"So what? Other people get upset too," the new boy said. He was still standing, staring at her. "That doesn't give you the right to criticize what we were doing. You act like you think you're pretty tough, but you're just as hysterical as any other girl. We don't have to listen to it."
He was her adversary now, she could tell. And she had done it herself, just as she had done with Blossom. Silently, she cursed herself. It was so stupid, opening her big mouth like that and making him hate her; it was just going to make everything worse. But maybe it wasn't too late. Even though "hysterical" still rankled, Abigail's recognition had calmed her down to the point where she could swallow her pride. "I know," she said. "I shouldn't have gotten so mad. But it was frustrating. Nobody seemed to understand how serious this was. But," and she let her pride sink down to the bottom of her stomach, "but what you were doing was a good thing, I guess. I'm sorry I said it was stupid. It's," she sighed, "it's important to keep people in a good mood."
The boy grunted, turning from her to the food machine. "Oh," she said. "Did anybody make it work?"
"No," Blossom said pettishly. "And nobody even wanted to try."
"Well, I'm ready now," said the new boy. "Suddenly I'm starving."
And they tried. One by one, each of them struggled over the unresponsive screen while the others watched impatiently, growing hungrier and hungrier, waiting and hoping for the whirs and the clicks that would not come. And at last they grew tired of it, and quietly, one by one, they retreated to their respective stairways, Oliver sitting above Peter. They sat for a while, too dispirited to speak; until at last their eyes began to close.
Chapter 7.
When she awoke, Blossom could not remember for a moment where she was. There was a gleaming whiteness, and something sharp pressing painfully into her back. But most strange and disturbing of all was the terrible emptiness inside herself, the emptiness that she could not bear. She had to make the hunger go away.
And then it all came back to her: the blindfold, the stairways, hating Lola, everything. Hating Lola: She clung to that. Hating was so vital, so necessary. It was even her duty duty, in fact, to probe into Lola's odiousness, and to help the others, for their own good, to understand it.
Lola opened her eyes and sat up. "Mmm," she said thickly.
Oliver sat up and stretched. "Hello, everybody." He yawned. "So we're still here, huh?"
Abigail was still trying to sleep, curled up against the steps, her eyes closed. Peter's eyes were closed too, his chin resting against his chest.
Blossom was beginning to feel something else, almost as uncomfortable as the hunger. It was horrible having to ask Lola for help, but there was really no alternative. "Uh," she said. "Um, I have to-I mean, how do you get to ... you know, what you found ...?"
"Oh, yeah," Lola said. "The toilet. I suppose you want to know where it is."
"Well, you're the only one who knows."
"Well, okay." Lola looked around. "Anybody else want to come?"
"I think I'll stick around and watch over the sleeping beauties here," said Oliver. "You can tell me how to get there later. I'll be able to find it. And maybe I'll try to get this thing here working again."
"Well, come on then," Lola mumbled, and they started off.
Lola moved quickly. Soon Blossom was out of breath. Her thighs rubbed together stickily, and her skirt, which was beginning to feel dirty, flapped irritatingly around her knees. And Lola was far ahead now, making Blossom feel clumsy and slow.
And then Lola stopped at a landing ahead. She looked from side to side, as if trying to decide which way to go. Blossom hurried to catch up with her. She was panting and her forehead was damp when she reached the landing. Lola still had not moved.
"What's the matter?" Blossom said, gasping for breath. "Did you already forget where it is?"
"No, I did not not forget," said Lola, turning to her. "I'm just trying to decide which is the best way to go. And you can find it yourself if you don't like the way I'm doing it. I'm getting pretty sick of your attitude. Why are you always picking at me? What have you got against me anyway?" forget," said Lola, turning to her. "I'm just trying to decide which is the best way to go. And you can find it yourself if you don't like the way I'm doing it. I'm getting pretty sick of your attitude. Why are you always picking at me? What have you got against me anyway?"
"I-" Blossom began. She had to be careful. Now she knew it had been a mistake to make it so obvious to Lola that she hated her. She had to undo that now, for only if Lola trusted her would she have the necessary power over her. "I just ... when you first came along, you scared me, and you were mean. That's all."
Lola slapped herself on the forehead and rolled up her eyes. "You still thinking about that? How long does it take you to forget something stupid like that?"
I never forget, thought Blossom.
"I mean, I already told you, I was just worried about the food," Lola went on. "By now you should know the way I talk. It didn't mean anything." She shook her head. "You know, we're in a pretty tricky spot as it is. You're just making it worse."
