow, if you can wiggle out another couple hours for an old buddy.”

Robin’s heart dropped. “Ah. I’ll see what I can do.”

Robin managed the walk back, declining like the sun, slightly tipsy and cursing on the inside. He should have told Jerry Jeff he couldn’t get away, the kids came first, always needed more chaperones in a strange city. He should have come clean about his finances. He couldn’t afford a steak dinner for one normal person and a cowboy—make that two cowboys, since Jerry Jeff’s card upped his metabolism to let him eat and drink twice as much as a nat. Maybe he could manufacture some crisis tomorrow, plead off dinner.

But Jerry Jeff would know, and he’d ask the reason, and then Robin would have to come clean. He didn’t mind not having money. He didn’t mind leaving public life. But every time he tried to explain himself, it came out all screwy. How could Jerry Jeff just assume he’d pick up the tab at the steak place? How could Robin have just accepted, as if of course it wouldn’t be a problem?

Dr. Nelson kept reminding him: Don’t obsess over your mistakes. You made them, or you didn’t. Play the ball as it lies.

He needed, roughly, four hundred dollars.

Where to find it?

Another teacher? Fat chance. Especially since he didn’t know when he’d be able to pay back the loan. The travel had maxed his credit card for the month—the school district would reimburse him, eventually, but that didn’t help now.

Maybe Rusty or Ms. Pond could help—they were both higher-profile than anyone Robin was in close contact with these days. But Robin had just met them this trip, since their kids were both solid performers and neither of them old enough to think about college yet. He didn’t want to spoil whatever good impression he hoped he’d made by asking for a loan.

Calling one of his other buddies from the American Hero days would just make things worse. Which left …

Well, it was worth a shot.

The protesters had thinned out over lunch, and those that remained had settled in for the long haul, resting their gross signs against their lawn chairs and drinking cheap beer from blue dew-slick coolers. The beer, Robin noticed, came from Our Beloved Corporate Sponsors, selling to both sides of the aisle.

A skinny wild-haired man wearing very short shorts and drinking an Our Beloved Corporate Sponsor tallboy shouted, “Jokers go home!” in a squashed hoarse voice. Robin shoved the revolving doors, entered the arctic chill of the now blissfully empty Gunter lobby, dug the Nokia from his pocket, and smashed buttons until he found the number he, to be honest, didn’t exactly want to call.

He closed his eyes, and pondered the depths of desperation one had to plumb before asking one’s landlord for a loan.

Then he pushed the green phone button twice. (The acid bath, again.) It didn’t work, so he pushed it a third time.

The phone rang.

Jan, hi, something strange has come up and I was hoping … No, that was a warning flag conversation.

It rang again.

Jan, hi, I need four hundred dollars. Hm. A bit direct.

Ring number three.

Jan, I know this is a long shot, but …

The phone clicked. “Hey, Rob**, t**** * ****** ***** *******,” the speaker hissed. He shook the phone. Something rattled inside.

“Jan? Jan, sorry, do you happen to, could you say that again?”

“******——$$$—&#%.”

“Sorry, my phone’s being worse than usual—”

“I said,” came the voice he expected, clear as crystal, and right behind him, “speak up. I can’t hear you.”

“Jan?”

Jan grinned, and little lightning bolts danced between her teeth. “Howdy!” Her faint Brooklyn accent and affected drawl mixed like oil and napalm, and whatever effect she meant her souvenir cowboy hat to have, it wasn’t. “I need your help.”

“I,” Robin said, too late as usual. Then: “Wait. What?”

“You’re good with kids, right? That’s your job?”

“Can you loan me four hundred dollars?”

The words rushed out all at once, and once they were said, he wished he could have unsaid them. Not because Jan looked hurt. Because she was grinning.

He scrambled to cover. “I know I’m behind on the rent, I know it’s a lot of money, but it would be a huge help, something big has come up, and I’ll repay you next month—you can just add it to my bill.”

“Oh,” Jan said, “I think we can come to an arrangement. Follow me.”

He hadn’t expected to recognize Jan’s niece, but the girl wearing the Detonators shirt and the bright silver cross, perched at the bar drinking a Sprite and looking deeply uncomfortable, was the same one who’d napped in the lobby earlier.

Jan jumped onto a barstool and leaned back against the lacquered wood. “Robin, meet Vicky. Vicky, meet Robin Ruttiger. He’s an ace. A hero. A TV star. He’ll help you out.”

“I’m,” he said, remembered the terms of the deal, and squashed his impulse to argue on general principle. “I’m helping your aunt look for the ghost.”

“Devil,” Vicky said.

“Devil,” Jan said. “Devil, ghost, whatever.”

Robin frowned. “Weren’t you trying to convince me that there were different kinds of black helicopters just yesterday?”

“You can tell them apart by albedo. But that’s not the point! Those things are—” Jan cut herself off. “Tell him, Vicky.”

“It’s okay, Aunt Jan. I know you don’t think devils are real. But they are. One knocked over the luggage cart Mr. Ruttiger was wheeling into the hotel.” Her dark eyes were large and frank. “You saw it, didn’t you? You heard it.”

“I saw a big red smile. And I heard a laugh. I don’t know what it was.”

“A devil.”

“My point is,” Jan said, “the hotel claims it’s haunted. Devils don’t haunt things. Ghosts do.”

Vicky shook her head. “Either way, I can’t stay here. Not with that … thing running around. It could hurt kids. Tempt us to evil.”

“There are other explanations,” Robin said, uncertain whether this would improve matters.

“Aliens,” Jan supplied, ticking them off on her fingers, “secret government conspiracies, men in black, reptoids, higher-dimensional beings, renegade Majestic program subjects—”

“A practical joker,” Robin cut in. “Or an ace, for that matter. Someone who drew a telekinetic card, or who can make people hallucinate. Lots of things might be happening, none particularly supernatural.” What exactly supernatural meant when a miracle could be “just” another card, he didn’t know, and no preacher had ever explained to his satisfaction, but he doubted that observation would be useful at the moment.

Jan swung in to fill the silence. “The point is, there are lots of things it could be other than a ghost or a devil. I felt it when it showed up—like a buzzing in the back of my head. So it’s electromagnetic somehow. Are demons electromagnetic?”

Vicky stared at her aunt. Robin couldn’t read her expression. She said, “I don’t know.”

“So here’s what we’re going to do.” Jan laid out the plan: “You go up to your hotel room and get some rest. Robin here, he’s a big-time hero, real experience, he’s been on television and everything. He and your aunt Jan, we’re going to hunt down this demon, bring it to you, and show you it’s …” She frowned. Robin imagined she had been about to say it’s not real, which wasn’t exactly the point. “Show you it’s nothing to worry about. How’s that sound?”

If supernatural forces were real, one of them probably would have answered Robin’s prayer and shut Jan up. “Do you feel unsafe?” he asked.

Vicky shook her head.

“If you do, go to Jan, or me, or to your teachers. We’re all here to help.”

“Can you find the devil?”

Jan’s eyes drilled into him, and he remembered the handshake. Four hundred dollars for a ghost hunt, on delivery of said ghost. Half in advance.

“We’ll find it,” he said. After the mixer, he thought. I promised Sharon I’d be back for the mixer. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be okay.”

If he kept saying that, maybe he’d believe himself.

Bubbles and the Band Trip
Part 3

“WHAT CAN I GET you, Mrs. Bubbles?” the bartender said with a Texas twang. Whut kin ah git yew, Miziz Bubbles? He was a particular breed of pretty boy—blond with perfectly symmetrical, pleasing features corked by a glib easy smile. He had a lean, yet well-muscled, body. The mixer wasn’t exactly going well, and Michelle was on her second drink. And a non-alcoholic one to boot.

“We’ve got soda, water, ice tea, and more soda. Just so you know, I’m a huge fan of yours,” he said, practically fluttering his long eyelashes. “Name’s Billy Rainbow, and it’s a pure honor to meet you.”

That southern charm might work on some girls, but Michelle wasn’t one of them. A bad girl might work on her, but a pretty boy, not so much.

“I’ll have Coke.” Michelle scanned the room.

“Here you go,” Billy Rainbow said, setting it on the bar. “You’re right pretty, Mrs. Bubbles. I expect you’re just about the prettiest lady I’ve ever seen.”

Michelle gave him her very best are-you-freaking-kidding-me? look. He didn’t seem in the least deterred.

“You do know I’m famously gay, right?” she asked. “Never been confused about that my entire life. Also, it’s Ms. Bubbles. Not Mrs.” Mrs. Bubbles? Really. Really?! Do I look like a Mrs. Bubbles?

Billy’s smile grew even wider and he opened his hands, turning his palms up. Small, sparkly rainbows appeared in them. He was looking at her intently. “Why, I expect you’d help a poor boy like me out, wouldn’t you? I’m pretty broke.”

Michelle stared at the pretty rainbows for a few seconds. Then she looked up at him with a scowl on her face.

“Does this ever work for you?” she asked, dropping two golf ball–sized bubbles into his hands. “Because if you think some My Pretty Pony deuce power and junior hypnosis is going to make me your bitch, you are sorely mistaken. And really, in this crowd it might not be the smartest thing showing off like that.”

Billy Rainbow looked flummoxed and dropped the bubbles to the floor. Michelle let them pop. “But, but …”

“There’s only one way in which I’m suggestible and, believe me, you are not the kind of person who can do that. Don’t try that crap on anyone else.”

He jammed his hands into his pants pockets then shrugged his shoulders. “It’s just a parlor trick,” he said dejectedly. “Those rainbows are so pretty, and I kinda like showing them off.”

“I wouldn’t,” Michelle said. “Because that’s not the brightest thing in the world.” I’m guessing no one has ever accused him of being bright, Michelle thought.

“And don’t go flirting with the girls or trying to get money from people. I’m keeping an eye on you.”

Michelle took her Coke then walked to the nearest window. It overlooked Houston Street and she had a view straight up and down the street. Across from the Gunter, the Majestic Theatre’s marquee was lit up with that evening’s entertainment: Phantom of the Opera. It was an old movie palace that hadn’t been torn down. She hoped she’d get a chance to see the inside of it before they went back to New York.

“What’re you looking at?” Rusty asked. She turned to face him.

“Oh, just that cool theater across the way.”

Wally smiled, his hinges pulling up. He was dressed in overalls and a short-sleeved plaid shirt. The overalls were new and looked pretty spiffy.

The Gunter Terrace Room jutted out from the second floor of the hotel. It wrapped around two sides of the building, forming a portico over the sidewalk. The walls were made of glass and curved up to the ceiling. A busy, burgundy-and-navy-blue Victorian-patterned carpet covered the floor. The room was crowded with band members, chaperones, judges, and some of the kids’ parents. The mixer was supposed to be in full swing, but, at the moment, each band was clumped together, looking nervously around the room. The adults just looked frazzled.

“Well, this isn’t awkward at all,” Michelle said.

Sharon whistled in agreement. Then she signed, <It might as well be a school dance.>

“Why don’t you go talk to that Kimmie girl?” Michelle asked Adesina. “She’s nice.”

Adesina shrugged and jammed her hands into the pockets of her faded black jeans. Her vestigial legs gave a little twitch. “I don’t know, Mom,” she said, casting a wary glance at Kimmie. “She’s in the Plano Originals, and now we know they’re hella a-holes. They really seem to have a hate on for jokers.”

