Inside Straight

“You sure, Michelle?” Tiffani asked. “There’s plenty of room. And I’m sure DB will play nice.”

“I never play nice. Where’s the fun in that?”

I grabbed my beach towel, wrapped it around me, and went upstairs to my room.

I’d just finished changing into my pajamas when there was a knock on the door. I could still hear Tiff and DB laughing outside in the Jacuzzi. When I opened the door I was surprised to find Ink standing there.

“Hey,” I said. “Is anything wrong?”

She crammed her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “I heard about the incident at the mall today and I wanted to see if you were all right.”

“Of course,” I said, feeling a bit nonplussed. “I’m the girl that can take getting hit by a bus. It was no biggie, really.”

“Ah.” Ink frowned and shook her head. “Well, I’m glad to see you’re all right. Just checking in.”

“Uh, okay.” I stood there for a moment, at a loss for what to say next. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She looked as if she wanted to say something else, but then she just said, “Goodnight” and left.

~ ~ ~

The clanging of the challenge alarm woke me up. I fumbled for the alarm clock and groaned when I saw the time: five A.M.

I threw on my usual challenge outfit: stretchy, baggy sweatpants, a long-sleeve XXL T-shirt, and a hoodie. They were extremely tight on me this morning. The run-in with the bus had fattened me up. As I ran downstairs, I pulled my hair back into a ponytail.

No one was in the living room, and the front door was open. I figured I was the last one out, and trotted as fast as I could at my current size to the waiting limo. But Jetman was the only other teammate in there.

We sat in the back waiting for another twenty minutes until Tiff and Drummer Boy came out, with Ink and the mobile crew following behind them. A slippery, sick feeling went through me.

It was still dark when we got to the studio. The guard waved us through the gate, and we were dropped off at makeup. I guess they wanted to get going on the challenge quickly, because there was none of the usual hurry up and wait.

We were hustled to the set. The full challenge-taping crew was there. The bank facade was lit up like the Fourth of July. The director came over to us. “Good morning, Diamonds. Ready for today’s challenge?”

“Ready for anything,” Drummer Boy said, hitting what sounded like a rim shot off his chest.

The director gestured toward the set. “Here’s the story. A bank robbery is underway. Your challenge today is to free the hostages, take care of the henchmen, and defeat the ace that’s running the show.”

“Who’s the ace?” Jetman asked.

“Well, that’s part of the challenge. You won’t know until you get in there.”

That made me nervous. There were lots of aces and some of them had powers that weren’t immediately obvious. Mind-control powers were what worried me the most. They could take over and have us at each others’ throats if we weren’t ready for it—and maybe even if we were.

“Ready on the set,” came over the loudspeaker. Immediately there was silence. And then: “Action!”

There was the sound of explosives from inside the bank. Then the rata-tat-tat of a machine gun. Even though I knew it was just effects, it got my adrenaline going.

“So what’s the plan?” Tiffani asked. She looked up at Drummer Boy as if he had all the answers.

“I think we need to get the hostages out first,” I said. Jet-man nodded.

“Sounds good to me,” Tiff said. “Bubbles, do your stuff.”

I let a bowling ball-size bubble loose at the front door, which exploded like a cheap firecracker. Bits of wood and glass flew across the street. “Tiff and I should take point. We’re invulnerable to projectile attacks.”

“I’m going aloft,” Jetman said. “I’ll come in from behind.” He hit the power button on his jetpack. It sputtered, then the engine caught. It made a putt-putt noise, like an anemic Vespa, but it took him airborne in seconds.

Smoke rolled out of the opening I’d made. Tiff went diamond again, and then we ran into the bank with Drummer Boy behind us. A barrage of paint-balls hit us. They did nothing to me except create more fat. Unfortunately, Tiff was hit in the face and the paint coated her diamond surface, obscuring part of her vision.

I saw a group of people sitting in a circle on the floor. Their hands were tied behind their backs. Standing in front of them were six guys with paint-ball guns. I didn’t see anyone who looked like an ace, but with aces, it was hard to tell.

Another round of paint-balls were fired at me and Tiff. “Goddamn it,” I heard her say. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that she had run into one of the prop desks. Most of her face was covered in paint. She probably couldn’t see a thing.

Drummer Boy ducked behind one of the desks. If he or Jetman were hit by enough paint-balls, they’d be declared dead and out of the challenge.