Alternates: Chapter 6

Chapter Six

I eat my free pastries and drink my free lemon mint tea alone. I’ve sprayed the puff already, and the can is in my backpack, too, just in case. I wish I could talk to Rafa or Joan, get some of my nerves out of me and into the air between us, but we agreed that the smartest plan is to avoid each other right now - not so obviously that people notice we’re avoiding each other, but just obviously enough that people don’t read us as a team. Keeley offered to get breakfast with me, too, but I don’t feel like paying for the same food I’m eating at the Jewel and the rules of politeness, bred into me by my mother and unshakeable even after years of trying to get rid of them, won’t allow me to let her buy me two meals in a row. So I lean against the side of the Jewel, where I ate with Joan yesterday morning (and how was that only yesterday morning?), and call my dad.

It’s almost noon already back home, which means he’s on his lunch break, and he picks up right away.

“Hi kiddo! Tell me everything. Are you allowed to tell me everything?”

I laugh. “Hi, Pops. Yeah, no, legally speaking this is all classified information. What’s your security clearance?”

“I’ve been watching that show for double the time you’ve been alive, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Okay, yeah, I think that counts. I’m having free hotel breakfast right now, and then today’s the first day of quarterfinal competitions.”

“Are you competing today? Do you feel ready?”

How am I supposed to answer that? I take a sip of my tea to stall for a moment and say, slowly, “I’m not actually sure when I’m competing - they’re keeping the order and the matchups very hush-hush. I have no idea if I’m ready or not. But I did spend last night learning how to pronounce the capital of Slovenia, if that tells you anything.”

“Is that the one that’s, uh, Luh-jub…”

“Ljubljana,” I say with a smile.

“You sound like a native speaker, kiddo.” He pauses. “I think. I’m not sure I’ve ever met someone from Slovenia.”

“Me neither.”

I hear him take a deep breath, which sounds a lot like static on the other end of the phone. “You know I’m so proud of you no matter what, right?” he says. “Whether you come in first or second or third, no matter how much money you win, you’re meeting awesome people and you’re doing an awesome thing. I love you, kiddo.”

I take another hard swallow of my tea. “I love you too.”

“I gotta go before my next class comes in. Take care of yourself. I’ve got my fingers and toes all crossed for you.”

“Bye, Dad.”

I stare at the screen for a little while after he hangs up before I put my phone away. Even if the pandemic hadn’t been a concern and The Q had allowed us to bring guests, he probably wouldn’t have been able to get the time off work to come with me, and I’m sure I would have had a harder time making connections with the other contestants if I had my dad tagging along everywhere with me, and anyway if he’d come then he would know I was an alternate and half the point of this whole plan would be for nothing. But it still doesn’t feel right that he’s not here.

I eat the rest of my chocolate croissant and finish my tea and put my mask on and go back inside. Sitting on the emerald velvet couch, I finish the last few pages of my mystery (I was right - the girlfriend and the understudy actually teamed up) and pull out my other book. It’s a trivia compendium full of maps and lists and way more than the 1,001 facts advertised on its cover. When I was studying for The Q, I’d use the book as a jumping-off point to do more research into the one-liner fun facts it offers, doing Internet deep dives on as many of the people, places, and events inside it as I could. Right now, though, I don’t have the time nor the mental presence for Internet deep dives, so I just speed through as many facts as possible. I’ve gotten through over half of the geography section (which the book styles as GEOGRAPHY!!!) by the time the other contestants flow into the lobby a few at a time. Jake and Laurel, heads together in what sounds like another heated debate, sit in the two armchairs across from me.

“Good morning, guys,” I say, closing my book and slipping it back into my bag, careful to barely unzip the pocket with the peanut oil in it. I glance at their faces, to check if they noticed, but neither of them is paying any attention to me. “What is it this time?” I ask.

Laurel turns to me now. “Okay, Mickey, settle this for us.”

“You don’t have to,” Jake cuts in.

“But you can!” Laurel says. “Who’s the real protagonist of The Princess Bride, and why is it Inigo Montoya?”

“It’s Buttercup,” Jake says patiently. “The story is about her.”

“But she doesn’t change or grow! It’s Inigo who gets the big important arc and kills the villain and becomes the Dread Pirate Roberts in the end! Which is it, Mickey?”

“The movie or the book?”

“The movie,” they chorus.

I shrug. “Then neither. I think it’s the kid Fred Savage plays, you know, in the framing device. The whole story is for him.”

“If you’re arguing that change is necessary for a protagonist, though -”

Laurel cuts Jake off. “No, they’ve got a point, he does learn to like the kissing parts.”

“What happened to the Russian history, guys?”

Jake laughs. “I think we exhausted that argument already. Plus it was scaring people off, so we decided to try something more approachable.”

Laurel glances behind her, spots Rafa walking into the lobby, and waves him over. He and I make eye contact, and he pauses, but Laurel waves more aggressively and he strolls over like there’s nothing weird going on. “Rafa agrees with me,” Laurel says as he approaches. “Right?”

