Astrid and I had been awake for just over twenty-four hours. We had two hours before we were supposed to be picked up outside Mr. Poplowski’s law office on Broadway.
We used the police station washrooms to change out of our pajamas and freshen up as best we could. Constable Lee was going off shift, so she offered to drive us to the address on Broadway in her Kia. No questions asked.
After we climbed out, she handed Astrid her card through the window. “Call any time. And, Felix, I’m rooting for you. I’ll be sure to tune in tomorrow night.”
She drove away.
Astrid couldn’t help herself; she snorted like a pig.
“Seriously?” I said.
“Sorry. Old habit.”
We stood together in the doorway. “Felix,” she said. She looked at me, and I looked at her. And as crazy as it may sound, I swear that for the first time ever, we successfully thought-messaged each other. I have no idea what will happen next. And I’m sorry.
Let’s not think about that now, I thought-messaged back. Let’s just enjoy the week.
A black limousine pulled up to the curb. A driver in a blazer and cap stepped out. “Felix and Astrid Knutsson?”
We nodded. He took our bags and put them in the trunk, then opened the back door for us like we were somebodies. We looked at each other, wide-eyed. And I swear we thought-messaged each other again, this time with just one word: Cool.
There were snacks in the limo. And drinks. I hadn’t eaten since the Cheezies at the police station. We tore open bags of almonds, granola bars and chips. The windows were tinted, and we pretended we were movie stars, waving at our imaginary fans.
It took us less than ten minutes to get to the hotel. “Excuse me, sir?” Astrid said. “Do you have an extra few minutes?”
“I do.”
“Would you mind driving us around just a little bit longer?”
He looked at us in the rearview mirror and smiled. “I get paid either way, so don’t see why not.”
He drove us through Yaletown, then into Gastown, then along the waterfront, before turning back to the hotel. We ate more snacks and waved at more imaginary fans.
Even though we were both sleep deprived beyond belief, even though the night before had been terrifying and even though we had no idea where we’d be living a week from now, it was so much fun.
The doors to the lobby opened automatically with a whoosh. A man strode toward us with a clipboard; it was Gouresh, from the auditions. “Felix, good to see you again.” He shook my hand and turned to my mom. “I’m Gouresh Sandhi, contestant coordinator for Who, What, Where, When. You must be Felix’s sister.”
“Smooth.” But she smiled.
“We’re excited to have you both here. You have the afternoon free. At five p.m. we’ll meet on the second floor in conference room B to go over some rules. This will be followed by a group dinner at six.”
Gouresh helped us get checked in. Then Astrid and I rode the elevator up to our room on the fourth floor. She let me insert the key card.
I opened the door. The room smelled like new carpet and air freshener. There were two double beds, a desk and two club chairs with a small table between them. A flat-screen TV was mounted on the wall. A coffeemaker was on a small counter beside the dresser. Best of all, a large welcome basket full of fruit, chocolate and nuts stood on the dresser. A card was inside. Welcome, Felix, and from all of us at Sunshine Inn, we wish you best of luck on Who, What, Where, When—Junior Edition!
Astrid and I looked at each other. We dropped our bags, leapt onto the beds and jumped up and down. Then we checked out every square inch of the room. Astrid made herself coffee and me instant hot chocolate. We ate a bunch of stuff from the basket. Astrid put all the extra soaps, shampoos and creams into her bag so the cleaning staff would leave more in the morning. We unpacked our things and put them in drawers and on hangers, and I placed Mel by the TV in spite of Astrid’s protests. Then I ran myself a bath and soaked in it for a long time. When I was done, Astrid drained the water, refilled the tub and had her own bath.
Then we both climbed into our beds and slept for three hours straight.
We entered the conference room just before five. It was packed with the other contestants and their parents. I counted twenty kids total: sixteen of us had been guaranteed a spot to play, four per day, with one winner from each day going on to the final game on Friday. The other four kids were alternates, in case one of us got sick or had to leave for any other reason.
Astrid and I took the last two seats in the back row. Gouresh stood at the front with Nazneen. At five o’clock on the dot, Nazneen started to speak.
“Congratulations, everyone. You’ve all been selected to appear on the inaugural live weeklong special of Who, What, Where, When—Junior Edition. We’re hoping to make it a yearly event, and we can already announce that next year’s show will be in Halifax, Nova Scotia.” Two kids cheered loudly; I didn’t need my P.O.O. to tell me they were from the Maritimes. “I want you to know that making it this far is already a huge accomplishment, so no matter what happens over the next week, you’re all winners.”
Nazneen ran us through the rules. Some of the stuff was obvious, like “no swearing on live TV, or using any language that might be considered foul or inappropriate.” Some of the stuff wouldn’t have dawned on me in a million years. For example, she warned parents and guardians that any signs of cheating during the show—any signaling or hand gestures or sounds from where they sat in the audience, or even excessive blinking—would mean the automatic dismissal of that contestant.
Gouresh asked us to stand up when he called our names. “Monday’s contestants are: Freddie Owen…Azar Farzan…Felix Knutsson…and Helen Mair.”