“But Kimmie liked you. And she was nice to all of the other kids in the band.” Michelle caught Kimmie’s eye and smiled at her. Kimmie smiled back, but it was tremulous. A tall boy with short blond hair and an athlete’s body leaned down and whispered something in Kimmie’s ear. Kimmie frowned and then glared up at him. She turned on her heel and marched across the room toward the Mob.

“Hey Kimmie.” Segway zipped around Michelle and intercepted her. Kimmie’s face lit up and she gave him a sweet smile.

“Hey there, Peter,” she replied. She tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’m glad we get another chance to talk. I’m sorry about how rude the Originals were at orientation. They’re all a lot like Jax, that blond guy in the pink polo shirt. He’s such an idiot. Anyway, he thinks having the Mob in the competition is a publicity stunt.”

What the six degrees of hell? Michelle thought. “The Mob got in here same as everyone else!” she said. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides. They itched to bubble. Remember Kazakhstan? Stop thinking that way. Blowing someone up isn’t a good problem-solving choice in a room full of high schoolers. Defeating an elder god from a different dimension, yes. Killing a privileged punk from Plano, not so much.

Kimmie held up her hands. “Ms. Pond,” she said quickly, “I don’t agree. The Plano Originals are, well, they’re morons. They’re almost as bad as my moth—”

“Kimberly Coldwater!”

This time Michelle didn’t know the imperious voice, but it appeared as if Kimmie did. Her shoulders came up as she tried to make herself smaller. Her bright smile faded.

“Why on the Good Lord’s green earth are you speaking to these … these … creatures?” A woman dressed like a pastel tornado came barreling across the room. She wore heels almost as high as Jade Blossom would. Even so, she was only a few inches taller than Kimmie. But her presence made it feel as if she was more imposing than that.

She was impeccably attired. A perfectly tailored azalea-colored St. John suit matched her towering heels. Her long nails were lacquered a deep red. She had big hair. It was long with blond streaks and back-combed with a perfect flip at the ends. It was big hair. It was upscale Dallas hair. None of that low-class height, but plenty of volume. A red Hermès bag that matched her nails was slung across her arm.

Holy shit! A real Dallas matriarch! Michelle thought.

“What are you doing to my daughter?” the woman demanded.

“Pretty sure nothing,” Michelle replied. The room had grown quiet again. “But you never know. We’re diabolical like that.”

Kimmie looked miserable. “Mom, please,” she said. “This is Michelle Pond.” Kimmie was trying to do the right thing. Michelle was impressed. Even if her mother was horrible, the daughter had been raised to be polite. “Ms. Pond, this is my mother, Bambi Coldwater.”

“I know that name,” Michelle said, reflexively sticking her hand out. “Hold on, aren’t you the woman who brought the suit to prevent kids with wild cards from playing in competitions like this one?” She pulled her hand away.

Bambi positively preened. “Yes, I am. And I’m proud of it. The members of your band have an unfair advantage. Who knows what special abilities your freaks have? It isn’t fair to the normal children who’ve worked hard to be here.”

“The Fifth Circuit Court said it was,” said Michelle.

Bambi waved her hand as if shooing away a fly. “We’re taking that case to the Supreme Court. Thank Jesus we have conservative justices who will make things right.” She smiled in a way that sent chills down Michelle’s back. How could sweet Kimmie be related to this nightmare?

“Kimmie, come.” Bambi turned on her stiletto heels and marched toward the Plano Originals without looking back. Kimmie turned toward the Mob and mouthed, “Sorry.” Then she followed her mother.

“This is not off to a great start,” Michelle said to Wally. “And speaking of trouble, look. Jade Blossom is here.”

Rusty turned to look. Michelle suspected that his own memories of Haley Mok were no fonder than hers. “Gosh,” he said, and then, “Maybe she’s changed.”

Michelle gave a sigh. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

Jade Blossom’s Brew
by William F. Wu

WHEN JADE BLOSSOM HEARD Dr. Amelia Smith announce her name, she tossed back her long, glistening black hair, put on her pouty catwalk smile, and sashayed into the Gunter Terrace Room.

Applause, cheers, and a few gasps welcomed her as she walked forward in her aqua, canary-yellow, and teal gown by Aquilano Rimondi. Her tiny silver Coach handbag, on a slender strap hanging from her shoulder, swung at the side of her slender frame. The four-slit skirt of Italian silk fluttered around her legs with her stride in silver Jimmy Choo sandals with five-inch heels. She had no interest in high school kids, but here she was.

“Hi, everybody,” Jade Blossom called out, raising her right hand to give a pageant-style wave as the applause and cheers continued. At six feet tall plus the silver sandals, she was able to glance throughout the room. It was jammed with students, staff members, and chaperones, but she spotted a familiar face near a shiny, black grand piano near the center and worked her way toward it.

Ethan Bach, a slender, twenty-something guy in a black silk shirt, gave her a cheerful nod as he waited for her by the piano. He had come to represent Paramount Studios at the competition, which really meant reporting back on how she handled herself. With her personal assistant, Elaine, he constituted the other half of her minor entourage. Elaine was already in the crowd, ready to step up to Jade Blossom’s elbow to obey her slightest whim.

Jade Blossom’s duty at the event was to promote her upcoming film by making some introductory remarks and meeting a high school boy who would be her date for the evening. He would receive this honor by virtue of having written an award-winning essay that had been chosen by the staff members.

The kids parted before her like fish avoiding a shark until she arrived at the piano.

“Look at her,” one girl shrieked with excitement. The giggles of high school girls and the cheers of boys followed.

“Are we here to have some fun?” Jade Blossom called out, holding her slender arms up in a big V shape. She forced a cheerful laugh. With her back to the piano, she turned and looked around at everyone.

“You have an interesting idea of fun.” Michelle, the Amazing Bubbles, stood nearby in the crowd, distinctive given that she was as tall as Jade Blossom and had long, platinum hair. “Perhaps you’re confused about the definition. Fun actually involves some level of enjoyment. And this, not so much.” Bubbles’ green eyes were locked on Jade Blossom’s gaze as if in judgment.

Jade Blossom gave her a playfully fake grin and spoke with equally fake sweetness. “Michelle, how absolutely delightful to see you again.”

Bubbles gave her a cool smile. “Really, that’s what you’re going with? Fake politeness? That is so sad. I mean, I feel so sad-like for you. In the world of sad, this is the saddest. You poor wee thing.”

Jade Blossom let her grin turn to a scowl. She had first met Bubbles on the TV show American Hero a decade or so earlier. Jade Blossom had been on the Clubs team and Bubbles on the Diamonds. From almost the first moment, Jade Blossom had disliked her and felt her disapproval in return. Even so, Jade Blossom had worked with the ensemble well enough to reach the final six contestants. Since that time, she had become embittered about her career after a decade of work for Hollywood bottom-feeders. Now she had a reason to care about her public persona again—or at least pretend.

“Jade Blossom!” Dr. Smith called out. “Maybe you would like to tell everyone a little more about your career.”

“Of course.” Reluctantly breaking eye contact with Bubbles, Jade Blossom again forced a big smile for the crowd and raised her voice. “I’ve been a supermodel in international fashion all my adult life and I’m about to start filming my biggest movie role yet!” She expected applause.

Instead, the teens just stared at her.

Jade Blossom glanced at Bubbles and found a slight smile of amusement on her face.

“Bigger than your role in Truck Stop Vampires 3?” one boy demanded, laughing.

She turned her fake smile in his direction. “I’m not ashamed of any work I’ve done. I think that’s an important lesson in life.”

“She was practically naked in that one,” a girl shouted.

“She was totally naked in Naughty Beach Nymphs 5!” the first boy answered. “That’s my favorite!”

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

“Apparently you saw it,” Jade Blossom called out. “Does your mommy know?”

The kids laughed again.

“I’m not here to slut-shame you,” Bubbles said. “Your body, your choice.” She kept the exaggerated sweetness in her tone. “But you are a delight. I’m certain the kids will be learning all sorts of new and different things from you today.”

Jade Blossom turned away from her, addressing another part of the crowd. “Becoming a fashion model requires dedication. So does acting. And both require a thick skin.”

“Is that why you show so much of it?” a girl behind her shouted, and widespread laughter followed.

Anger burned through Jade Blossom’s blood but she pushed past it. “A lot of you will need the same traits in your lives after high school.”

When she waited for a response, she received only a long silence, with an undertone of whispers and mutters.

“I got one!” A boy off to one side held up his phone. “A nude shot of her! I’ll text it to my whole list!”

The staff members and parents looked around in alarm and ultimately turned their attention to Dr. Smith.

“Good grief,” said Bubbles. “Please just … just don’t.”

Cheers and laughs followed, with many of the kids watching Jade Blossom for a response. The rest were checking their phones to see if the picture had reached them.

“I’ve been quite successful,” Jade Blossom declared, hoping to distract them. “Find a vision for your life, a willingness to work at it—in your own ways. You could follow my example.”

“Eeeyew, slut,” a girl yelled behind her.

Jade Blossom whirled, searching for her in the crowd.

More and more of the kids were focused on their phones, laughing and joking with one another.

Bubbles came closer and spoke quietly. “You’re like a tornado in search of a trailer park. You’re self-destructive, you always have been. Please do everyone a favor and stop talking.”

Jade Blossom looked past her, calling out to the crowd, “You want to compare your lives to mine? My new movie is a remake of Lord Jim starring Leonardo DiCaprio!”

For the first time, some of the kids looked interested. Others busied themselves at the punch bowl.

“Are there women in Lord Jim?” Dr. Smith muttered. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“There’s one in it now,” said Ethan. “Look, Jade Blossom, this isn’t going so well.”

Instead of acknowledging him, Jade Blossom held out her arms and shouted to the crowd, “We’re here for jazz! Jazz is about rebellion! Have any of you ever rebelled?”

Most of the kids were glancing from their phones to Jade Blossom and back, talking and laughing louder than ever.

“Look at your damn pictures later!” Jade Blossom yelled. “I’m here in the flesh! I came to this tank town from L.A. to see if any of you losers might have a future.”

“I don’t think that’s the right tone, Ms. Blossom,” Dr. Smith said quietly.

“Blossom’s not a surname!”

“I suggest we move to the next stage of the program,” said Dr. Smith. “That would be meeting your date.”

“I’m not finished,” Jade Blossom said in a harsh whisper.

Bubbles stepped up in front of her. “Take Dr. Smith’s suggestion. And for the love of all that’s holy, try not to embarrass the poor kid. It’s bad enough he has a ‘date’ with you. And who thought this was a good idea? Seriously, such a bad idea.”

“Just because you can’t wear this ensemble?” Jade Blossom sneered.

“Girl fight!” One of the boys in the crowd laughed. “Get her, why don’t ya?”

Other kids laughed.

“You got screwed by everybody who required a front zipper on American Hero, didn’t you?” Bubbles said quietly. “Drummer Boy, Candle, Spasm, Stuntman, Wild Fox, Hardhat, Berman … Did you nail Joe Twitch too? King Cobalt? Toad Man? Was there anyone who didn’t sample your charms? The rumors were everywhere.”

“And all the rumors are true! I had any man I wanted. But you’re not my type.” Jade Blossom had no problem with anyone else’s sexual preference, but she loved throwing another dig at Bubbles.

