Ruby’s Fire

My knees knocking, I present my elixirs. The stage is so vast that even my most dramatic demonstration—temporarily freezing the Spatter Lizard in one position—can hardly be seen at such a distance. I wish I’d set up an oversized demo like Blane. Even the burn on my arm—the second red, puffy burn that hurt like anything this morning as I prepared—seems so insignificant compared to what he revealed. Nonetheless, people are leaning forward, squinting their eyes to get a good look at the burn as it transforms into pink, fresh skin.

 

There’s a respectable smattering of applause. Still, I leave the stage deeply disappointed. No way will I be able to afford my fantasy blue house in Vegas-by-the-Sea, not even a tiny studio apartment. I’ll never get the money to help my family and friends back home escape. When I sit back down, Bea pats me on the back and tells me what a great job I did. She’s a good friend, but her glued on smile can’t fool me.

 

Bea’s up next, so there’s no time to mope. I’m glad for that. The time whizzes by as I hurry into one outfit only to shrug out of it into another, and burst out again on the red carpet catwalk that Bea’s set up onstage. There is thundering applause for Bea, and the female students are clapping especially hard. I bet they would all love to dress in her fashions. This bodes well for her chances to win. No doubt, sales of Bea’s clothes would be brisk and bring in boatloads of cash to this city, and for Axiom, even after he doles out the prize money. Nevada would win the bonus to fix up The Greening as well.

 

We sit through about four more presentations, including Radius’ small hovercraft. He has a hard time with one of the wings, which keeps sagging to one side. Still, he earns an enthusiastic response when he gets it to rise unsteadily above the stage.

 

Afterwards, we’re steered into a ballroom, filled with steamy teas, coffees, crumpets and cookies while we await the judges’ determinations.

 

A crowd of mostly guys huddles around Alex Dean. Bea and I eavesdrop. He says that he hails from a long line of military brats.

 

“Brats?” I scrunch my face at Bea. “I wouldn’t brag about being from a family of brats.”

 

She breaks out in delighted laughter. “You learned nothing in that cult. A military brat is someone who grew up with a soldier mom or dad.”

 

“Oh. I’ve never thought about military stuff. Nevada told us there were border wars with the north. But that’s over. Who’s our enemy now?”

 

Bea shrugs. I guess she doesn’t know everything either.

 

Radius is also a popular guy, with kids asking him questions, and some curious grownups too. A flock of pretty girls start to surround Bea, asking her where they can get their hands on her fashion line, and if it’s in Vegas stores yet. They also compliment me on my modeling.

 

As for my presentation, I have a generous handful of admirers, including a turbaned healer named Caprice from Vegas-by-the-Sea. She adores my salves and insists that her clients would pay good money for them. Nice! Perhaps I can eventually raise enough money to move without winning an actual prize. I forgot to bring my holo tablet, so Caprice jots her address down for me on a slip of paper.

 

Blane comes over and wraps an arm around me. “How are you holding up?”

 

“I’m good, and you were great! I had no idea how smart you are.”

 

He laughs. “You thought I was dumb?”

 

“No, but you were so incredibly secretive about your project. Smart is sexy, you!” I stand on my tiptoes to kiss him. He kisses me back and my senses are fully attuned to the sensual movement of his powerful arms enfolding me, the currents of his fierce, independent mind.

 

We decide to head over to the dessert table where he loads his plate with cake and pastry. With all of the mandatory activities I still haven’t been able to sift in enough solar vitamins, so I compensate by eating a sliver of chocolate cake. As miniscule as my appetite is these days, the chocolate still melts on my tongue.

 

Blane and I watch the judges emerge from a blue door at the end of the room and gather behind a long table there. The crowd begins to gravitate toward the table when it becomes clear the judges are preparing to announce a winner.

 

The three students from Vegas Central High that we sat with that first night at dinner drift toward us.

 

“Fancy meeting you here,” quips Van, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

 

“Your presentation was great,” Haddy tells me. “I so need that miracle skin salve.”

 

“Sure, I can spare a little.”

 

“Really?”

 

Blane pops in the last bite of chocolate cake and brushes his mouth with his sleeve. “Here we go! The judges are ready to make an announcement.”

 

The judges have chosen their seats. Their heads turn to George Axiom as he steps out from the blue door. While he confers with them in a hushed voice the crowd settles down as everyone waits for the verdict. I realize, momentarily, that whatever type of discussion they’re having is fast turning into a nasty argument. Stazzi, the lone female judge has gotten up and she’s having at it as she wags a painted fingernail at him.

 

“Ooh, I wouldn’t want to be Axiom right now,” I say.

 

“What are they going on about?” Tib asks.

 

Haddy shakes her head. “Whatever it is, it’s bad.”

 

Abruptly, the panel of judges rise and file back behind the blue door. In response, the whole room sighs with impatience.