Wild Cards

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 (#ulink_291f5e8a-5ab6-5312-b1b9-72a7befeeaf7)

by William F. Wu (#ulink_291f5e8a-5ab6-5312-b1b9-72a7befeeaf7)

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.