“Color me crushed.” Bubbles looked disgusted rather than insulted. “Honey, you are so not my type. I have some standards. Do what you want with your body—”

“I will!”

“—but don’t pretend you were using any other skill set to get ahead.”

Jade Blossom glared back at her. “My studio sent me here to—”

“Publicize a film.” Ethan stepped up. “And we have already provided substantial publicity for this wonderful event.” He lowered his voice. “Uh, Jade Blossom, I’d like a private word with you. Regarding your studio contract.”

“Jade Blossom?” Elaine, her personal assistant, slipped between some kids and spoke up meekly. “Can I help in some way?” A failed model, Elaine had chosen to stay in the business by working for Jade Blossom. Still fashion conscious, she wore a navy-blue Prada suit and white blouse with a very short skirt and black pumps. Her eyes flicked back and forth between Jade Blossom and Bubbles.

“Jade Blossom!” Ethan said. “Come with me right now!” He took hold of her upper arm.

She gave a quick, practiced elbow jab into his solar plexus. “Shut up, little boy.”

Wide-eyed and doubled over in pain, Ethan released her arm. Elaine gasped and pulled Ethan away. “Oh, my, I’m so clumsy,” said Jade Blossom, without taking her eyes off Bubbles.

“Jade Blossom, gosh, so nice to see you again. Easy, all right?” Rustbelt came forward, speaking in his distinctive Iron Range accent as his shovel-scoop jaw moved up and down. He angled his body toward Bubbles. “We can go forward with the program, don’t you think?”

Jade Blossom glared at his back. During American Hero, her teammate Stuntman had said Rustbelt called him a racial insult. She had not been present at the time, but she had always believed Stuntman. She and Rustbelt had a limited, awkwardly polite relationship during the show and she had not seen him again until now.

Rubberband walked in his loose stride from the table full of soft drinks to stand in front of Jade Blossom. He wore a green-and-white-checked sweater and had his hands in his pockets. “Nice to meet you, Jade Blossom. I’m Robin Ruttiger. I was on the second season of American Hero.” He offered his hand.

“I’ve heard of you.” Jade Blossom ignored his hand.

“Cripes,” Rustbelt said to Bubbles. “Come with?”

“For the sake of the event,” said Bubbles.

“I enjoyed watching you the first season of American Hero,” Rubberband added to Jade Blossom.

“When the show was good,” Jade Blossom said, though she kept her eyes on Bubbles’ long, platinum hair as her nemesis turned and walked away through the crowd with Rustbelt. Jade Blossom knew Rubberband was trying to break the tension and she resented it. “You weren’t good enough to make it the first year?”

“I’m sure you were better for the show than I was,” Rubberband said with a little grin.

Jade Blossom watched Bubbles and Rustbelt exit the far end of the Gunter Terrace Room, passing long tables with cheese, salami, baby carrots, and a bowl of red punch that she suspected was spiked by now. By walking away, Bubbles was sending a message: Jade Blossom had been put in her place and they both knew it.

“Come back here, bitch!” Jade Blossom shouted, but she was just putting up a front. The kids laughed again.

“You do so much,” Dr. Smith broke in, projecting her voice so the kids could hear. “I’m so impressed with your success. I’m a huge fan of yours. I can’t wait to try that new skin cream you’ve endorsed.”

Annoyed by the interruption, Jade Blossom looked down at the older woman’s face. “Honey, you can’t afford to wait!”

The crowd roared with laughter.

Dr. Smith’s face tightened with anger. “We asked you here to be an inspiration—”

“Where’s my date?” Jade Blossom demanded, putting her palm up in front of Dr. Smith’s face as she looked over the crowd. “Let’s get on with this charade.”

“Yes, her date,” Elaine called from the crowd. “Good idea!”

“Cesar Chao,” said Dr. Smith, studying the crowd.

Jade Blossom could feel the air moving from vents in the ballroom. Before she took advantage of it, she glanced through the crowd, searching for some hint of Cesar Chao. A joker girl stood out, with a human body the color of obsidian and four vestigial insect arms in addition to two human arms, plus iridescent wings. She had copper-colored dreads and antennae growing from her forehead. Wincing, Jade Blossom kept looking. She spotted someone with wheels instead of legs. Another girl stood out, a slender, very pretty six-footer with dark hair and noticeably large hands. Another guy was covered in peach fuzz and had bubbles rising from the top of his head. Off to one side, a solemn girl in a green T-shirt with a faded logo and worn black jeans watched Jade Blossom without speaking or holding a cell phone.

This was not getting her anywhere. “Chao? Are you hiding, damn it?”

As the crowd buzzed with low-level chatter, she lightened her density to that of the finest French silk. Then she jumped into a current of air from the vents and, moving her arms and expertly using the three-quarter sleeves of her gown, she drifted upward. With just the right shifting of her body, practiced throughout the years since her card had turned, she could stay aloft quite a while at this density as long as she found air currents. Now she floated over the crowd on the slight artificial breeze, with the long, four-slit skirt of her gown fluttering about her long legs.

All the kids and the adult staff and chaperones in the room were watching her, many with mouths open. She knew she was giving the boys a thrill; any teen boys who made the effort could see she was braless and wearing only a thong for panties—and what teen boys wouldn’t make the effort?

“Cesar Chao!” Jade Blossom called out again. “Where are you? Ya too chickenshit to show yourself?”

Finally a couple of boys, grinning like idiots, pointed to one guy in the middle of the crowd. Somebody shoved him forward and he stumbled into an open space.

She drifted over to him and carefully increased her density to land lightly, as the others in the crowd backed off. “So you’re my date for the evening?”

He grinned, embarrassed, and looked down. “Uh, yeah.”

Jade Blossom put her hands on her bony hips and assessed his appearance. He was about five feet nine inches tall, she gauged, making him eight inches shorter than her in the Jimmy Choo sandals. Free of typical teen skin problems, Cesar had black hair in an average haircut. He wore a blue golf shirt with khaki slacks and was a little soft—definitely no athlete. “I guess you’ll do,” she said.

Cesar shrugged and gave an awkward smile.

Hoots of laughter and shouts of encouragement rose up from adolescent male voices. The girls were giggling again.

“Cesar, let’s go get acquainted somewhere,” said Jade Blossom.

“Uh, sure.” Cesar grinned as someone jostled him forward, pushing from behind.

“Come on, laughing boy.” Jade Blossom raised her density to aluminum in case anyone caused trouble and clutched Cesar’s arm. “Walk me out of here.”

“Your hand’s like a rock.”

“Aluminum, damn it. In fact, because we’re touching, you’re about to increase to the same density.” She glared at the kids, teachers, and staff in front of them until they parted to make way, again like fish aware of a shark.

“I am? What’ll happen to me?”

She ignored him. Dr. Smith stepped up in front of her. Two uniformed security guards, both young, beefy men, came with her. “Jade Blossom,” Dr. Smith said, “I’d like to have a word.”

Jade Blossom stepped up close, in Dr. Smith’s personal space, and looked down at her. “I’m going to spend time with my date, just as we all agreed.”

“Your behavior has raised some issues …”

Jade Blossom planted her aluminum-hard hand on Dr. Smith’s forehead and shoved, sending her stumbling backward.

The two security guards moved to block her way. One, with a brass nameplate reading J. CARNAHAN, reached out for her arm.

Jade Blossom knew she was stepping off a metaphorical cliff, but she had never hesitated to do so before. She leaned forward as though she was going to say something privately. Then, just an inch away, she head-butted him in the face, not too hard, and he stepped back, his hand to his nose.

“Oh, my, excuse me.” Jade Blossom gave him her big, fake smile. “I’m just so clumsy, silly me.”

Blood oozed between Carnahan’s fingers. His face contorted with anger, he opened his mouth to speak.

She leaned close and whispered, “You want to show off your bloody nose in front of all these kids? Just shut up and let it go.”

He glared at her, uncertain.

“All right, lady, let’s go.” The other security guard, whose nameplate said H. BERBELIA, reached for her arm.

Before Jade Blossom could respond, Cesar pushed the much larger Berbelia. He barely had an effect, but in return, Berbelia shoved Cesar back two steps. “Out, kid.”

Jade Blossom stabbed her aluminum-hard thumb into Berbelia’s solar plexus and spoke in a harsh whisper. “You’re pushing around a high school boy? Are you going to shove me? The featured guest at this event?”

“Jade Blossom!” Dr. Smith called out. “I’m asking you to leave the premises for good. Cesar, come with me!”

Jade Blossom pushed past Dr. Smith and Cesar hurried to keep up with her.

“Jade Blossom!” Dr. Smith shouted. “This is unacceptable!”

With her signature catwalk pout, Jade Blossom led Cesar out. “Let’s find a bar.” She reduced her density to normal.

“I’m too young to drink.”

“Then a restaurant where I can get a drink.” She slowed enough for him to come up alongside her and then took his arm. “Dude, lead the way.”

“Uh, yeah.”

Protesters out on the sidewalk shouted as they waved their signs: “Jokers no joke! Jokers no joke!”

Members of the news media were asking them questions, snapping photos, and taking video. “There’s Jade Blossom again!” One guy swung his video camera toward her. A man wearing a sidearm eyed Jade Blossom closely and shouted, “Aces ain’t no joke, either!”

She had passed them on her way inside but had taken no notice. “Cesar, who the hell are they?”

“They’re from Purity Baptist Church,” said Cesar. “I gotta admit, jokers kinda give me the creeps.”

“Keep walking, damn it.” Jade Blossom didn’t like jokers either. They reminded her of what she might have become. She had majored in microbiology at UCLA to learn about the wild card virus, and she understood how arbitrary its effects could be. “I heard something about them on my way in.”

“Aces no joke!” the protesters shouted. “Aces no joke!”

Jade Blossom spotted Elaine, visibly anguished, waiting off to one side with Ethan. He had engaged a chauffeured limousine for her use during this appearance and now watched her warily. She decided they looked constipated.

“Elaine! Get in the limo and follow us!” Elaine, whose rust-colored hair was tossing in the breeze, waved acknowledgment.

Jade Blossom felt that breeze fluttering the long skirt around her legs. “I’m going to keep hold of your arm, but if you feel me slipping, grab on tight.” She reduced her density to the lightest feathery seed bloom.

“What?” Cesar stared up at her.

Because Cesar was in direct contact with her, his density was also reducing. Jade Blossom swept up her free arm and, as she began to lift from the ground, she gave her legs a little kick. Cesar came up with her.

“Cool,” Cesar muttered, looking down.

“Just don’t lose contact with me or you’ll fall,” said Jade Blossom, as they gradually gained altitude.

“You can swoop down and catch me.”

“I can’t fly, you idiot! We’re drifting on the breeze, updrafts, whatever air movement I can find.”

“Oh.”

“So if we let go, you’ll switch back to your normal self and go splat on the pavement.”

Traffic raced along the street beneath them and Jade Blossom knew the pressure wave in front of moving vehicles pushed air upward as well as sideways. She caught more of the air and took Cesar forward about twenty feet above the ground. Below them, pedestrians were staring. “Pick a place, kid,” Jade Blossom said.

“I’m from Seattle!”

“Look anyway!”

