Scripted (24 page)

My head throbs.
I rub my temple, trying to coax the pain away as we're escorted into Luz's office. Scoop is hovering next to me.

“Have a seat,” an Authority growls, motioning toward the sofa. Scoop and I obey. Luz comes in a few minutes later and orders the Authority to leave.

“Did they hurt anyone?” I ask, rubbing my head. “Is my mother okay? Was anyone shot?”

“Your mother is fine,” Luz says, resting back in the chair. “They used tear gas, but no one was injured. Those were just warning shots. The tear gas is what persuaded the Characters to return to their homes. We issued a Missive ordering them to stay inside while the board works out how to address today's events.”

“They just . . . everyone went home?” I say, torn between happiness that no one's hurt and fear that nothing is going to change.

“For now,” Luz says. He sighs and does the beard-scratching thing. “But I don't know how long it will last—Characters were ripping their mics off and destroying cameras. If you wanted to sow discord and discontent, Nettie, you've succeeded, and you have most likely cost me my job. The board's blaming me for your newfound, um, confidence. Which means the Initiative's over.”

“Our hearts break for you.” Scoop rolls his eyes.

“The Initiative was good for a lot of Characters,” Luz says sharply. “You may not like to hear this, Nettie, but many Patriots thrive on
Adventures.
Your father was one. His popularity before his death was why some people in the producers' circle wanted to cut you, Nettie, instead of Belle.”

“Do you expect me to thank you? No one should have to go on that show,” I cry out. I lean my aching head back and close my eyes. “Did the Originals know about
Patriot Adventures
?”

“No, not unless they snuck around like you did. They only knew what was in the Contract,” Luz says. “It wasn't always like this. Yes, part of the initial deal to get the island and the broadcasting rights from the Sectors was that Characters who were cut could be used by the government in some of their war efforts, but there was no broadcast, and it was much less dangerous. After all, the problems in the Drowned Lands weren't as severe when
Blissful Days
started. Then, their needs changed. It was the Sectors government that came to us with the idea for the show twenty-six seasons ago. They thought it might rally the Audience into supporting their efforts in the Drowned Lands, as well as pull a profit and help with combat itself.”

Scoop fires questions at Luz. “Why have you brought us here? What are you going to do to us?”

“The board wants me to ask you some questions, to find out how this happened. Why you two disobeyed the Contract so thoroughly. After you answer my questions, well, you're going home. I mean your real home. The Sectors. Off the show.”

“The Sectors?” My mind whirls. “Wait, what about our parents—what about—”

“Where exactly will we go?” Scoop interrupts. “Nettie said virtually all the Originals came from the Drowned Lands. We can't go there.” He shakes his head. “That's too dangerous.”

I knock his knee with mine. “Wait, this is okay with you? What about
Patriot Adventures
?” I turn back to Luz. “You can't keep killing Characters.”

“We've decided you and your family members can no longer be trusted to perform. We'll resettle you in Zenta and provide work training so you can make lives there. The rest of both casts—everyone who is on the island or currently on
Patriot Adventures
—can leave. Or they can remain on their respective shows, with the Characters signing a new Contract that states that they're willing to perform Patriot duties in the event that they're cut. With the situation in the Drowned Lands being what it is, we're going to be pouring more of our resources into
Adventures.
”

My jaw drops. “Wait—you think killing the cast is okay? Media1 still thinks this is an option after today?”

Luz starts playing around with papers on his desk. “That's the deal,” he says. At least he doesn't say he's sorry. I'm getting sick of hearing that.

“This is the best we can do,” Scoop whispers. “We can have a new life in the Sectors, with our families. Everyone can—it's up to them.”

He's right, but it still feels like we've played into the company's hands somehow.

“Fine. But what about my grandmother?” I ask. “What's going to happen to her?”

“She'll be given the option to renew like everyone else. The phones are working, so you can call her up to discuss it,” Luz says, relaxing. “The board wants this to be done in a civilized, orderly fashion.