"I ... I guess you're right," said Blossom, making an effort to sound contrite. "I never really meant it, really. I just didn't want you to boss me around."
"Mmm," said Lola, her eyes probing. "Sure that's all it was?"
"Yes," Blossom nodded quickly, pursing her lips. "I'm sure."
"Well, let's hope it's all over with now. I won't stand for much more of it."
"I ... I know you wouldn't stand for it," Blossom said softly. "I guess I was just waiting for you to tell me to stop."
"Well, now I'm telling you. And I'll tell you something else. Somebody's got to get bossed around here, you better get used to it, because somebody's got to be the leader. If there's no leader, we'll never get anywhere. I'm not saying the leader's gotta be me me, necessarily, but there's gotta be one."
Now that her breath and her wits were back, Blossom rose to Lola's opening. "Oh, but I think it should should be you," Blossom said. "Who else could be the leader? Not Peter, and not Abigail, and not be you," Blossom said. "Who else could be the leader? Not Peter, and not Abigail, and not me me. That just leaves you and Oliver. And, well, Oliver...."
"Yeah?" said Lola. "Well Oliver what?"
"I just think he's sort of strange," Blossom said thoughtfully, twisting a ringlet. "The way he was dancing around like that, singing those stupid songs and things...."
"You looked like you were enjoying it." Lola was squinting at her suspiciously.
"Well, yesss." Careful now Careful now, Blossom told herself.
"In fact you were the one who defended him, if I remember it right."
"But I was still mad at you you then," said Blossom. "Now I-" then," said Blossom. "Now I-"
"Don't you have to go to the toilet?" said Lola, turning around. "It's this way." And she started up the stairs.
Blossom felt like kicking her. She just had had to find something she could use to turn the others against her. to find something she could use to turn the others against her.
Ahead, Lola bent over and picked something up from a step. It looked like a scrap of cloth. Lola waited, whistling through her teeth, and she actually turned and smiled at Blossom when she reached her.
"We're almost there now," Lola said, sounding pleased with herself. "See this? I tore it off my shirt and left it here yesterday, as a marker."
"Oh," said Blossom. It had been a clever thing to do in this confusing place, though it annoyed her to have to acknowledge any virtue in her enemy. Nevertheless, remembering her role, she said, "That was smart of you. I never would have thought of it."
"To tell you the truth, I almost didn't myself. In fact-" Watching Blossom's face, Lola's smile quickly faded. "But I would have found the way without it," she added, her voice guarded again. "I'm gonna leave it here for the others."
She still doesn't trust me, Blossom said to herself, following her upward again. I've got to get her to trust me. But how? I've got to get her to trust me. But how?
And in the end she succeeded, though not without a sacrifice.
The toilet, as Lola had said, was on a narrow bridge, just a small round hole filled with water, flushing constantly. It was difficult to get to, even more difficult for Blossom to drink from it, and then squat there, teetering and clutching at the bridge, while she used it. And embarrassing; for though Lola seemed to be staring politely off in the other direction, when Blossom looked back at her to check she was almost sure she saw Lola quickly turning away, a smirk on her face, as though she had been watching her and laughing. It was infuriating. And when she herself, overcoming her natural repugnance in order to pay Lola back, turned to spy on her her sitting there, Lola just waved and cried out, "Enjoying the view?" sitting there, Lola just waved and cried out, "Enjoying the view?"
But Lola grew more serious as they started to leave. "Hey, listen," she said. "Those other guys are gonna have trouble finding this place, even with that marker I left. It might be good if we left something here, so they could tell from below which bridge it was. And I don't really have anything to leave, I've already torn up my shirt. But maybe, well ... well one of those ruffles on your dress, if we could hang it down over the bridge, it would be real easy to see from far away."
Her dress? But it was her favorite dress. It was unthinkable. How could this hateful girl even suggest it? Her voice shrill, Blossom began to shout. "They can find it anyway! Why should I-"
Lola's expression stopped her. She was nodding, her lips pursed, her eyes sliding off to the side. It was just as if she were saying, I knew you'd say that, you trivial, selfish thing I knew you'd say that, you trivial, selfish thing. With a tremendous effort, Blossom forced herself to think rationally. There was no way of avoiding it; she had to tear off that ruffle. Not only was it a matter of principle to show Lola that she was wrong about her, but if she didn't make this sacrifice now, Lola would probably never trust her. Breathing heavily, Blossom picked up the hem of her skirt. Hardly able to watch her hands, she pulled the bottom ruffle off all the way around the skirt. She stepped out of it, and staring hard at Lola (who was watching her as though she couldn't believe her eyes), ripped apart its one seam, turning it from a circle into a long strip. "Here," she said wheezily, and handed Lola the piece of cloth.