Eventually they spied an upscale tavern and Jade Blossom brought them down gently on the sidewalk, increasing her density, and his, back to normal. She let her knees bend slightly and found her footing even on her Jimmy Choo sandals.

Cesar stumbled backward, lost his hold on her, and landed on his butt. “Shit.”

Ignoring him, Jade Blossom strode inside, her silken gown swaying around her long legs. The bar was airy, with a vaulted ceiling and exposed rafters of unvarnished wood. Brick walls, painted a sand color, stood at each end, and the wooden tables and chairs matched the walls. Three-foot potted plants gave the place some greenery. Easy-listening instrumental music played faintly from overhead speakers. In the center, an internal pavilion was surrounded by a three-foot wooden railing.

As Cesar hurried after her, she asked to be seated in the pavilion. It contained a table for six on a raised platform that probably doubled for musical performers. The aroma of sizzling burgers drifted from the kitchen.

Elaine came clattering inside from the limo with Ethan and up onto the platform. She turned two of the chairs to face outward in front of the steps that led to a break in the wall.

Without acknowledging her, Jade Blossom sat down in one chair, crossing her legs so that the colorful split satin gown fell away nearly up to her hips. She patted the other chair without looking and Cesar got the message to join her.

“Elaine, bring me a strawberry margarita and an iced tea for Cesar.”

“Hey, this is a special occasion—” Cesar stopped when Jade Blossom turned her palm out and stuck it in front of his face.

“Got it.” Elaine hurried off just as reporters and camera crews from the protest outside the hotel rushed into the bar. They set up just in front of Jade Blossom, as she had expected, below the dais.

Ethan stepped in front of Jade Blossom, this time at a safe distance. “I’m horrified by your behavior. The studio will hear about this. I think your role in the film may be at risk. You can’t stop me from speaking up.”

“You’re blocking the cameras, asshole.” She waved for him to move away.

Ethan strode away, pulling out his phone.

“Aren’t you worried about what he said?” Cesar asked in awe.

“Worried? Not about that little pussy.”

As photographers snapped stills and news crews took video, Jade Blossom turned to Cesar. “God, I hate that easy-listening shit. Well, then. How did I get stuck with you?”

He gave a nervous laugh. “Uh, I wrote this essay.”

“On being a Chao? Is that why they picked you? Why didn’t I get a Jones or Hernandez? Is that how they matched us up?”

“I wrote about ‘What Jazz Means to Me.’”

“It means you get to be my date.” She accepted her margarita from a server and sipped it, enjoying the salt, the sweet strawberry, and the cold tequila. “What did your essay say?”

“I said my favorite album is Bitches Brew by Miles Davis and explained why.”

“Bitches Brew. Is that a joke?”

“Hey, it’s real. It’s considered a landmark.”

“Jade Blossom!” One of the reporters, a young Latina, held up a hand. “What do you think of your new friend?”

Jade Blossom turned to Cesar, aware that all the reporters were listening. “You’re from Seattle? Whoever heard of Seattle jazz? What instrument do you play?”

“The teacher told me you’d get a full report,” said Cesar.

“I didn’t waste my time on it.”

“I play piano.” He looked up as though hoping for approval.

Jade Blossom sipped her margarita, thinking, He’s just the kind of loser I expected.

Another reporter, a young guy, shouted from behind a camera crew, “Jade Blossom, what do you think of Bambi Coldwater?”

“I’m as human as anybody, only more so,” Jade Blossom shot back. “Ask the bitch what she thinks of that.”

Cesar gave a goofy laugh.

She sighed. “You have a girlfriend, Cesar?”

Cesar hid behind his iced tea with a couple of big swallows. “Are you married?”

“Me? Ha!”

“I guess you can play the field a lot, huh? Have lots of relationships?”

“I don’t do relationships. I do what I want.”

“Okay, so, what do you want?”

“Looking for a turn-on, are you? A peek behind the curtain?” She leaned back, extending her long legs in front of her for the benefit of all the cameras. “I wanted Bruce Lee, for one. He was very fit and flexible even at the age of fifty, some years back. I’m taller, so when we stood together, his face was right at boob level.” She giggled, remembering. “I wanted Golden Boy and he liked me right back. Same with Arnold Schwarzenegger—I heard he liked to grope, so when I had an early small part in one of his movies, I went to the density of a car tire and turned my butt toward him. Gave him a surprise!”

“You know a lot of celebrities, huh?” Cesar asked.

She sobered slightly. “I admired Bill Cosby, but when we met for drinks one night after American Hero, my margarita tasted funny, so I made excuses and got the hell out. The bastard sent word around Hollywood and stalled my career in low-budget shit for years.” She savored the bitter memories and used them to stoke her inner fire.

“Old dudes,” said Cesar. “Every single one of those guys is old enough to be your dad.”

“They aren’t the only ones, asshole. I had any guy I wanted.”

Some of the reporters and camera crews were turning away. They had all seen this chatter in the tabloids and online long ago. Off to one side, Ethan talked into his phone, then let his shoulders sag as he lowered it. As Jade Blossom expected, she had little to worry about from him. She sipped her margarita and turned to Cesar. “What about that girlfriend? You don’t have one, do you? She’d be way jealous right now.”

Cesar slammed down his glass, sloshing iced tea onto the table. “I play piano, bitch, and I’m good at it! I’m human, so I’m better than you!”

At the sound of his raised voice, the reporters and camera crews turned back, calling out questions and recording again.

Jade Blossom was startled but she liked his response. “Somebody spike your iced tea? What’s in that stuff?”

“I’m damn good on the ivories and I wrote a damn good essay! Girls don’t like me, that’s all.”

Jade Blossom jumped on his weak spot. “Why don’t girls like you?”

“I dunno.” He drank more iced tea, the fire seemingly gone.

“Hey, Jade Blossom!” The Latina reporter was smirking. “You going to give him tips on getting girls? After all, he’s got you for the day!” All the newspeople laughed.

Jade Blossom yanked Cesar’s cold glass out of his hand. She poured a little of her margarita into it and slid it back to him. “You’re not ugly. You need to work out, tubby.”

“I hate my life.”

“Think that makes you special?”

“My mom’s really strict. But I like band. And I’m kinda shy.” He drank some of his spiked iced tea. “I hate my life and I hate you.”

Jade Blossom laughed. She understood hate. “Is it because of my ace?”

Cesar leaned forward and threw down a long swig of his drink. “Mom came down with our band, you know, to be a chaperone? Outside the hotel, she stopped to talk to the Purity Baptist Church people. I listened and you know what? They make some sense. Mom says so, too. You’re not human. You’re different now.”

“If you can live in a world with dogs and cats, you can live with people like me.”

He pounded his glass down on the table again. “Live with that Marissa Simpson? Are you kidding me?”

“Who’s she? Some girl you’ve got the hots for?”

“She’s a goddamn joker in Jokertown Mob!”

Jade Blossom had him hooked like a fish. “Does she play skin flute?”

Cesar stared at her, maybe not certain he had heard correctly. “She plays piano, only her hands are all weird.”

“Weird how?”

“Her hands are all rectangular. She’s hard and white, like piano keys. Her whole body looks like a robot made out of ivory, hard edges and angles and hinges on her joints.”

“An exoskeleton,” said Jade Blossom.

“And her face! Like a robot, all white and stiff, too.”

Jade Blossom sighed. “If you hate wild cards, why did you write that essay to meet me?”

“That was before. Now I know better!” He chugged the rest of his spiked iced tea, then clanked the glass down, gave her a triumphant grin, and stomped out.

Jade Blossom judged it to be a good exit for a high school kid. The reporters and news crews followed him out. She had a moment alone, if you didn’t count Elaine waiting for her off to one side like the toady she was and Ethan staring at the floor with his hands shoved into his pants pockets, willing himself to be anywhere but here.

Jade Blossom liked Cesar. Very few people tried to get the best of her—except that bitch Bubbles. Jade Blossom was not normally reflective, but Cesar’s responses reminded her of when she had been a six-foot-tall, skinny fourteen-year-old girl named Haley Mok, who was ridiculed and ostracized by her peers. When her card turned, she learned to hurt people before they hurt her. She had maxed out her density and smashed through doors and walls at school, destroying desks, terrifying her peers and the adults alike. Then she knew she could speak her mind. Those memories still amused her.

She sipped her icy margarita, allowing Cesar plenty of time to go ahead of her. Her studio commitment required that she attend the mixer with him, but she had no idea if he was going back to the hotel. No matter what, she would have to go back and hang around for the evening.

“Elaine!” she called over her shoulder without looking.

“Yes?”

“Take the limo to the hotel.” Jade Blossom set down her glass still half-full and sauntered outside into the dusk.

The breeze was still blowing lightly from the direction of the hotel, but she had plenty of practice working her way through the air. She reduced her density to the minimum, jumped lightly, and let the breeze toss her like a silken scarf. Once in the air, she angled herself to pick up a thermal from the restaurant’s roof exhaust fan and rode it up high. Then, like a sailboat tacking against the wind, she altered her density in slight changes and turned herself to catch the pressure waves from passing vehicles and light gusts between buildings. Outside air was almost always moving, in more ways than most people ever noticed.

She felt emotionally drained. Cesar’s complaints and accusations had taken a toll. The little snot was getting to her somehow and she hated that. Vulnerability was a sign of weakness and weakness was just about the only thing that terrified her.

As she drew near the Gunter, she saw that the protesters were still outside. Some of the news crews who had followed Cesar from the restaurant had returned. She slowly increased her density and landed on the sidewalk near them.

“Hey, look who’s back!” One woman pointed with her arm extended like she was making an accusation.

Jade Blossom gave the crowd a quick glance, taking in a pair of twins maybe in their thirties wearing identical clothes and a woman in a muumuu carrying a sign that showed a picture of a deformed joker. Everyone in the group had hostile expressions as they looked back at her.

Always ready for a confrontation, Jade Blossom sashayed forward with her best catwalk stride. “This is a public sidewalk.”

“You’re even worse than that Bubbles,” one of the other women spoke in an imperious tone as she came forward.

Jade Blossom’s professional eye for fashion was offended by the woman’s cat’s-eye sunglasses and electric-blue polyester pantsuit. Her hair was in a kind of oversize pile that Jade Blossom had seen in old movies from the sixties.

“Betty Virginia.” Jade Blossom had seen the protest organizer earlier, leading a chant. “You think you know something about the wild card?”

“The Lord’s word guides us,” Betty Virginia said calmly. “You aces just think you’re better than everyone else.”

“No, just better than you,” Jade Blossom said in an exaggerated, childlike singsong. “Nobody needs an ace for that. Jokers are better than you.”

“You’re no longer human. Abominations before the Lord.” Betty Virginia tilted up her face, challenging her. “If you can’t put on a regular dress, at least you could wear proper unmentionables.”

“And leave my son alone!” A petite, pretty, forty-something woman of East Asian descent, wearing a modest blue dress, came up next to Betty Virginia. “He doesn’t want anything to do with you!”

“This is Lara Chao,” said Betty Virginia. “You are certainly a menace to her family.” She backed away slightly, letting Lara step up.

Jade Blossom looked down at her from more than a foot in height difference. “Cesar liked me just fine. Too bad, Mommy.”

“Leave him alone!” Lara yelled, tossing shoulder-length black hair that was parted just off center. She took a deep breath and spoke with an intense calm. “I was proud when he wrote his essay. Now that I’ve met Betty Virginia and Bambi, I’m part of the Purity Baptist Church movement.”