“I'm going to take you two home now,” he says. “We'll be distributing a revised Contract tonight, and tomorrow we'll be sending buses to pick up those Characters who don't wish to sign it. The freighter that was meant to transport the Patriots can take Characters to the mainland. The rest can stay in the Center until new freighters arrive. We should be ready to start filming again on Tuesday.”

“How are you going to explain all this to the Audience?” I ask as we walk out into the hall. “And what about all the Characters who'll be missing? How will they explain them?”

“Most likely they'll put the show on hiatus for a week or two.” He lowers his voice. “Show archived episodes until they come back with a campaign presenting an updated, superior version of the show. The truth is that they can say whatever they want, and the Audience won't question it. They're hooked.”

• • •

Sobering sights at the edge of the Center as we pull away. The twisted fence. An upturned trash can, smashed bottles. We see a lot of the island as crickets drive us back home. Authority are everywhere, blurs of black. I don't see any Characters. The van pulls into Treasure Woods, and we stop at Scoop's house. All the lights are on, and I imagine the Cannerys having a lively discussion about the day's events. Scoop gives me a quick hug.

“See you on the earliest bus tomorrow,” he whispers.

The van backs up and turns, headed toward the Arbor. I see the columns on Lia's house, and I realize I don't know if I'll see Lia tomorrow—I don't know if I'll ever see her again, except on television.

“Wait,” I burst out. I'm shocked when the driver actually does stop the car.

“What is it?” Luz asks.

“I want to see Lia,” I say. “I'm worried—I don't know what she's going to do.”

Luz nods. “Fifteen minutes.”

I scramble out of the van, run up the stairs, and press the doorbell. My heart thuds as I wait. Lia comes to the door, still in her black Double A gown, the rose wilting behind her ear. She envelops me in her arms.

“I was there outside the Center, but I didn't see you—I left before you came out. It was getting dangerous,” she says. She reaches out and neatens up my hair. “You're a mess. There were all these rumors about what they did to you—oh, God. The company sent a Missive saying you were okay, but I wasn't sure.”

“I'm all right,” I say, in a choked voice because she's holding me so tightly. “Media1 is escorting me home tonight. But, Lia—I'm leaving tomorrow. For good. Will you come?” It's strange to say the word
Media1
aloud on-set.

She grabs my hand and tugs me inside. “I want to,” she whispers. “But my parents are reviewing the new Contracts. My mother . . .” She picks up her dress at the waist as she leads me, to avoid tripping on it.

“Who is it?” her mother says from their dining room.

I approach the dining room table with trepidation. Eleanora looks up at me, smiling drunkenly. Lia's father sits across from her and has what must be the Contract spread out before him, muttering as he reads.

“We don't need to read this.” Eleanora swipes the papers away from him. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Why not?” I drop Lia's arm and step forward. “Don't you get it? If you get cut, you'll
die.
”

“
My
ratings are excellent,” Eleanora says, pointing at herself. “I will never get cut, and I will not end up in the Sadtors.” Eleanora grabs the pen from Mr. Burnish and signs the Contract while he glances up at Lia, helpless.

“I have to leave the show,” I say to her quietly. “They're making me, not that I wouldn't go without them telling me to. But I wouldn't trust any piece of paper from Media1, no matter how good my ratings were.”

“I know you're right, but . . .” Lia bites her lower lip. She goes over to her father at the table, kneeling next to him. “Dad, earlier we talked about trying a new life in the Sectors?” she says, low, almost whispering. “A sensible life, without—”

“Without what? Without
me
you mean?” Eleanora raises her voice grandly. No one says anything. We just watch as she fixes her mussed golden hair in the mirror behind her table. Then she reaches down and takes a swig from the wineglass at her elbow. Mr. Burnish watches her, then snatches up the pen and signs.

“I have to take care of her,” he explains. “She's my wife, and your mother. Who knows what she might do to herself if we leave her alone, with only . . .” Lia stands up and backs away from them, her eyes growing glassy with tears.

“Lia, spend the night at my house,” I say. She looks over at me, blinking, like she doesn't understand. “You can take the bus with us tomorrow.”