I checked out the others. Freddie looked stern. Azar had a big smile. Helen stared at her feet.
Gouresh did the same for the Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday contestants. “The winners from each of the first four games will play again on Friday, in the finale.”
Nazneen said, “Tomorrow at one p.m. a van will pick up Monday’s contestants and their chaperones. You’ll be driven to the studio, where you’ll have a short rehearsal to familiarize yourself with the buzzers and the set. Then, at five p.m., we do the live broadcast. Any questions?”
I raised my hand.
“Yes, Felix?”
“What about the people who don’t win? Are we sent home?”
“We’d prefer it if you all stayed for the week; we’ll need a lot of enthusiastic audience members for each show, especially Friday’s.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. My mom and I were safe till Saturday, when we would be at least a thousand dollars richer.
At dinner, Astrid and I sat with Azar, Helen, Freddie and their parents. Azar was easy to talk to. Freddie and Helen, not so much. Freddie barely ate. “Nerves,” he said.
I didn’t have that problem. It was a Chinese buffet, and I went back three times for more beef with black bean sauce, General Tso’s chicken, stir-fried rice and noodles. No way was I missing out on the meals.
I was completely stuffed by the time they brought out the desserts. But that didn’t stop me from stacking a bunch of egg tarts and fortune cookies into my napkin. “For later,” I told Astrid. She slipped them into her purse.
We were back in our room by seven-thirty.
By 7:45, I was fast asleep.
On Monday at one p.m. a van picked up our group. I wore my suit; the jacket hid the rip in the shirt. My black Converse were on my feet.
Gouresh came with us. He was the only one who talked on the drive; the rest of us, even the parents, were too nervous.
We were shown into a large studio in the basement of the CBC building. Seats for about two hundred audience members formed a semicircle around the stage, which was on a raised platform. Our four podiums were side by side at one end, and a single, bigger podium—Horatio Blass’s—was at the other end.
Nazneen was already there, barking orders at a small crew of men and women. She led us onstage and guided us to our podiums. I was at one in the middle. Helen was shorter than Azar, Freddie and me, so they found her an apple box to stand on. “The questions will appear here.” Nazneen pointed at two separate screens angled in such a way that they could be seen by the contestants and by the audience. The categories—Who, What, Where and When—were in bold letters running vertically along the side. Running parallel were five blank squares per category. “As you know from watching the show, you don’t get to pick the categories—the question order will be randomly selected by a computer, with each correct answer worth two points in the first and second rounds, three in the third. For each incorrect answer, the same amount gets deducted.”
Pretending to be Horatio Blass, Nazneen led us through a quick rehearsal, asking us ten sample questions that appeared on the board. We couldn’t buzz in until the question had been asked. I knew the answers to at least six, but mastering the real buzzer was harder than I’d imagined; I was always a fraction of a second behind, and only managed to ring in twice. I could feel sweat stains expanding in my pit region, and it was still hours before the actual show.
After the rehearsal, Gouresh led us backstage to the greenroom, which wasn’t even green. It was a dingy space with a couple of old couches and some folding tables and chairs. Bagels, cream cheese, muffins and cookies were laid out on one of the tables, along with water and juice. “Don’t forget to eat,” Gouresh advised us. “The last thing you want is to have low blood sugar when you step out onstage.”
After my marathon binge session the day before, I’d barely eaten breakfast beyond two of the egg tarts we’d smuggled back to our room. So I forced myself to eat a bagel. Chewing was an effort. I washed it down with two boxes of apple juice and hoped it would stay down.
I thought about Dylan and Winnie. I wondered if they would come, after the way I’d spoken to them.
Freddie, Azar, Helen and I barely said a word to each other.
We weren’t being rude. We were simply terrified.
One hour before the show, the four of us were herded into hair and makeup. “Just a bit to hide the zits and take away the sheen,” said the guy, Gary, as he worked on my face. A woman named Aisha blasted my curls with hair spray, sending me into a coughing fit.
Nazneen poked her head in. “Someone’s here to say hi.”
Horatio Blass stepped into the room.
I swear my heart stopped. He looked a lot like he did on TV, but kind of different, too. This might sound weird, but he looked less real in real life than he did on TV. His makeup was layered on thick, and he was much shorter than I expected. His head was enormous, and I’m pretty sure his thick black hair was a toupee. His teeth, which were white on TV, were practically blinding in person. He looked sort of like the Madame Tussauds wax museum version of himself. “Well, hello, contestants!” he boomed. The voice relaxed me; the voice was exactly the same.
We all got to shake hands with him. He wished us luck. “Try to relax and have fun.” Then he was gone.
Ten minutes later, back in the greenroom, our parents were asked to go to their seats. Astrid hugged me, careful not to mess with my hair or makeup. “Break a leg out there, Böna. And remember, whatever happens—you are amazing for making it this far.”
Then she was gone. The next ten minutes lasted for an eternity. The only sound came from Freddie, who’d started tunelessly humming to himself.
Finally Gouresh came to get us. “It’s showtime, folks.”