“Honey, you’re part of a bowel movement.”

“I don’t see any need for that kind of language,” said Betty Virginia.

“Listen, all right?” Lara insisted. “My Cesar is a prodigy. He played classical piano in local concerts by the time he was twelve. And he branched into jazz as a teenager. He has four full-ride music scholarships to choose from. And Betty Virginia told me how you wild carders take opportunities in life away from gifted human children like my son.”

Jade Blossom heard her own mother’s demanding standards in Lara’s words. She felt sorry for Cesar. His tiger mother was smothering him. No wonder the kid doesn’t have a girlfriend.

“I tried to put a stop to your so-called date, I’ll have you know,” said Lara. “I told somebody in charge here that I didn’t want my son spending one minute with you. They put me on the phone with your studio and some jackass threatened to sue me for the cost of your precious promotion, so I dropped it. If Cesar stays away from you on his own, well, that’s different.”

“He’s a teenaged boy.” Jade Blossom took a sexy pose, with a hand on her hip and one leg angled out of a slit in her gown. “Of course he’s hot for me. His mama can’t do a damn thing about it.”

“My son is naturally gifted!”

Jade Blossom understood: Lara wasn’t any kind of true believer. She saw the protesters’ position in pragmatic terms. Lara just wanted to get an edge for her son. Jade Blossom heard the echo of her mother’s voice again.

The guy wearing a sidearm shouldered his way through the crowd with a confident grin, leering at Jade Blossom. He had a comb-over and wore a denim cowboy shirt rolled up at the sleeves. His gaze dropped to her shoes and came slowly up her legs and trim torso to rest on her face.

She began increasing her density in case she needed to defend herself. “Lara, if Cesar’s truly gifted, he’ll be fine.”

“This ace has quite a mouth on her, doesn’t she?” The guy stopped in front of Jade Blossom, his hands on his hips.

“I think she was just leaving, Earl,” said Betty Virginia, giving Jade Blossom a hard look. She waved her hand in a shooing motion.

Jade Blossom had reached aluminum density. With her hard right hand, she gave Earl a pseudoaffectionate chuck under the chin that knocked his head back. “You’re a cute little thing, Earl.” With that, she sashayed away, knowing he appreciated the view no matter what his church taught.

“Inhuman bitch,” Earl called after her.

Inside the ballroom, many kids were talking, some dancing to canned music, others mingling and joking around. Many were clustered around the table with soft drinks and the table with munchies. Jade Blossom spotted Cesar in the crowd, now wearing a black suit that was too small and tight, a white shirt, and a plain blue necktie that made him more nerdy than before.

He was running his hand over the polished black surface of the grand piano. Most of his peers were casually dressed in teen styles she found silly but genuine. She decided Lara must have bought Cesar his ill-fitting suit.

This time, the kids accepted her presence. Many of them watched her but no one interfered as she worked her way toward Cesar. She came up behind him as he looked at his slightly elongated reflection in the top of the piano.

“Waiting for your date?” Jade Blossom asked, projecting her voice over the buzz of the crowd.

Startled, Cesar whirled around. “Uh, hi.”

“Why aren’t you hitting on girls?”

“I suppose they’re avoiding me because of you.”

“Okay, I’m your date. But what’s so fascinating about your own face?”

“I want a human girlfriend! Someday, I mean.”

“Someday!” Jade Blossom laughed. “Someday never comes, Cesar.”

She looked out over the crowd. Rustbelt was across the room, his big jaw moving up and down as he talked to Rubberband in his signature slouch. Near one wall, she spotted a girl who fit the description of the joker piano player Cesar had mentioned. Her body looked like it was formed of large and small piano keys, hard and white in modular rectangles connected by hinges large and small. She had an exoskeleton, Jade Blossom had said to Cesar. In her case, this meant a chiseled white face with dark eyes, softened only by lush chestnut hair that reached her ivory-white shoulders. A green dress of modest length hung on her body, revealing more hard angles under the fabric.

As Cesar eyed Jade Blossom, she nodded toward the keys of the grand piano. “Show me your stuff. You’re my date, damn it. Try to make a good impression on me.”

“Why would I care what a diseased mutant thinks?”

“You have any other girls begging to take my place?”

He frowned but settled himself on the bench and started playing, even with the canned music coming through speakers and the growing buzz of conversation.

She leaned down close. “Keep at it, dude, and I’ll be right back.” She ran her manicured nails along the back of his scalp for encouragement, but he flinched at the contact.

When Jade Blossom reached Marissa she didn’t bother with niceties. “Don’t you want to play?”

“I do play,” said Marissa, as her mouth made rigid vertical movements. “Pleased to meet you, Jade Blossom.”

“I know you are.”

Jade Blossom nodded toward Cesar. “Is that guy any good?”

Marissa shrugged, her modular shoulders going up, slightly sideways, then moving in reverse. “I guess we’re all pretty good.”

“Show us what you got,” said Jade Blossom.

“What? You mean, now?”

“Come on, joker girl. Have you got anything or not?”

“Where the hell do you get off talking that way?” Marissa demanded. “Are you always a super-bitch?”

“I’m a sweetheart.” Jade Blossom batted her eyes.

Instead of responding, Marissa watched Cesar at the piano for a moment. Then she walked toward him, maneuvering awkwardly through the crowd.

Jade Blossom followed.

Cesar was toying with the keys, gazing out at the crowd in front of him.

“Can you play or not?” Jade Blossom demanded, as she came up behind him. She began raising her density, sure that Cesar might try to walk away.

“What?” When Cesar saw Marissa timidly sit down on one end of the bench, he rose to his feet. “Hey! I’m not playing with a joker!”

Jade Blossom’s density had reached granite level. She placed her heavy hands gently on his shoulders and bent her knees slightly. Her weight slammed Cesar back down on the bench. “You’re my date, remember? Pretend you’re trying to get in my pants. Well, my thong.”

Cesar glanced once more at Marissa, who pointedly looked down at her fingers on the keys in front of her. In a sitting position, her green dress clung even more to the sharp edges and angles of her body.

Cesar suddenly started a fast, complex piece.

Jade Blossom knew very little about classical music, but this had nothing to do with jazz. She believed it was a composition by Johann Sebastian Bach, but in any case, Cesar was showing off. Jade Blossom had challenged him and he was responding.

The kids nearby turned to watch and listen.

Marissa began playing. At first she watched Cesar’s hands, but quickly found what she wanted. Her hard, white, rectangular fingers matched the white piano keys.

Jade Blossom listened and realized that Marissa was not just keeping up, but harmonizing.

Cesar made an abrupt change. Suddenly he was playing a mid-tempo atonal piece, leaving Marissa behind.

Jade Blossom finally got it—Cesar had no interest in impressing her. He was trying to embarrass Marissa. The little snot was angry about Marissa joining him, so he wanted her to look bad in front of all their fellow musicians. In return, Marissa was showing her stuff. Jade Blossom knew next to nothing about atonal music but she could see that their fast hand motions were precise.

Against the far wall, the slender, very pretty six-footer was talking to the guy covered in peach fuzz. Others in the crowd drifted toward the piano, interested in the impromptu performance. A moment later, the canned music stopped.

Marissa made the next move. She began a tune that Jade Blossom actually knew; her mother had listened to a lot of British-invasion-era rock music and this was “The House of the Rising Sun,” bluesy and wailing.

Cesar hesitated, then followed her lead to the song.

Jade Blossom heard him improvising and saw that Marissa responded in kind.

The other kids were swaying, dancing, talking, and laughing. Many, though not all, were obviously tipsy, on drinks they must have smuggled into the event.

Jade Blossom swept her skirt out of her way and planted one Jimmy Choo on the piano bench. Then she stepped up onto the deeply polished top of the piano. She danced alone, moving to the jazzy version of the song she had pretty much gotten sick of hearing when she was growing up.

“Cool, bitch!” One of the boys held up a cell phone and starting taking video.

“Proud to be both,” Jade Blossom shot back, and gave him a little hip move.

Cesar settled into the line of music that was traditionally instrumental, down low, working the bass with his left hand and an A-minor chord arpeggio with his right. Marissa was playing the melody that represented the lyrics as the song was usually sung, slowly making it her own.

Jade Blossom, still dancing and laughing as the kids crammed closer with their cell phones raised, realized that Cesar and Marissa seemed to have reached a musical accommodation.

Because Jade Blossom wanted to keep the moment between them going, she swayed and waved, moving around a little on the grand piano. She spotted the solemn girl she had noticed earlier. The girl stood close to the piano, watching Jade Blossom without a cell phone, still in her green T-shirt with a faded logo and worn black jeans.

Jade Blossom turned away from her, putting on her catwalk pout as she turned one way and then another. Cesar worked the piano keys cleanly as Marissa strained even higher for the melody. While Jade Blossom danced and posed for the cameras in the crowd, some of the kids, mostly boys, hooted and called out to her, sometimes with insults or taunts. Most were drowned out between the music and crowd noise.

From her high vantage point, she saw that more of the chaperones, staff, and parents were watching her from various spots along the walls. A strikingly pretty blonde with light eyes pushed past people with a hard expression on her face. A slender guy of East Asian descent was talking to a dude with short blond hair and a husky build, who was chewing gum as he gave off a kind of cocky air.

“Hey, Jade Blossom!” One of the boys, a tall, angular guy, waved his cell phone at her. “Did Cesar screw ya yet?”

The kids who heard him laughed, waiting for her response.

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell!” She swiveled her hips, making her dress sway.

“What’s a slut say?” A girl in the crowd giggled.

“She doesn’t blow and tell, either,” Jade Blossom shot back, laughing.

Across the room, the adults turned to one another, maybe not sure if they had heard her right.

Cesar kept the arpeggio going and lowered the bass line even more, while Marissa blew on the melody, wailing high, sad, and lonely.

Some of the boys, fortified by whatever they’d been drinking and maybe smoking, started climbing up on the piano at Jade Blossom’s feet.

The solemn girl in the faded T-shirt still stood nearby, not speaking.

Jade Blossom laughed at the boys and, remembering they were still kids, she approached them one at a time as she increased her density. She gently placed one Jimmy Choo sole against a shoulder and straightened her leg, pushing each guy back down again. Some laughed as they fell, staggering with an alcohol buzz. While some guys had friends who caught them, others hit the floor on their butts, still grinning.

The adults in the back of the room started coming forward through the crowd, led by Rustbelt. He made slow, careful movements, apparently to avoid colliding with anyone. One woman hurried out, probably looking for help. Cesar and Marissa kept playing, oblivious to the other kids.

Jade Blossom, still dancing, increased her density to aluminum as she waited to see what would happen next. She hoped Cesar and Marissa would keep playing. From what she could hear, she believed they communicated through their piano work.

“Geez, fellas.” Rustbelt finally worked his way through the crowd and stopped near the piano.

Jade Blossom pretended she hadn’t noticed him.

Rustbelt raised his voice, speaking in his distinctive accent. “Hey, Jade Blossom—”

At the sound of her name, she swung her hips, opening the slits in her dress and flashing a long leg up to her thigh.

“Jeepers.” Rustbelt turned away for a moment, then looked up at her again. “That sure is some fancy dancing, you betcha. It’s good, real good. But, uh, I’m wondering maybe this ain’t such a good idea.”

