THE MOJAVE DESERT
THE EDGE OF DEATH
NOVEMBER 3RD
2:30 P.M.
Skye took a tiny sip from the three inches of water remaining in her A-shaped aluminum canteen, willing herself not to chug the whole thing. Once empty, there would be nothing left to fill it up. Sipping modestly, Skye could almost feel the water sloshing around in her stomach, which had been gurgling angrily for several hours now like a pissed-off friend that wouldn’t stop nagging her. A lot like Allie and Charlie, actually. You’re the only company I’ve got out here now. Skye sighed, patting her abs and wishing she could appease the demands of what was underneath them.
How long can people go without eating, anyway?
Skye pondered Gandhi, whose fasts lasted months. But Gandhi had shade, spectators, and a cause he believed in. The only thing motivating Skye was… ugh. Why was it so hard to heat in the think? Theat in the hink? I mean, think in the heat?
Just then, she heard a slight rustling in the brush. Training her eyes on a trembling movement amidst the scrubby desert flora, Skye stiffened. Could it be a rabbit? Maybe Skye could channel her inner Artemis and hunt her own food! Not that she could ever imagine herself eating a cute little bunny. But wearing it as a scarf after nightfall? With AJ gone, fur was finally an option.
She made a mental inventory of what she had on her—the canteen, her aPod, a cellophane wrapper from a long-finished BrazilleBlast bar, and a tube of lip gloss. Not exactly quality hunting gear. The rustling came again, and Skye began to search the ground for sticks she could use to stab the rabbit, hoping her dancer’s reflexes were good enough to outrun a small mammal.
But then she caught sight of the scurrying creature. It was a useless gray desert mouse, no bigger than her thumb. Poor skinny thing. But maybe it would taste okay? Didn’t everything weird just taste like chicken anyway? Just as Skye began calculate if the calories burned while trying to catch it would do more harm than good, it disappeared into a hole beneath a the spiny barrel of a cactus.
Skye shook her head and swallowed a moan of frustration. No point crying over lost mice. She knew she’d never have the guts to eat it anyway, even if she could catch it and cook it. Skye pulled out her aPod, vainly hoping for a signal she knew wasn’t there. The reflection off the phone’s shiny surface almost blinded her as she held it up to the sun, waving it around in a circle and praying to the cell-reception gods to give her a few bars. But the bars refused to appear.
Ugh! What good was technology if you couldn’t use it when you needed it most? Skye felt hopeless tears forming in the corners of her eyes. Bar-less and scarf-less, she staggered over to a boulder and wedged herself into a tiny patch of shade beside it, telling herself she would just rest for a minute and regroup.
She still couldn’t believe she’d been angry enough to try her luck alone in the wilderness. But even more surprising was the fact that Charlie had deserted them in the first place. Charlie had always been the most even-keeled and reliable of the Jackie O’s. Yes, she had an intense side, but even in the extreme conditions of the desert, Charlie’s behavior was totally shocking and completely out of character.
Skye sighed as she thought about it more. This game Shira had made them all play—it had changed them. They’d come to Alpha Academy to better themselves. When did it become about tearing everyone else down?
Skye thumbed the photo storage app. Instantly, a picture Taz took of himself making a face while stirring a pot of baked beans last night appeared on her screen. His ice-blue eyes were crossed and he was sticking his tongue out, but he still looked totally hawt. It became more obvious than Heidi Montag’s chin implant that Taz wasn’t the one for her. All her sleepless nights, all her agonizing over how to make him see the real Skye after she’d dated his brother—all of it was for nothing. Did he really run onto the plane without her? How could he have left her like that? Everyone acted like Taz was a fearless superhero, just because he liked to fly planes and pilot boats. And nobody had invested more in the Taz brand than Skye. But just like her J. Crew ballet flats, his reputation was built on hype—guaranteed to fall apart under stress. Skye deleted the picture on her phone, feeling a nauseating pleasure in watching the image get sucked into the little Dumpster icon on her screen. She stood up and plucked a few prickly burrs from her butt. However good it felt to toss Taz out of her phone, it would feel even better to tell him off in person. She just hoped she’d get the chance.
Her head cleared after her break in the shade, Skye began walking again, this time with more determination. Her stomach growled and she started playing a game to distract herself, making a mental list of the first thing she’d like to eat when she got back to civilization. No way would she touch one of those gooey protein shakes Shira’s food scientists had designed for Alpha dancers. Vomit! No, Skye thought as she trudged forward, her salivary glands activating at the thought of food. What I really want is a burger. With shoestring fries. Make that a cheeseburger, extra pickles, mayo, lettuce, big, fluffy brioche bun…
But just then, the smell of real food cut her burger fantasy short. Her nostrils flared, sucking up the smell like a Dyson on a mission. She stuck her sunburned nose in the air and sniffed hard. Ohmuhgud. It was too good to be true. Was she hallucinating? Was she already dead? Or could there actually be sausage, fresh bread, and—drool!—baked beans cooking somewhere?
Skye could have wept with joy as the smell grew stronger with each step. It was real food, she was positive. Her smile expanded and her mouth watered as she followed her nose, quickening her pace, drawn like Pavlov’s dog to the delicious aroma.
Baked beans and sausage weren’t exactly a dancer’s diet, but she didn’t care. After all, she would probably never see Mimi again.