For a moment Lola seemed confused. She stood there, the cloth dangling from her hand, still just watching Blossom with her head tilted to the side, squinting. "You know," she said at last, "I never thought you'd do that."
"I ... I didn't want to," Blossom said, pleased with Lola's reaction. "But what you said was right. And what does a dress matter in here anyway?" With what she hoped was a sad little gesture, she picked up her ruined hem and gazed wistfully at it.
"It'll be a big help," Lola said. "It really will. Everybody will appreciate it." She turned away quickly, ran out along the bridge, and tied one end of the cloth around it, so that it hung several feet below, motionless in the still air.
After that, Blossom got what she needed with hardly any trouble at all.
Chapter 8.
They had been up for hours now, and had been working at the machine, on and off, for the entire time. They were hungry, not having eaten since the previous afternoon, and getting more and more irritable. And still the machine refused to respond.
"Stubborn bitch!" Oliver said. He was out of breath, sweat was dripping from his nose, and his T-shirt clung stickily to his chest. Struggling over the machine without any breakfast, without even having brushed his teeth, was not very enjoyable. Yet he had forced himself to keep on trying. It was not only that he was hungrier than he had ever been in his life; he also desperately wanted to be the one to make the machine work. Somehow his relationship to all the others depended on it.
"Using dirty words isn't going to do any good," said Blossom peevishly. She was hunched over at the bottom of her stairway, staring intensely down at the machine.
"Well then you try again," Oliver said, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand and sitting down. He watched the fat girl bend over the screen for the hundredth time and stick out her tongue at it. He felt like hooting at her, for she looked ridiculous; but though she was a cow, there was something about her that made him feel he should watch his step with her.
Lola sat tensely on her step, biting her thumbnail as she watched Blossom. Every once in a while her hand would move toward her shirt pocket and the pack of cigarettes, then quickly back to her mouth again. She was unlike any girl Oliver had ever known (he hadn't known very many), and made him feel slightly uneasy, for she did not respond to him the way other girls had. He felt no power over her, no ability to make her stammer and blush by merely smiling at her, and for this reason he did not know how to behave with her. He also didn't like it that she had been the one to find the toilet. It put her altogether too much in the leadership position, the position he craved for himself. That was why he felt it had to be he who made the food machine work, and that was why he was beginning to resent Lola.
At least there were Abigail and Peter! With Abigail he thought he knew where he stood; she acted just the way he expected girls to behave. And furthermore, here they were without any adults around! He had never been alone with a girl, and the thought of what might possibly happen was terribly exciting-though also a little frightening.
He shifted on the step, and Peter looked up at him for a moment, wide-eyed. It had been rather unexpected to find himself almost at once the object of Peter's intense devotion, but Oliver didn't mind. It made him feel confident and powerful to have someone look up to him so much. Although, down at the bottom of it, something about Peter gnawed at him.
He shook his head, smiling to himself, trying to laugh at and discard the discomforting fact that there wasn't one of them that didn't bother him in some small way. What was it that Lola had been shouting about yesterday? That they were in a prison, that they were being tortured and driven mad? It was a bit farfetched; but on the other hand, it might just be possible that each of them had been picked for a certain reason....
He shook his head again, looking down at Abigail and smiling. He wasn't used to thinking this way, and didn't enjoy it.
Abigail smiled back, rather wanly.
At that moment Blossom turned toward them, noticing his expression. "Are you laughing at me?" she demanded, getting up from the floor and plumping down on her step. "How dare you laugh at me? Here I am, trying to make this thing work, while you sit there, laughing and jeering and-"
"No, no!" Oliver waved her down. "Come on, calm down. I was only smiling at Abigail. Can't a guy even smile?"
"What's there to smile about?" said Lola. "We're trapped in this prison and now that food thing won't even work." She gestured at it contemptuously. "It was just teasing us before, making us expect something and then taking it away. And I'm having a cigarette!" she added defiantly, taking out the pack and quickly lighting one.
"Who said you couldn't? Oliver asked her. "We're not hallway patrolmen."
"Oh, who said you were?" said Lola tiredly.
Oliver couldn't stand it any longer. He wanted to get away from all the frustration and the bickering. He wanted to get away with Abigail. "Come on, Abigail," he said rather awkwardly, hardly daring to hope that she would have the nerve to go off with him. "Um ... maybe we should go look around. There might be another food machine somewhere that works."