“I’m here to make a splash for the event, right?” Jade Blossom continued gyrating, swirling the split panels of her gown up high around her legs. “They wanted media coverage, they got it!”

Some of the tipsy boys were climbing up on the piano again.

“C’mon, fellas, knock it off, how about?” Rustbelt said to the boys.

A few backed away, but several ignored him.

Jade Blossom laughed and dropped into a crouch. She kissed one guy on the forehead and gave him a shove that threw him back. Raising her density again, she put a hand on another guy’s chest and leaned forward, pushing him off the piano.

The two security guards, Carnahan and Berbelia, pushed their way through the crowd, grim and determined.

“Cripes,” said Rustbelt, his expression pained. “Jade Blossom?”

On the piano at her feet, Cesar pounded away at the bass and maintained the arpeggio. Marissa took the melody into a high-pitched wail that took Jade Blossom by surprise.

“Get down here, bitch!” Carnahan gave her a hard grin.

“Whoa, now,” said Rustbelt. “That ain’t right.”

Carnahan gave him a wary glance.

“Wanna dance, little boy?” Jade Blossom laughed and turned slightly, angling one hip toward Carnahan. She increased her density again, going past aluminum toward lead.

The two security guards reached up, Carnahan grabbing her ankle and Berbelia reaching for her arm.

Jade Blossom lifted the ankle with a hand wrapped around it and slammed her foot down. The polished surface of the piano cracked. Carnahan let go, wincing in pain, and walked backward.

“C’mon, knock it off, fellas,” said Rustbelt, moving between Carnahan and the piano.

When Berbelia grabbed Jade Blossom’s arm, she folded at the knees and slammed his hand against the wood, breaking the fine bones.

Berbelia gave a throaty growl of pain and released her, staggering back.

Rustbelt eased to one side, now blocking Berbelia from the piano.

“Jade Blossom?” Cesar shouted, though he kept playing.

Carnahan ducked around Rustbelt and launched himself at Jade Blossom’s legs like he was making a football tackle.

Jade Blossom sprang up to avoid this grasp, though not very high given her great weight now. When she came down, her Jimmy Choos smashed through the top of the piano and through the wires.

Carnahan’s tackle missed her and the music came to a stop. He bounced off the edge of the piano and fell to the floor, tangled in wires and big chunks of wood.

The crowd of kids burst out laughing.

Annoyed, Jade Blossom kicked out, breaking more wires and wood. Gradually she crashed her way down to the floor, knocking big splinters of wood aside with her hands and stamping a bigger opening even though she was trapped in the middle of the piano’s wreckage. Then she pounded on the piano with her fists, splintering more wood so she could eventually break out.

“Awww, geez,” said Rustbelt. “Didja have to go and wreck the piano? I’ll bet them things are real expensive.”

“Aw, Rusty, don’t you know I always make a mess?” Jade Blossom grinned at him as she stood up straight, though she was still caught inside the remains of the big piano. She saw Cesar backing away, holding Marissa by her upper arm.

“Get away from my son!” Lara pushed through the kids, screaming. “What’s wrong with you?”

“The piano was out of tune,” said Jade Blossom, shaking her hair loose. Still using her great density, she smashed her way out of the piano, throwing chunks of wood ahead of her, forcing Lara back.

“Somebody arrest her!” Lara yelled.

“Okeydokey, I think we’re done here,” said Rustbelt. He turned to Carnahan and Berbelia. “Find Michelle, will you?”

The security guards turned and pushed their way through the crowd.

Ignoring Rustbelt and Lara, Jade Blossom kicked the remains of the piano out of the way and looked around. She found Cesar and Marissa standing together, staring wide-eyed at her and the ruined grand piano.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Cesar muttered, looking at the huge mess.

“Here!” Jade Blossom snatched up some loose keys and tossed them toward him as she reduced her density to normal. “Play all you want.” She stepped between the two of them, blocking out Marissa with her body, and grabbed his arm. “Come on.”

“What?”

Jade Blossom pulled him close and threw both of her arms around him. Before he could react, she put her lips against his and kissed him. He wriggled with surprise but she held on.

Around them, the kids cheered, hooted, and whistled. Boys shouted obscene suggestions. “Get away from him!” Lara yelled.

Still in the clinch, Jade Blossom spoke in a whisper: “Listen, turd brain, I’m making you the hottest hunk around. If you won’t try to use your dick, I might as well rip it off your body myself. Just tell everybody you’re leaving me, if your IQ is any higher than room temperature!” She increased her density, certain she would need it.

“Hey! I’ve got an IQ of a hundred and forty!”

Jade Blossom put her palms on his shoulders and shoved, using her greater weight to send him staggering backward to Marissa.

The crowd of kids, some of them more tipsy than ever, cheered.

“All right, then!” Jade Blossom shouted, with a melodramatic expression of horror. “Take your joker girl, you like her so much!”

Marissa’s rigid mouth dropped open in surprise. Her shocked eyes stared out of her otherwise rigid, blocky white features.

The kids quieted, curious to see what would happen next.

Lara stared with them. When Rustbelt started toward Cesar, Lara gestured for him to stay back and he stopped.

Across the room, the security guards returned with the Amazing Bubbles, her platinum hair distinctive in the press of the crowd.

Jade Blossom knew she did not have much time before Bubbles stepped up to confront her. She watched Cesar’s expression change from incomprehension to realization, but had no idea what he would do. Suppressing a laugh, Jade Blossom wailed, “Cesar! At least finish our date! Don’t leeeave me!”

The crowd broke into laughter and hoots of derision at Jade Blossom but encouragement for Cesar.

“The bitch is hot for ya, Cesar!” One boy’s voice carried over the general din.

Cesar glanced around at the other kids, astonished.

Marissa, looking mortified, took a few steps back.

The two security guards had advanced, but Bubbles was following them slowly, watching Jade Blossom without hurrying. She glanced over to Cesar and Marissa.

Jade Blossom glared at Cesar, thinking, C’mon, idiot, work with me. “Finish our date, Cesar!”

“What for?” Cesar asked, with a tentative smile.

“You’re not leaving me for her, are you?” Jade Blossom wailed in an embarrassing display of overacting.

This time even Marissa’s hard facial features seemed amused.

“You won’t leave me for that joker, will you?” Jade Blossom pleaded.

“Now wait right there!” Lara edged around Rustbelt and stomped toward Cesar. “Cesar, you just get away from her!”

“Which her?” Cesar asked, with a hint of humor.

“Not me!” Jade Blossom whined, fighting down a laugh.

The other kids guffawed, enjoying the awkward moment.

Even Bubbles smiled with reluctant amusement.

Lara swiveled to Marissa. “Back off, you mutant!”

Cesar stepped in front of his mother.

Jade Blossom shifted her density to aluminum.

“Uh, Mom? Go upstairs, okay?” Cesar said.

“Are you talking back to me?” Lara shrieked. She eyed Marissa, looking over Cesar’s shoulder. “Get away from him!”

“It’s about the music,” said Cesar.

“Don’t you talk to me like that!”

Just as Lara reached for the front of Cesar’s shirt, Jade Blossom leaned down, grabbed Lara’s petite form below her butt, and hoisted her up on one shoulder. “No!” Jade Blossom shouted, just for the fun of it.

“You put me down!” Lara yelled.

Jade Blossom carried Lara, whose short arms and legs were kicking and punching, with her typical long strides, heading out of the ballroom.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Chao,” Marissa called playfully. “I’m a lady and a lady doesn’t blow and tell!”

“Psycho mutant bitch!” Lara yelled, still hanging over Jade Blossom’s shoulder.

Jade Blossom strode out the front door of the hotel and saw the protesters turning toward her in surprise. Darkness had fallen, but she stopped in the light from the hotel. “Got a present for ya!” She leaned forward, set Lara on her feet, and made a catwalk turn that swirled her gown around her legs. Then she hurried back into the ballroom.

The room had changed in the moments since she had left. The crowd had parted in the middle, where Bubbles stood flanked by the two security guards. Rustbelt stood behind them with other parents and staff members.

“Whoa, now, fellas,” said Rusty. He seemed trapped by the close quarters, reluctant to move forward for fear of hurting someone. “Maybe this ain’t such a good idea.”

Cesar and Marissa, stiff with alarm, remained close to the ruins of the piano. They made a distinctive pair in his too-tight suit and tie and her green dress hanging from her sharp edges and angles.

Jade Blossom looked from Cesar and Marissa to Bubbles. She knew perfectly well that Bubbles’ ace was far more powerful than her own and decided to enjoy herself while she could.

In the silence, Rusty clapped one hand to his head, with a loud clang. “Aww, Judas Priest, what now?”

Jade Blossom spotted Ethan standing with Elaine against one wall. “Give the bill to my studio rep.” She took a catwalk pose with one hand on her hip. “After all, I was forced to be here!”

“Why are you still here?” Bubbles asked, stepping up face-to-face with Jade Blossom. “Again with the making me sad-like. Except now you’ve really stepped over the line. You know I am going to have to kick your ass in front of all these people. And that’s just embarrassing for both of us. And so much YouTube action is going to ensue. You’re really set on full self-destruct mode, aren’t you?”

“Maybe I’m just dense.” Jade Blossom smiled at her little joke. “You expect me to care what you say? You’re denser than I am. Come on, bubble-girl, join me. We’ll make it a two-bitch fashion show.”

“Seriously, you have a problem, Jade Blossom,” Bubbles said. “You can’t bear who you are. I pity you, I really do. No snark at all. Well, for now.”

That stung. “I don’t need your pity, or you, or anyone else!”

“If it weren’t for the kids, I’d feel sorry for you.”

“I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself on my account.” Jade Blossom started raising her density. Yet somewhere inside her, fourteen-year-old Haley Mok desperately ached for someone to like her. Jade Blossom forced away the feeling.

“Please don’t fight,” said Cesar.

“Take your girl out of here,” said Jade Blossom. She raised her voice, adding a desperate tone. “You like her better than me, fine! Take her!” She put one hand over her eyes, as though she was on the verge of tears, and winked at Cesar.

Finally catching a clue, the kid with the slowest 140 IQ that Jade Blossom had ever seen took Marissa’s arm and they walked away through the crowd of kids.

“Is this really the person you want to be?” Bubbles asked. “For your whole life?”

“I’m just myself!” Jade Blossom heard her voice waver and hated the moment of showing weakness. Like everyone, she knew her looks would go someday. Sometimes she wondered if she should end the hollowness inside her using a hard, brittle density in a high fall. Young Haley Mok would understand. She had thought about the same fate before her card turned.

“The curtain’s coming down, drama queen,” said Bubbles. “Take your bow and go home. No one will be sorry to see you go.”

“Not without a finale.” Jade Blossom, at extreme density, bent her knees and launched herself at Bubbles, her arms outstretched.

A dazzling rainbow-glazed silver blast flashed in front of Jade Blossom, as she had expected. The force knocked her backward. She stumbled on her Jimmy Choo stilettos and landed hard on her butt.

A bubble surrounded Jade Blossom and rolled her backward, legs over her head and then around again. She grew dizzy as the bubble continued rotating, bouncing her against its flexible wall repeatedly. As much as she disliked it, she knew Bubbles was not going to hurt her. Bubbles was just throwing her out of the Terrace Room, down the stairs, and out the main doors.

