The Zero Game

Viv didn’t bother to look back. In fact, as she rushed toward the cloakroom in the back of the chamber, she didn’t look anywhere but straight down. Still feeling the Senator’s stare burning through her, and refusing to risk eye contact, she speed-marched up the center aisle – but as she blew past row after row of antique desks, she couldn’t ignore the haunting voice in the back of her head. It was the same voice she had heard when she was eleven and Darlene Bresloff stole her RollerBlades… and when she was thirteen and Neil Grubin purposely squirted maple syrup all over her church clothes. It was a strong, unflinching voice. It was her mom’s voice. The same mom who made Viv march up to Darlene and demand her RollerBlades back now... and who, as Viv begged and pleaded to the contrary, personally carried the maple-syrup-covered suit back to Neil’s house, up the three flights of stairs, and into the living room, so Neil’s mother – whom they’d never met before – could see it for herself. That’s whose voice was echoing in the back of her head. And that’s the voice she heard halfway up the aisle… with the Senator dead ahead.

Maybe I should just say something, Viv decided. Nothing rude, like What’re you looking at? No, this was still a United States Senator. No reason to be stupid. Better to go with simple: Hi there, Senator... or Nice to see you, Senator... or something like… like… Can I help you? There we go. Can I help you? Simple but straightforward. Just like Momma.

With less than twenty feet to go, Viv raised her chin just enough to make sure the Senator was still there. He hadn’t moved from behind the hundred-year-old desk. His eyes were still on her. Within two steps, Viv’s pace slowed imperceptibly, and she again gripped the ID as it dangled from her neck. Her thumbnail flicked at the back of the ID badge, scratching at the piece of Scotch tape that held the cutout picture of her mom in place. Viv’s photo on front, Momma on back. It was only fair, Viv had thought the day she Scotch-taped it there. Viv didn’t get to the Senate alone; she shouldn’t be there alone. And with Mom resting on her chest… well… everyone hides their strength in a different place.

Ten feet ahead of her, at the end of the aisle, the Senator stood his ground. Vivian, don’t you dare back down, she could hear her mom warn. Stay positive. Viv tightened her jaw and got her first glimpse of the Senator’s shoes. All she had to do was look up and say the words. Can I help you?… Can I help you?... She replayed them in her head. Her thumbnail continued to scratch at the back of her ID. Stay positive. She was close enough to see the cuff on the Senator’s slacks. Just look up, she told herself. Stay positive. And with one final deep breath, Viv did just that. Steeling herself, she lifted her head, locked on to the Senator’s deep-gray eyes… and quickly looked back down at the dark blue carpet.

“Excuse me,” Viv whispered as she ducked slightly and sidestepped around him. The Senator didn’t even look down as she passed. Leaving the aisle and heading across the back of the chamber, Viv finally let go of her ID… and felt it slap against her chest.

“Got one for you, Viv,” Blutter announced as she pulled open the glass-paned door and smelled the familiar stale air of the cloakroom. Originally designed to store Senators’ coats when they had business on the Floor, the cloakroom was still a cramped, tiny space. She didn’t have to go far to reach Blutter.

“Is it close?” Viv asked, already exhausted.

“S-414-D,” Blutter said from his seat behind the main cloakroom desk. Of the four full-time staffers who answered phones in the cloakroom, Ron Blutter was the youngest at twenty-two, which was also why he was the designated cloakroom boss in charge of the page program. Blutter knew it was a crap job – keeping track of his party’s puberty-ridden sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds – but at least it was better than being a page.

“They asked for you personally,” Blutter added. “Something to do with your sponsor’s office.”

Viv nodded. The only way to get a job as a page was to be sponsored by a Senator, but as the only black page in the entire page program, she was well accustomed to the fact that there were other requirements of the job besides delivering packages. “Another photo op?” she asked.

“I’m guessing.” Blutter shrugged as Viv signed herself out on the locator sheet. “Though from the room number… maybe it’s just a reception.”