She looks back at her parents. Her dad just keeps nervously rubbing at the paper of the new Contract. Her mom is silent too, swirling the wine in her glass. Lia blots out the tears in her eyes with the back of her hand and says to me, “I'll come. I just need to pack.”

The doorbell rings
while I'm on the phone with Selwyn. She's having trouble figuring out how much clothing to bring to the Sectors. Lia, eating chips and perched on a stool by the counter, can hear her and keeps rolling her eyes. Her infinite vacillations over tops and gloves don't bother me at all. This conversation is a lot easier than the one Mom and I had earlier with Violet, who seemed nearly destroyed by the news of my father's death. I don't think I'll ever forget her sobs, and she'll never forgive Media1—the last words she managed to get out were that she'd see us at the Center tomorrow.

My mother answers the door, and when I hear Callen's voice, I nearly drop the phone. I've been deliberately not thinking about him. I'm terrified that he'll stay.

Lia begins bustling about the kitchen, and I avoid looking in her direction.

“Selwyn, I need to go.”

I hang up the phone and run to the front door, where Callen is waiting for me. He grabs my hand and pulls me toward him, and we kiss for the first time since that doomed evening.

“You're okay,” he says, and when we draw apart, I see relief in his face, but something else too—he seems more
present.
Has he ever looked at me like that before? “You're okay? Are you sure?” he insists, not letting go of my hand. “The plaza was terrifying, and then outside the Center, I was worried there was going to be a riot. I can't believe you're safe. I heard what you said on the megaphone, and I was so worried the company would hurt you.”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” I say, leading him to the living room. “I'm fine, except—have you made up your mind? Are you going to stay or go?”

“My whole family is leaving the island,” he says.

Joy erupts inside me, and I smile. “Us too,” I whisper, mindful of Lia in the next room. I take his hand and pull him down to the couch.

“It wasn't so easy.” He raises his hand, considering it, like he's assessing its value. “Dad, I think, could have stayed, but Mom wanted out, and . . .”

“You weren't tempted, were you? If everyone had seen
Patriot Adventures,
like I did, there's no way they'd stay.”

“I thought about staying for a second, because the Sectors are scary. Not as scary as
Patriot Adventures,
obviously, just unknown. But I kept looking at the pictures you and Scoop put into the program . . . and I thought about the Initiative and what they tried to make you do with the close-up. We can't stay.”

“You're coming?” Lia says from the doorway. I stand up quickly, without thinking, guilty. “Your father's okay with that?”

“He's dealing with it,” he says coolly. “Why are you here? Saying good-bye?”

“I'm going to the Sectors too,” she says, staying in the doorway.

“And your parents?”

“Nope,” she says blithely. “I'll be an orphan, but at least I won't end up on
Patriot Adventures.
” She gives a harsh sort of laugh and crosses her arms. I can tell how hard she's trying to act casual.

She just stands there. No one says anything, and it's really uncomfortable. I want her to leave and give me more time alone with Callen. I think that's what he wants too, but she stays in place until he says, “Well, I'm leaving with you. I just came to let you know.” He gets up and gives me a chaste peck on the cheek, mumbling good-bye to Lia as he passes her on his way out.

“So you two are back together? I hope he doesn't stay so awkward around me.” She sighs.

I stare at my feet, touching the place on my cheek where he kissed me. “I'm sure it'll get easier,” I say, but what I really want to say is that it's not about her.

• • •

Lia's legs are too long for my jester-patterned pajama pants. She lies on her back, the Diary lifted above her, biting her lower lip as she turns its pages, squinting when she can't decipher my handwriting.

“Oh, Nettie, look.” She sits up. “Do you remember when we did these Vows for Life during our freshman year? We were so ambitious.”

“What'd we say?” I turn to my side and prop my head on my hand. Freshman year was so long ago.
Blueblood
motif, with, like, bodices and stuff, and string music constantly on the radio.

“I wanted to marry . . . oh, God, no,” she says, groaning. “What a tragedy. Dennis Touray, that trac with the eye patch. Do you remember, Nettie? He said he had a scratch on his cornea, and he wore that filthy eye patch for thirty-four straight days.”

