“Today, dear Fireseeders, is the day we judge the first round. Four lucky finalists will be chosen from each school, and only four, so present well.” An enthusiastic, yet nervous murmur rises from the students and teachers. Nevada is sitting with Irina and another of our tutors, a wiry, over-tanned lady who sometimes teaches us poetry.
“One by one,” George continues, “when we call your name, you’ll proceed into Nevada Pilgrim’s study and present your project. Pretend you are onstage, and project your voice.” He demonstrates by fairly shouting his next line: “If you mumble, you’ll lose points!” Bea and I mock-frown at each other.
“Before we get started, I have a quick question. Have you enjoyed the Stream Blasts?” This question is met with a roar of approval.
Can’t say that I’m roaring with everyone. I’ve never gotten used to the sudden, startling noise in my head, or the ads, which make me long for things I can’t afford or have no access to. I feel more akin to the Fireseed hum that I hear when I go outside. It talks to me softly and directly with far more lyrical messages.
“That’s the spirit!” George pumps his fist in the air and the guys follow suit from wherever they’re sitting. “Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah! Pretty soon you lucky finalists will dine in Vegas-by-the-Sea’s famous Crab House Delights, and take a whirl in the Axiom Skye Ride over the beautiful Pacific.” A cheer goes up.
That’s what I want. Blue waters. Shutting my eyes, I breathe in and ask Fireseed to please deliver it. After all, Fireseed is part of me now.
“First up, Vesper Engel,” George calls. A visibly less confident Vesper saunters to the front of the room and into Nevada’s parlor. George and his panel of judges follow her. Nevada goes in last, closing the door behind her. In the parlor, talking lulls to a murmur, as we all try our best to eavesdrop. Either the golden door is too thick or they’re talking too softly. Blane and I exchange hesitant glances. He’s shy in a way that he never was before we kissed. I have to say, I am too. I want to talk to him, but I fear we’ll revert to our mean teasing. So, perhaps it’s safer to stay quiet around each other for now.
When Vesper emerges from Nevada’s office with a sour pout, I avoid her. Clearly, it didn’t go so well, and the last thing I want is for her to use me as a scapegoat. She still hasn’t run her mouth, at least in public, about seeing Blane and me together and I’d like to leave it that way.
They call Jan in next, who also comes out prune faced. I suspect, from how short a time he’s been in the office that he’s never come up with a project at all. Radius goes in next. He stays in there longer than Jan and comes out busily packing up his gear.
Axiom calls Blane. My heart pounds the whole time he’s in with the panel. I’m silently rooting for us to make the finalist cut. A big part of me wants that private Skye Ride with him. He comes out swaggering, holo tablet in the crook of his arm. He reminds me of the early Blane—overconfident and wearing it with relish. Seeing that, my heart pounds even harder. I worry that he’s ruined his chances, acting like that. No matter what his project, judges see through a braggart, don’t they? I worry that he’s brawn and little brains after all, and I’m ashamed to still feel that judgmental. If I only knew what his project was.
Next, it’s Bea’s turn. I’m one of her models, so I get to come with! Nevada, anticipating Bea’s fashion show, has set up a folding screen where I quickly wriggle into Bea’s outfits. I’m so skinny that it’s easy to slide them on and off.
The woman judge can’t hide her enthusiasm, but even the men nod their heads admiringly at Bea’s clever garments. She’s tricked them out with sun hoods, utility pockets and secret places for spare burn masks and food packs. I steal peeks at the panel, making their marks on their holo pads.
As I do my best strut down an imaginary catwalk, Bea narrates with a dramatic flinging of her hands. “Now we have my reversible sun cape. As we know, Fireseed can withstand punishing desert sandstorms and 180-degree heat. So this cape made from large, breathable top leaves is the ideal outfit for a rough overland trip or a scalding trek to the depot in summer. You never know when a sandstorm might blow up and …” Bea pauses while I lower the blue-tinted sun visor that’s tucked under the hood top. We grin at each other and enjoy the surprised intakes of breath from the panel. “You’re always ready with the extra slide-down visor.”
George Axiom, leaning forward with his mouth open, seems riveted. After all, he’s a clotheshorse and a businessman. Money signs practically gleam in his eyes. When the panel forgets to be neutral and starts to clap I’m sure Bea’s clinched a spot. As we walk out, we give each other a congratulatory hug.
In the parlor, we receive hateful glares from Vesper and Jan. Obviously the enthusiastic clapping has filtered through the door.