The bubble stopped rolling. Jade Blossom reduced her density, causing the bubble around her to do the same. She kicked out, popping the bubble with little effort, and got to her feet. Bubbles had gone easy on her.

Swaying and staggering a little from dizziness, she found herself out on the sidewalk. She was not far from the protesters, but they kept their distance. Even Lara, Earl, and Betty Virginia said nothing as they watched her. After taking her phone from her purse, she texted Elaine: Outside main doors. Where the hell are U?

The main doors opened again. Startled by the sound, Jade Blossom whirled to see if she was facing more trouble. Instead, she found the solemn brunette wearing the green T-shirt with a faded logo and black jeans.

The girl stopped a respectful distance away. “Jade Blossom, may I ask you something about being a model?”

The rented limousine glided to a stop at the curb. Elaine climbed out while Ethan waited in the rear seat.

“What’s your name, kid?” Jade Blossom shook out the panels of her gown so they fell properly. The Aquilano Rimondi was destined for the trash heap after the beating it had taken tonight. She reduced her density to normal.

“Natalie. What advice can you give me about becoming a model someday?”

Jade Blossom let out a derisive breath. “Why aren’t you asking that bitch Bubbles? She’s a model and she’s a hell of a lot nicer than I am.”

“I don’t want nice. I want the truth.”

Jade Blossom liked that answer. She appraised the girl’s appearance and saw that Natalie was attractive, though with an average build. “You have just barely enough height and the cheekbones. You need to lose fifteen, twenty pounds. I doubt you’ll make it because most people don’t. Prettier girls than you have failed and uglier ones have succeeded. Am I hurting your feelings?”

Natalie gave a defensive little shrug.

“Get used to it. You’ll always be too short or too fat, too ethnic or too white. You’ll be too outspoken or too timid. You’ll always have some other girl ready to take your job and eventually you’ll be too old. So maybe you should just go away and cry.”

Natalie raised her chin defiantly. “No way.”

“Good answer. How old are you?”

“Seventeen. I’m a senior.”

Jade Blossom looked into her eyes but spoke over her shoulder. “Elaine! Give this loser my private cell number. As for you, lard-ass, if you haven’t wised up after you graduate from high school, call me.”

Natalie’s mouth opened in surprise. “Really?”

“Get away from me before I change my mind! Elaine, take the limo to the airport. I’ll meet you there.” Jade Blossom turned her back to both of them and reduced her density. She walked away from the hotel and the protesters to a spot where she could feel a light breeze. As she reached tissue density, she jumped and found an updraft.

As she rose on the breeze into the shadows of evening, she looked down. The protesters had lost sight of her against the dark sky. Down the length of the hotel building, Cesar and Marissa strolled out of a secondary doorway, talking. Maybe they could have something together that teenage Haley Mok never had.

Forcing a laugh at herself, Jade Blossom drifted away on the wind. Haley Mok’s girlish dream of being in a major Hollywood movie was going to come true. Jade Blossom would make it happen, no matter what it cost her.

Bubbles and the Band Trip
Part 4

“UHM, SORRY ABOUT THE fight,” Michelle said awkwardly to the room. “Really, it doesn’t happen all that often. Let’s just get back to getting acquainted.”

A lot of dubious expressions were aimed her way.

“No, really. I promise,” she said. “No more ace fights tonight.”

From the back of the room came a boy’s voice. “As long as Jade Blossom doesn’t come back, we’re good.”

“Works for me,” Michelle replied. Then she saw Adesina pushing her way through the crowd.

“Hey, honey,” Michelle said as some of the partygoers began to leave. They gave her excellent stink-eye as they passed by. The people who stayed behind started talking again, much to her relief. “How’re things going?”

“Mom,” Adesina said in a low voice. “You’re really embarrassing me. You can’t just go around bubbling people.”

“Well, sweetie,” Michelle replied. Having a teenager was turning out to be awful. Michelle was pretty sure she’d never been a teenager like this. “That’s pretty much what I do. Perhaps you hadn’t noticed.”

“Do you have to do it here?” Segway and Ghost came up beside Adesina. They gave Michelle bright smiles. It made Michelle feel much better.

“Hey,” Segway said as he touched Adesina’s shoulder. For a moment, Michelle thought Adesina might pull away, but then she visibly relaxed. “Your mom was just trying to do the right thing.”

Ghost wrapped her arms around Adesina and gave her a hug.

“C’mon,” Ghost said with a giggle. Michelle was glad to see Ghost acting like a normal little girl.

“Your mom is awesome,” Ghost said. “She’s totes kewl. You’re just being weird. What happened is already all over the place. Everyone here was recording it. Accept your fate.”

“And what’s that?”

“That your mom is filled with fabu and you’re a big dork.”

“I’m not a dork,” Adesina said. She was trying not to smile. “I’m totes a nerd. Get your geek terms right. I have a Venn diagram that can prove it. Here, let me find it.” She pulled out her phone. “And I won’t even look at YouTube, Mom.”

“Those boys in the Plano Originals were so rude at orientation. If there’s one thing I can’t abide, it’s rudeness,” Priscilla Beecher said. She took a delicate sip of her sweet tea.

“Well,” Michelle replied. “We’re from New York. We’re pretty used to rudeness.”

Priscilla frowned. It wasn’t a good look for her. It accentuated the lines around her mouth and the lines between her eyes. Then her frown vanished and she looked at Michelle with concern.

“Bless your heart,” Priscilla said. There was the same kind of honeyed tone that Betty Virginia had used when chastising the gun-toting Earl. Did every southern woman learn that voice when they were growing up? (“And today, ladies, we learn how to talk like Melanie Hamilton Wilkes.”)

“You and your band are just so brave to come here,” Priscilla continued. “People can be so cruel.”

Priscilla looked at Adesina, who was across the room talking to Peter and LoriAnne, the drummer from the Funkalicious Four. Asti was with them as well. Asti had informed Michelle that LoriAnne was too shy to come and meet her. Michelle thought that was goofy and told them they should bring her over anyway.

“It’s remarkable how open some of the other children are to your band members. Why, I expected they would be shunned.”

“Admittedly, the Plano Originals don’t seem to like us much, except for Kimmie Coldwater,” Michelle said, trying to make her voice more cheerful and upbeat.

“Kimmie is lovely, isn’t she?” Priscilla replied.

“Yes, yes she is. And how long have you been helping with the competition?” Michelle asked.

“I started about the same time you were on American Hero,” Priscilla replied. “Anyway, the last two years I was liaison for the Plano Originals,” she continued. “And I was supposed to be their liaison this year, but Dr. Smith thought I was the best qualified to welcome your band and help them along.”

Adesina came up just then. “Hey, Mom. Hello, Ms. Beecher.”

“Oh, it’s Miss Beecher, hon,” Priscilla said. “I’m an old-fashioned lady, I suppose.”

“Sorry, Miss Beecher,” Adesina replied. Just then her eyes grew wide and she burst out, “Oh, there’s Mindy-Lou Gutiérrez.”

“She’s so kewl,” Adesina said with a sigh. “Her solo videos on YouTube are awesome. She can play, like, every instrument and she even composes! And obvs she’s, like, hep to the jive. Mom, that’s old jazz talk. Yerodin and I are totes into that now.”

Michelle looked at Adesina blankly. She could barely keep up with her own generation’s slang much less whatever language Adesina’s generation was using.

Michelle finished off her Coke. She knew it would be a bad idea to have another—too much caffeine made her jittery—but she went to the bar anyway. A different bartender was there.

“What can I get you?” the new bartender asked. She wore the same generic black-and-white uniform that Billy Rainbow had—though she looked a lot less like a model.

“A Coke, please,” Michelle said. “What happened to the other bartender?”

“You mean Billy? He did what he does best: ditch the last half of the party so he doesn’t have to do breakdown.” The bartender wrapped a paper napkin around Michelle’s glass and handed it to her. “He’s not a bad guy, but he’s always on the hustle. Even when there’s not much at stake.”

“Sounds like a not-so-great guy to me.”

The bartender shrugged. “Oh, he’s lousy at what he tries to do. He’s mostly a doofus. Pretty, but a doofus.”

“I can see that.” Michelle might have said more, but that was when she heard Mindy-Lou Gutiérrez’s voice rise in anger.

“Stop picking on me!” the girl from Modesto said hotly. “You’re just jealous because I’m a better musician than you.” Michelle knew that tone. It was someone on the edge of tears.

“Oh, please,” was the reply. “Everyone knows you’re a poser.” It was the kind of nasty only a teenage girl was capable of, full of snottiness, contempt, and hostility.

“You’re not nearly as hot as you think you are. There are jokers here who play better than you.”

Michelle didn’t know the other girl, but she kinda hated her right off the bat. She was about to intervene when Mindy-Lou spun on her heel and rushed out of the ballroom. The other girl smiled maliciously as she watched.

Adesina grabbed Michelle by the arm. “That’s Jillian Bigelow, Mom,” she whispered. “She’s totes a bitch.”

“Language!”

“Well, she is.”

The ballroom was beginning to clear out. Time to round up the kids, Michelle thought. “You guys ready to call it a night?” she asked.

The Mob looked unhappy. “It’s really early, Ms. Pond,” Sean said. The colors of his skin rippled and gradually changed color.

“C’mon, Mom,” Adesina said. Her wings gave a flap and almost knocked over a floral arrangement. “It’s hella early.”

“You guys have a super-busy day tomorrow,” Michelle said. “It’s time to head off to bed.”

“Ms. Pond, it’s only nine o’clock,” Asti said. His peachy scent filled the air. “No one is going to bed at nine o’clock. Heck, curfew for the competition is ten.”

Michelle had tried very hard to be Strict Mom and Serious Chaperone Woman, but it all seemed as if it was sliding away. The kids’ request wasn’t all that out of order. Dammit.

“Fine,” she said. “But everyone back into their room by ten. Rusty’s going to keep an eye out for all of you. If you’re late coming in, I’m going to know. Also, stay away from those protesters.”

“No problem, Ms. P,” said Peter. He rocked back and forth on his wheel. “They went away when the camera crews left earlier tonight.”

“And don’t go down to the River Walk. Let’s have one night before you start surprising the tourists. Just hang around the hotel. Okay?”

Michelle discovered Jan, Robin’s landlady, lurking behind one of the floral arrangements, looking fiercely at each partygoer as they left. Some of them didn’t notice her, but the ones who did recoiled and hurried out the door.

“Jan, you’re making the guests feel uncomfortable,” Michelle said.

She got a glare in return. “I’m trying to figure out who’re reptoids. Vicky could be at risk.”

Michelle rolled her eyes. “Seriously, these are high schoolers with their chaperones and music teachers. Why on earth would reptile people be here?”

Jan stared at Michelle with amazement. “Reptoids! I thought I explained this to you. They’re everywhere.”

“And I suppose they want to be our scaly overlords?”

“They already are,” Jan said darkly. “It’s the conspiracy of reptoids and mind-control agencies.” She pushed her face into Michelle’s and looked deeply into her eyes.

“Unless you’re about to kiss me,” Michelle said, “you better back the hell off.”

Jan shrugged, then did so. “I don’t think you’re one of them. But you can never be sure. For instance, the Bushes are reptoids. So is the royal family in the U.K. I think they were behind Brexit.”