“You counted?”

“He
announced
it, like, every opportunity he had,” she exclaims. “And I wrote our kids' names down here. Cressida and Credulous. Twins. I must have been joking about Credulous, or delusional if I thought I could get a name like that approved by the company.”

“We wrote that we'd get side-by-side houses in Treasure Woods.” I giggle. “With my ratings?
That
was wishful thinking.”

“You don't know that,” she says thoughtfully, turning the page. “Your ratings might have changed if you stayed. You've been doing so well.”

“Hmm” is the most I can summon up. In my mind, I'm already living a life without ratings. Ratings are irrelevant now that I've accepted a life without numbers. Without being measured.

“I'll have to give my kids stupid Real names now,” Lia continues with a dramatic sigh. “I always hated my name because it's short and ugly, like a Real's. God, I guess I'll have to close up with a Real,” Lia says, scowling. She gets up and puts the diary on my desk and returns to her place on the floor, snuggling down with the blankets.

“Are you sure you don't want to sleep somewhere more comfortable? There's not much room up here, but you know you can use the couch downstairs.”

“I like it here,” she says as I reach over and turn the lamp off. “On your lovely carpet. The way we used to.”

I yawn, lying on my back. The ceiling is a swath of black space, impenetrable without the red lights from the cameras on.

“I'll end up with a Real, most likely,” she says. “But who will you end up with? Callen looked like he was ready to follow you to the moon.”

“You think?” I say.

“Yeah. And the way you've been acting, he better be careful. You just might drag him there.”

• • •

The morning sunlight wakes me up. It starts as a sliver and widens until it covers my whole desk, bouncing off the mirror hanging behind my door. The camera lenses glitter with the light, but the cameras are still off.

I close my eyes and listen to the birds and suddenly realize that I'll never hear them again. I wish I could cut my connection to Bliss, but I think it's going to hurt a little. I'll miss the island.

I sit up and swing my legs over the bed. The floor beside me is empty: pillows, sheets, and the paisley comforter are stacked on the knobby chair in front of my desk. I listen for the sound of running water from my bathroom. Nothing. Lia's book bag is no longer by the door. I walk over to the desk. The Diary of Destiny is still there, lying open.

Good Things: Nettie is starting a new life off the island.

Bad Things: Lia can't. Sorry.

Vows: Don't forget me—I won't forget you. (And watch my episodes.)

I shut the notebook and put it back on the desk.

I open my bedroom door and see Mom dragging a hard-shelled suitcase out of her room. She's dressed—and formally too—in a gray lamb's wool skirt and a crisp white blouse.

“Lia left,” I tell her, my voice quivering.

“Oh, Nettie.” She comes over and hugs me. Her chin rests gently on the top of my head. “I know it hurts, but I think for Characters like Lia and Violet, Characters who have never worried much about ratings, the Sectors don't seem so appealing. They don't realize life can get better than it is on
Blissful Days.
They may be wrong, but we can't convince them. We just have to do what's right for us.”

I'm about to protest but my voice catches in my throat. She's right. I pull away and blink back tears. I know if I cry in front of Mom, I might never stop. “Um, I need to shower.”

I run into the bathroom, close the door, and go to the window. I look outside. Mrs. Herron's garden is covered in mist. She's watering her plants, and Callen's sitting on their old splintered picnic table, feet on the bench. “They'll take care of the flowers when you're gone, Mom,” Callen says to her. “The garden's too camperf to let it go.” I wish I could run to him now and tell him what's happened. I wish that he could just hold me.

I take my shower, forgoing the Skin Sequence, then put on some clothes, pick up my packed duffel bag, and go downstairs.

Mom jumps up from the dining room table. “I'll get you some cereal,” she says.

“No, I'll get it.” I go into the kitchen and fix myself a bowl, slicing a banana on top and wasting a few seconds wondering if I should throw in some propro before I remember that I'm done with that now.

“She might change her mind again,” Mom says as we eat. “Maybe you should call her?”

“No. She's not worried about ending up on
Patriot Adventures,
and maybe she's right not to be.” I shrug. “It doesn't matter—we should think about ourselves, our future. How much do you know about the Sectors?”