“I agree with Laurel,” Rafa replies. “What are we talking about?”

The four of us laugh, and Laurel and Jake explain the debate, and Rafa joins in on Laurel’s side, and I let myself zone out. I start by thinking about last night with Keeley, but I only remember some of that and it leads naturally into thinking about playing rock-paper-scissors with Joan, and then her hand on mine, and then I’m right back in the territory of things I don’t want to think about. I try again. Seeing the set of The Q for the first time, and if all goes well I’ll be up there again today, getting my makeup done, and now I’m back to the puff and the peanut oil in my backpack.

Thankfully Yasmin turns up to collect us and saves me from myself.

My opportunity comes sooner than I thought it would. I hang back as Yasmin leads us onto the empty sound stage, watching where Annalise puts her bag and placing mine right next to hers. Once we’re all settled, bags piled behind the seats, phones firmly off, Yasmin turns the monitors on so we can see the live feeds and fiddles with some buttons until the sound kicks in, too. Then she checks her watch.

“Morty will be here soon,” she says, “and in the meantime I’ll give you the standards and practices talk. There hasn’t been a scandal associated with any major network game show since the 1950s, and we’re going to keep it that way.”

Oh, Yasmin, I think. Not quite.

“That means several things for you,” she continues. “First of all, and I know you know this already, phones off. Completely. Leave them in your bags. Anybody we catch with a phone turned on will not be allowed to compete. No exceptions.”

I feel eyes on me and turn to see Rafa staring at me from across the room. He arches an eyebrow. It looks like he and his infinite wisdom just found a backup plan.

“If we rule something incorrect and you think it should be right, come talk to me, Morty, and the judges right away. There might be a good reason it was ruled incorrect, but there might not, and part of our job is to make sure you all get the points you deserve. We’re also here to make sure nobody has an unfair advantage. That’s why, starting during the semifinals, those of you who have made it that far won’t be allowed to watch anybody else’s games. Placement into the finals is based on high scoring, which means if the later semifinalists could see how the earlier contestants scored, they’d have an advantage. To keep it fair, nobody will be allowed to watch anybody else.”

Joan raises her hand, and Yasmin points to her.

“What about us?” Joan asks.

“You won’t be allowed to watch the semifinals either just in case we use you,” Yasmin says. “But of course, the alternates and the contestants who don’t move on to the finals will get to watch the finale from The Q’s studio audience.”

A few other people ask questions about leaving early after their games (not allowed) and using the bathroom (allowed once Yasmin’s spiel is over), and then she takes a folded piece of paper out of her pocket.

“And now,” she says, voice lowered half an octave like she’s trying to imitate Morty, “the moment you’ve all been waiting for. We’ve split everyone who’s competing today into their trios, and you’ve already been randomly assigned to podium positions. Now it’s time for me to announce the first three matchups of the day. These are the games we’ll be taping before lunch. First up, we’ve got… Hank, Theodore, and Mfoniso!”

We clap and cheer and hoot and holler for them.

“Head over to wardrobe and makeup where we were yesterday, you three,” Yasmin says. “Morty will meet you there. Next up, in game two, we’ve got… Mark, Sam, and Georgia! Morty will come collect you guys halfway through the first game. And finally, our last game before lunch will be… Catie, Jake, and Annalise!”

More clapping and cheering. I have until halfway through the second game of the day, assuming the producers’ schedule holds, to make the switch. It doesn’t take that long. We chatter amongst ourselves, everybody whose name was just called practically bouncing off the walls with nerves and the rest of us tossing whatever trivia we can remember off the top of our heads at each other. I share the pronunciation of Ljubljana and receive tidbits about Seurat and Shakespeare and Scorsese in return. I see Joan reading a book and Rafa beating Laurel at rock-paper-scissors. On the monitors, producers and camera operators and judges flutter to and fro like mayflies trying to make the most of their day. Cab Cabrini walks onto the set and several people descend immediately, fixing the sleeves of his suit and combing his hair back into its usual coif and tapping powder onto his chin. And then, when the contestants have taken their places at their podiums and Eddie, whose eyeliner today is crimson and whose cheekbones sparkle in the stage lights, is adding layers of powder to each of their faces in turn, Annalise stands up and cracks her neck. The noise is loud enough that most of us turn to look at her.

“Sorry,” she says. “My joints do that. Where did Yasmin say the bathroom is?”

I watch Annalise walk away out of the corner of my eye. As she descends the stairs from the audience seats onto the wide grey floor, the show starts - The Q’s theme music swells, and Cab Cabrini’s voice-over calls out, “Welcome to The Q Student Showcase! And now, introducing today’s three college contestants…”

I get out of my seat and head to the back of the room. Nobody’s even watching me - their eyes are glued to the screen. First I open my bag, remove the peanut oil puff and my trivia book, and close the bag. I consider giving it an extra spritz, but that might draw attention, and I don’t actually want Annalise to get hurt. This morning’s spray will have to be enough. I unzip Annalise’s bag and rifle quickly through it. An extra sweatshirt, a notebook and pencil, her The Q-branded water bottle. I try the outside pocket. Her phone, a portable battery, and a tin of breath mints. Fuck, fuck, fuck. If she keeps her puff in her pocket, like I did when Eddie first handed me mine, I’m screwed. Maybe that’s a good thing, though. I still have time to back out of this. Triggering someone’s allergies on purpose is definitely illegal. I should just stand up and walk away and let Annalise have her moment. She earned it. Arguably more than I did, considering she must have done better on the test or the audition or both.