Abigail looked down. "Oh ...," she murmured. She waited for a moment. "Um ... well, all right," she said at last, standing up and smiling nervously. She blushed.
"Well, come on then," he said quickly. Now that she had agreed, he wanted to get her away as soon as possible, before anyone else could offer to come along. "Let's go." He jumped down to the landing and onto her stairway, pushing her lightly on the back. Without looking at the others, they started up.
Abigail continued to seem embarrassed, looking down at her feet as they climbed. Obviously she had never been alone with a boy before. There was nothing unusual about that, of course; boys and girls were kept strictly segregated in all state institutions. As they grew into their teens they would sometimes have classes together in order to get used to one another; but they had all been taught from their earliest years about the dangers of mixing too freely with the opposite sex. It was immoral to get very intimate with anyone, unless you were about to be married.
Still, people have feelings, and do not always agree with everything they are taught. Though Abigail seemed a bit apprehensive, her very acceptance of his invitation was enough to tell Oliver that she might be interested in trying what was forbidden. The thought of it set his heart beating quickly; yet he had no idea what he should do.
"But ... but what is is going to happen to us?" Abigail said at last. "Yesterday you thought this was all like a game, but I bet you don't anymore." going to happen to us?" Abigail said at last. "Yesterday you thought this was all like a game, but I bet you don't anymore."
He looked down into her worried face, feeling a new and unknown kind of excitement flowing from her helplessness. It was true that he no longer thought it was a game, and was actually rather frightened about the situation. But the last thing he would do was admit his real feelings to her: His strength depended upon feeling superior.
"Don't get upset," he said. "It'll be okay. Please." They had reached a small landing, and stopped walking.
"I usually don't get upset," Abigail said, her eyes on the ground. "I'm usually calm. Most people I know ... think I don't have any emotions, because I don't show them very much. But I do have them. And sometimes ... they're very strong."
"I ... I can tell that," Oliver said in a hoarse whisper. The situation was becoming almost too much to bear, being alone with a girl and talking about something as intimate as her emotions. He was breathing heavily now; and when Abigail suddenly looked up at him, her face close to his and her eyes very wide, all at once something inside him took over. It didn't matter now that he didn't know what to do; of its own accord his hand reached out and grasped hers, and he bent down his head and kissed her on the lips.
Oh, it was strange, thrilling and strange! The touch of lips was new to him, and the sensation of it rang throughout his body. Her lips were hard at first, and dry; but then they softened, and parted slightly, and she fell against him, her free hand draping across his back.
In a moment Oliver broke away, besieged all at once by a totally different set of feelings. There was shame; shame and acute embarrassment at having done something so intimate and so wrong. But more than that there was a kind of terrible responsibility. What did it mean to this girl that he had touched her that way? What would she expect from him now? And would he be able to live up to her expectations? She was watching him, startled by his sudden pulling away; and from her parted lips and dazed, half-closed eyes, he sensed that she would still like to be kissing. Abruptly he turned from her.
"What's wrong?" said Abigail. "Did I do something wrong? Oliver! What is it? Say something, please."
He closed his eyes and shook his head.
"But ... but I thought you wanted to. You started it. They always said boys wouldn't respect girls who ... did that, but I thought it would be different in here. Oh, Oliver, please tell me what's wrong!"
"I ... maybe we should go look around," he said, still not looking at her. "Maybe there's another food machine."
After that, she stopped asking. They wandered slowly for an hour or so, not speaking, avoiding one another's eyes. And as they wandered, Oliver began thinking again of the touch of her lips, of her arm against his back; and as those memories became more intense, the shame and fear began to be forgotten. Soon he felt like kissing her again.
"Abigail," he said, stopping in the middle of a flight.
She turned to him with a melancholic, resigned expression. "Could we go back now?" she said. "Maybe something happened back there."
"All right." He sighed, searching for words. "But ... I just want to say, I'm sorry if I acted funny." He paused again. He couldn't tell her his real reasons: There was something unmanly about them. "It has nothing to do with you. It just ... reminded me of something."
"Are you sure?" Abigail said. "Because I got the distinct feeling you didn't like me. You don't have to like me, you know. I don't want you being nice nice to me, unless you really mean it." to me, unless you really mean it."
"I do like you," he insisted, suddenly wanting the conversation to end. "But we better get back to the others. Come on."
They started down. But suddenly she gave a little cry, and stopped. Below them, a red light was flashing on and off, glinting against the white surfaces. And all at once the air was filled with whispering voices.