Not much, it turns out. She tells me a few things she's learned from some of the books Media1 let through. For example, there's an annual cough that goes around that they can't eradicate and cities where the train system runs all night. I tell her the names of the places I've seen on Dr. Kanavan's calendar.

“I think I'd like to see them,” I say. “All of them.”

“But, Nettie, it could be dangerous,” Mom says as I gather our bowls. “I don't want you to—”

“End up in the grave, like Dad?” The response comes out sounding a lot colder than it had in my head.

She sweeps the crumbs off the table and into her napkin, then readjusts her glasses. “Yes, that's what I mean,” she says. “You may not have to listen to Media1, but you'll still have to listen to me out there.”

I rise from the table to bring my bowl back to the kitchen and hug her impulsively. “I will,” I promise. I wasn't lying when I said I wanted to see all of the Sectors. I just want both: home and Mom and freedom and the outside.

A large motor growls down the street. Mom snatches up her suitcase. “That must be the bus.”

The sky is cloudy, and it's drizzling lightly. No scripted sky today. I stand on our porch while Mom, maybe unnecessarily, locks up. I see people streaming from their houses to get on the bus, which stops every dozen or so feet to pick them up. Whole families and individuals. The bus is supposed to be making rounds all day, and it looks like it will need to—it's already filling up.

The bus arrives in front of our house just as Mom and I are still walking toward the street, and the Herrons beat us to it. I fall in line behind Callen, and Mom is behind me, and there are people behind her, but I don't look back to check who they are. Callen glances back quickly, once, just to smile.

We pile into the bus in silence. Even the kids seem to know that this is a sober event. A brother and sister around the same age—six or so—sit together without making a peep. Their father sits behind them, wearing a wedding ring, but without a wife. I wonder how many families have been torn apart.

Crickets are here too, in uniform. One stands at the back of the bus; others are scattered throughout, whispering to one another. Callen's parents sit together, his mom gazing forlornly out the window, while Callen sits across from them, alone. He gestures me over, and I look up at Mom.

“Go ahead,” she says.

I slide in next to Callen. He puts his hand protectively over mine on the seat, but when I look in his eyes and see the worry there, I'm not sure who's protecting whom. I rest my head on his shoulder.

“Lia didn't come.”

“I didn't think she would,” he says. We pass the playground dividing Treasure Woods from the Arbor.

“She could change her mind,” I say, but I know she won't.

We drive through Treasure Woods, and hardly anyone gets on. Life on the island is pretty good if you have strong ratings. We pass the Graysons' mansion, perched on a hill. None of them are waiting for us. Callen grips my hand tightly as we pass Lia's house.

Then Scoop, Belle, and their parents come aboard. Loudly. Mr. Cannery tips his hat to the Authority bus driver, and his mother puts her hand above her eyes as she scouts out the seats, mock-complaining, “I have to go all the way to the back?” and the mood on the bus lifts, coinciding with the sun breaking out from behind gray clouds. Scoop and I exchange nods as he goes to the back of the bus. Two partners finally at the end of a project.

I press my face up against the glass, and I try to watch without thinking, wanting to remember the way the hedges run along the sidewalk, how weeping willows kiss the ground. Details that
Blissful Days
might miss.

“We're never coming back,” Callen says, rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb.

I'm leaving. I can carry the island in my head for a while. But bit by bit, the sense of it will fade, like a gradual changing of seasons, and it will all just be images on a screen. I think that I can live with that distance. Distance from Lia, from the familiar places flying by, from the certainty that my world ended at the ocean.

• • •

The Reals treat all the departing Characters like royalty at the Center. As soon as we step off the bus, it's all “Welcome,” “Right this way,” and “Glad you're here,” as they break us up into separate groups, directing us to different Center buildings. I think they're worried about a repeat of yesterday's hostility. With at least three hundred of us here, serious damage could be done if the group got angry. A nervous energy runs through the crowd, but it's excitement all aimed at our futures as normal citizens of the Sectors, not hostility toward the company.