No matter how stupid and arbitrary those metrics are. 

I could still back out. But instead I reach into the stretchy side pocket, where a bottle of water would normally go, and I feel my fingers brush a thin plastic bag with something soft inside. I pull the puff out, put mine inside the bag in its place, and replace the whole thing in the side pocket, zipping up Annalise’s backpack as I do. I stuff Annalise’s puff deep into the pocket of my jeans.

The whole thing is over in less than a minute.

I bring my book back to my seat, and when I pass Joan, I give her the tiniest tap on the shoulder, so quick and light that it - hopefully - looks unintentional. Just to let her know I’ve done it. As I sit down, I check my watch. It’s ten-thirty-two.

As much as I love watching The Q at home with my dad, I’m tempted to say it’s better here. Everyone here has been studying for this, and yelling out the answers is so much more fun when there are fifteen other people doing it with you. There are some that almost all of us know - the Classic Novels category is a popular one, as is Hits Of The 2000s. Occasionally one of us will know a question that stumps all three of the competitors and we’ll all congratulate the person who got it.

I don’t know any of these three contestants all that well, but I still feel a sense of pride swelling up in my stomach whenever one of them gets a question right. Mfoniso is in the lead right out of the gate, with Theodore just behind her and Hank in a fairly distant third. Right around the time the next trio leaves to get ready for their game, Hank finds a Q Factor question. It’s in the Rivers Of The World category, and Hank, who has left his hair down for his big TV appearance, runs a nervous hand through it. He hasn’t answered any of the questions in this category so far.

“Oh, this is exciting, folks!” Cab cries. “Hank, you know how this works, but for the folks at home, Hank has just found the first Q Factor question of the game. It’s now up to him to choose his factor - one, two, three, or four. If he picks one, it’s nothing ventured, nothing gained. But a two will double his score on a correct answer, halve it on an incorrect, and so on all the way up through quadruple or a quarter. So, Hank, what’ll it be?”

Hank takes a deep breath, and then he says, “I’ll take a factor of four, Cab.”

I hear Laurel whistle. “That’s bold,” she says.

“It’s the right play, though,” Jake replies. “When you’re in third.”

“Alright, here’s your clue,” Cab says, and I can feel everyone in the room leaning forward with me. “Not the Yangtze, but this other river beginning with a Y. It’s the second-longest in China.”

The camera pushes in close on Hank just in time for him to press his lips together and say, with a steadiness in his voice that belies the hesitation on his face, “What is the Yellow River?”

Cab smiles. “That’s correct.”

We go wild.

Quadrupling your points is a big deal. So big of a deal, in fact, that Hank wins the game, and when Mfoniso and Theodore come back we all tell them what amazing games they played and how it all came down to the luck of Hank finding that Q Factor question, and when Hank comes back after having a couple more photos taken with Cab and comes up the stairs with wild eyes and his hair thrown back up in a bun, we mob him with congratulations and high-fives and fist-bumps, and Yasmin is kind enough to wait until Hank has finished basking in our awe to yell at us about social distancing. We feign our contrition and retreat to our seats as Yasmin tells Catie, Jake, and Annalise to get ready to be pulled out for their game, and do they have everything? Hand sanitizer, any lucky charms they want onstage with them, makeup puffs? They all nod.

I expect to feel my stomach twisting or dropping or any of the other things it does on roller coasters when Yasmin comes back, halfway through the second game (which Mark, whose ginger hair looks even redder on a TV screen, is winning in a landslide so far) to retrieve Catie, Jake, and Annalise, who take their bags with them into the studio. It doesn’t. I just keep thumbing through my trivia book and wishing the three of them good luck and yelling out the answers to Mark’s game. The rest of us in the studio agree that Mark’s game is harder than Hank’s, with a lot more obscure cultural references and fewer hints in the clues. Georgia finds the Q Factor question but gets it wrong, halving her score, and by the end neither of the other players could possibly catch up to Mark. He gets the same heap of congratulations, and Georgia and Sam the same assurances about the difficulty of the board and the randomness of luck and skill, and then the next three contestants take their places behind the podiums. Annalise, I notice, has been randomly assigned to the champion’s spot. Eddie arrives and puts extra powder on each competitor in turn. He gets to Annalise last. She pulls the puff from the water bottle pocket of her bag. Eddie takes the puff. He swirls it around in the powder.

He taps it, ever so gently, on her chin and cheeks.

Might Makes Write and all the writing shared herein are licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0.