Inside Straight

It was flattering, how earnest he sounded. He should have been the one born with the ace. He’d have made better use of it. “Maybe,” was all she said, and he finally dropped the subject.

When they arrived at the stadium at around 8 A.M., the parking lot was already full and a line stretched along the sidewalk. She and Roberto stared, amazed. At first, she’d been surprised auditions were being held at the football stadium—surely, that many people wouldn’t show up.

“Wow. This is crazy,” he said.

Even a brief glance at the line revealed that these were potential contestants, not spectators. Ana saw a woman with four legs and diaphanous green moth wings, a seven-foot-tall man with long, sharp-looking quills sprouting along his head and down his neck like a Mohawk, and another man with green skin and glittering red eyes, faceted like gems.

Among them stood dozens who looked entirely natural—but what could they do?

Roberto said, “You get signed up. I’ll find somewhere to park.”

She didn’t think she’d have the guts to stand in that line without Roberto backing her up. But he’d gone through all the trouble to get her here. He’d be disappointed if she chickened out. She climbed out of the truck and watched her brother drive away.

A petite Asian woman holding a clipboard and wearing a headset with a microphone marked the end of the line. She had tribal tattoos crawling up both arms. Ana couldn’t be sure, but they seemed to shift, literally crawling. She tried not to stare.

She asked Ana for her name, then asked, “What can you do?”

“I dig holes,” Ana said.

The woman raised a brow, but gave a tired shrug as if to say that wasn’t the worst thing she’d heard all morning. She handed Ana a square of paper with a number on it—“68.” “All right, Ana, we’ll be getting started soon. We’ll have chairs set up for you on the sidelines. When your number is called, you’ll talk to the judges, then show us your stuff. You need any props? Any kind of target or anything?”

Dazed, Ana shook her head. “Just some ground. Some dirt.”

The woman smiled. “You’ll have the whole football field. Assuming it doesn’t get blown up before you get in there.”

Denver was the second-to-last audition. The woman seemed to be speaking from experience.

Secretly, Ana sort of hoped the whole thing blew up before she got in there. She shouldn’t have had that sandwich this morning. Her stomach was churning.

People were still joining the line. The guy in front of Ana was practically bouncing, rocking on his feet and gazing all around him with a face-splitting grin. He was about her age, twenty-one maybe, a clean-cut white guy with thick brown hair.

“This is so cool,” he said. “This is going to be so cool. I so totally can’t wait to do this.”

“What do you do?” she asked.

“It’s a secret.” His grin turned knowing.

What could any of these people do, and how did her power compare? She was from a small town in the New Mexico desert. She’d never met another person infected with the wild card virus, and here she was, surrounded by them. Sixty-eight of them. More, because the line now stretched a dozen people behind her. A woman with feathers for hair. A young boy whose fingers were long, boneless, prehensile.

She was just another person in the line. It was almost a comfort.

Ahead, the line shifted, shuffling forward in the way of crowds. A renewed bout of nausea gripped her stomach.

Where was Roberto? It was going to be okay, she told herself. She’d dug a thousand holes in her life. She could dig this one, then go home.

She rubbed the shirt over her chest, feeling for the medallion she wore around her neck. It was the emblem of Santa Barbara, patron saint of geologists, miners, and ditch diggers, the image of a gently smiling woman with a chalice in one hand and sword and pickax in the other. Her mother had given it to her before she died, many years ago now. Most of her life, but Ana still remembered. So she wasn’t on her own. A part of Mama was with her.

The wild card had killed Mama—she was a latent, and it finally killed her when Roberto was born. Ana carried that part of Mama with her, in her power.

Please, Mama, get me through this.

~ ~ ~

The production company offered water, sodas, and sandwiches for lunch, and Ana forced herself to eat. They didn’t want anyone passing out before they had a chance to show off. That was what they called it, showing off. To Ana, it had always just been her job.

Some of the normal-looking people weren’t aces at all. They stood before the three judges, glaring dramatically, and nothing happened. Ana caught one of the exchanges.

The lead judge—at least the one who talked the most, the journalist, Digger Downs—asked the man, “What is it you do?”

“I can control your mind.” He grinned wildly.

Downs stared back. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. And you’re going to let me on the show. I’m going to be one of your contestants, and I’m going to win!”

“Right. Sure. Next, please!”

“Hey, wait—”