Michelle knew she shouldn’t say anything. It would be a bad idea. Almost as bad as coming on the band trip, but she couldn’t stop herself. “And why would they do that?”

Jan gave her a you-can’t-be-that-stupid look. “Because the queen wants British independence from Europe. Sheesh. Read a paper—or www .reptoids .com .”

“Okaaay, how about we get you back to your room.”

“No! I’m not finished patrolling.” Sparks flashed between her teeth.

“How about we go together?”

“That’s just what a reptoid would say to help throw me off the track.”

“Jan, just let me come with you. It’ll go faster with the two of us. I swear, not a lizard person here.”

“Reptoid! You better not be,” Jan said darkly. “I’d hate to have to kill you.”

“Yeah, I’d look down upon that.”

Thirty minutes later, Michelle escaped to her room. There was only so much glaring and staring at perfectly nice people she could take. Also, Jan was nuts and no matter what Michelle tried, Jan would double down on the cray-cray. It was with a sigh of relief that she sagged against the door of her room once she got inside.

Michelle hit send and her e-mail made a swooshy noise. Just as she plugged in her tablet to charge, she had a text on her phone from Wally: Bed check done. Everyone’s where they should be. Cripes, this is a lot of work.

One less thing to think about. She changed into her pajamas and robe, and tried to figure out what to do about God’s Weenies, the Plano Originals, and Bambi Coldwater. Blowing them up wasn’t an option, and that made her kinda sad.

Michelle grabbed the ice bucket, thinking a drink while she watched TV wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Keycard, she reminded herself. She tucked it into the pocket of her robe and slipped out the door. The ice machine was at the end of the hall near the emergency exit. She caught a glimpse of the exit door closing. Weird.

As she reached the alcove with the ice machine, she could have sworn she heard a giggle coming from the stairwell. A girl’s giggle. Then a lower-pitched voice.

Michelle’s eyes narrowed. This could not be one of her kids. They wouldn’t be that stupid.

She pushed the exit door open.

Sitting on the stairs were Segway and Kimmie. They were holding hands.

“Ms. Pond!” they said in unison. They dropped hands.

“It’s the first night,” Michelle said sternly. But not too sternly, just sternly enough. Not I want to terrify you, just You’ve really disappointed me. She held the door open. “Peter, go back to your room. Kimmie, what floor are you on?”

Kimmie stared down at her sneakers. “I’m on the fourth floor. Please don’t tell my mother!”

“Ms. Pond, we weren’t doing anything,” Peter said. He looked scared. “We were just talking. Mostly about band stuff. And classes. Did you know Plano has special instructors who come in and give them lessons? Like they’re doing here at the competition. But all the time.”

Michelle narrowed her eyes. “And how did hand-holding come to be involved in this academic conversation?”

“Well, it’s not like we were kissing or anything,” Peter said. Kimmie’s cheeks turned bright cherry red.

“You.” Michelle pointed at Segway. “Get back to your room. And you, Miss Coldwater, go on now.”

Segway and Kimmie exchanged longing looks, then Kimmie started down the stairs.

“I’m really sorry, Ms. P.” Peter opened the emergency door and peeked down the hall, then rolled out.

“Go on,” Michelle said. So far, it appeared as if she was the worst chaperone ever, what with Segway and Kimmie canoodling on the first night. Michelle went to the ice machine and filled her bucket.

She turned, and standing a few feet before her was a woman. Her gray hair was a knotted mess, and she had a hideous rictus expression on her face. Michelle was shocked, and gooseflesh raced down her arms. The woman started toward her and a bubble began to form in Michelle’s free hand. But before she could let it fly, the woman vanished.

Michelle closed her hand, letting the bubble pop, absorbing its energy. Damn. I guess those ghost stories are real. Maybe I’ll have all the vodka in the minibar.

Bubbles and the Band Trip
Part 5

POP, POP, POP.

The report of the gun made her cringe. Soldiers screamed and collapsed. Michelle let bubbles go and they exploded. Then she blew up Aero.

Bam, bam, bam.

“Mom! Wake up!”

Michelle woke with a start. Sunlight was pouring around the edges of the drapes. Why did no hotel make curtains big enough to black out a room? she wondered. Adesina was pounding on her door. Shit. This can’t be good.

“Just a second.”

Michelle glanced at her phone as she stumbled out of bed. She opened the door, still disoriented from her dream. Not a dream, though. Kazakhstan.

“OMG, Mom,” Adesina said, holding out her tablet. “You’ve totes got to see this.”

Michelle took the tablet and let Adesina into the room. Adesina was having better luck with her wings this morning. They were snuggled against her back.

Michelle felt a little oogy from the drinks the night before. Those three vodkas from the minibar weren’t a superior life choice. She wasn’t much of a drinker and they’d hit her hard.

Adesina’s tablet had a video queued up. Michelle saw herself frozen in motion, bubbles rising from her hands. She hit play. It was a .gif of her boxing the Purity Baptist Church with bubbles on a continuous loop.

Don’t read the comments.

And yet she did.

I’malittleteapot1921: This is why people with the wild card virus should be locked up.

Newton3: re: I’malittleteapot1921—You’re an idiot. You should eat shit and die. When they were handing out stupid, you asked for an extra helping.

I’malittleteapot1921: re: Newton3—What’s a matter bro? You a joker? You scum should be wiped off the face of the earth …

Michelle handed the tablet back to Adesina. She picked up her phone and checked Twitter and sure enough, #stopBubbles and #withBubbles were trending.

Why do I look at this stuff? Really, it’s like picking a scab.

“I have some more videos and .gifs if you want to see them,” Adesina said helpfully. “The ones with Jade Blossom are awesome! Though not as good as the ones from her date with Cesar.”

“Yeah, not so much,” Michelle replied. It was already late, so she started taking off her pajamas. She could at least get a quick shower.

“God, Mom!” Adesina said, and turned away.

Michelle was perplexed. “Okay,” she said. “When did you get so weird about me being naked?”

“Since I got all this,” Adesina said, gesturing with her body. “It’s just so gross. You’re my mother.”

It made Michelle feel bad. Nakedness was just what she was used to doing during changes at runway shows. Maybe body stuff was a teenager thing. She needed to find someone to talk to about that. And that won’t be weird at all. She sighed.

“Okay,” she said as she started to the bathroom. “I’ll just hide in here until you’re gone. Tell the kids to meet me and the other chaperones downstairs in fifteen minutes for breakfast.”

She glanced at her phone again. “And I have a text from Miss Beecher saying we play last. Today at two P.M.”

Beats, Bugs, and Boys
by Diana Rowland
Part 1

LORIANNE’S STICKS FLEW OVER the drums, heavy beat pounding through the wild cheering of the stadium crowd. Led Zeppelin’s John Bonham looked on in awe while, off in the wings, Drummer Boy sat on the floor, all six hands covering his face as he sobbed. From the front row, Buddy Rich gave LoriAnne a thumbs-up—which was a bit strange since she was pretty sure he’d died about thirty years ago. But she couldn’t worry about that right now. Dave Grohl was about to finish up his solo, and then it’d be her turn.

“Take it, LoriAnne,” Dave shouted. “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee …”

Her rhythm faltered. “Huh?”

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Dave Grohl and Buddy Rich burst into a million sparkles as the whine of a mosquito shattered the dream.

“Aw, man, that was cold,” LoriAnne groaned. “You could’ve at least let me have my big solo.” She cracked one eye open to give the nightstand clock a bleary peek: 5:24 A.M. “Go ’way, skeeter. Got six whole minutes.”

No such luck. The skeeter had been content to stay by the window last night, but now it resisted her attempt to send it away. Instead, it crawled to her ear to sing a cheery skeeter wake-up song.

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

“Okay okay okay. Jeez. I’m awake.” She threw off the comforter, unable to keep from smiling as the skeeter danced happily around her head. It was tough to stay annoyed with the little thing. It had stayed tucked in her curls all the way from Louisiana and was probably just as excited as she was. Heck, LoriAnne was amazed she’d slept at all. Not only was this the biggest competition she’d ever been in, but it was the first time in her almost fifteen years she’d spent the night in a state that wasn’t Louisiana.

Holeeeee crap. San Antonio. Texas! She’d been worried there wouldn’t be any mosquitoes here, but San Antonio had plenty. She’d counted a dozen in the hotel lobby alone. It sure helped her nerves to have some of her little friends nearby.

And boy, did she have a lot of nerves. Not only was LoriAnne the youngest member of the Folsom Funkalicious Four, but she’d only been their drummer since December, after Reese Fowler’s mom got a promotion at her job and moved the whole family to Australia. And Reese had been the drummer when the band got the invite to the competition. Sure, LoriAnne had busted her butt to learn everything, and the band director, Mr. Sloane, seemed real happy with how she played, but she couldn’t help but be nervous.

Her roommate’s bed was empty and neatly made. Man, Cassie was up and out early. Knowing her, she’d either found a quiet place to read or was off practicing piano. Not that Cassie needed more practice. She was ah-maze-ing.

LoriAnne flicked on the light then did a double take at the clock: 6:24, not 5:24! She scrambled out of bed, excitement shifting to horror. She knew she’d set the time for the alarm, but she must have forgotten to turn it on. And on an important morning like this! Mr. Sloane had a six thirty A.M. reservation for the five of them at the restaurant downstairs, and had warned them not to be late. “We don’t want to lose our table,” he’d said. “Plus, it’s sure to be a madhouse in the morning, with eight bands all wanting to fuel up before heading over to the Tobin Center.”

Now she was going to be late on the very first day of the biggest competition her band had ever been in. Way to make an impression, LoriAnne.

Good thing she’d laid out all of her stuff before she went to bed. But too bad she didn’t dare skip a shower—not after spending eleven hours in the car yesterday on the road trip from Folsom, Louisiana. And the award for Stinkiest Musician goes to … LoriAnne Broom!

No time to wash her hair, which sucked, but her hair was so darn thick and curly that it took a good fifteen minutes to dry. A freezing shower and a manic scrub of her smelliest bits took less than a minute, followed by a frenzied toweling off, a quick slap of deodorant, and a dash for clothes. She wasted two precious minutes trying to tame her insane cloud of curls before she finally gave up and shoved a sparkly clip into it to get it out of her face, letting the rest be a dumb brown curl-palooza.

She pressed a hunk of curls to her nose and took a deep sniff. Ugh. Smoky, but at least it was from wood and not cigarettes. Halfway through the drive to San Antonio, they’d run into a hailstorm so nasty that the band ended up waiting it out at Buck’s BBQ and Bait Shop. The food was great, but the whole place had smelled like mesquite smoke with a side of day-old minnows.

6:32 A.M. She was late, but maybe she could pull off being only kinda late? Makeup was a lost cause. She’d have to do it in the lobby bathroom after breakfast. Though she doubted she’d be eating much, with the way her stomach was busy twisting itself into knots.

LoriAnne slung her stick bag over one shoulder and her tie around her neck, grabbed her backpack, and spun to leave. Then stopped, door half-open. “Well, c’mon already.”

With a happy whine, the skeeter settled at the nape of her neck.

At the elevator, she jabbed at the button then anxiously watched the numbers scroll lazily up toward “7.” Eventually the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open.

The woman within the elevator gave LoriAnne a friendly smile. “Going up?”

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