The street is lined with summer-lush trees, each shaped as though it were modeling the ideal form of a small-town tree. The street is paved perfectly black, and the sidewalks meander like creeks around the islands of the trees. Each building facade is maintained and clean. Bright shutters, cheerful paint, decorative windows. It feels like a movie. Mack half suspects that if she went down an alley, there would be no buildings behind the storefronts, wooden beams propping them up, elaborate sets of lights, tables for craft services.
“It’s a vibrant community,” the bus driver says. He’s middle-aged but seems older, leaning against a nearby tree, eating a sandwich as though he’s sorry about it. “A good town. A safe town. No crime. Everyone is employed. Lots of businesses that create jobs all over the country. The world, even.”
“Can I get back on the bus?” Mack asks.
He nods. He’s still staring down at his sandwich, not looking at her. “Worth fighting for. Places like this. They’re special. Rare. Traditions, you know?”
She doesn’t. She gets on the bus.
* * *
—
“What state are we even in?” Jaden asks as he climbs off the bus.
Linda taps the side of her nose. “If you don’t know, I’m not telling you! The location needs to be kept secret. We may want to use it again, and we can’t do that if future competitors can Google for an advantage before the game even begins. It was in your NDA.”
“Right, yeah.” He stretches deliberately. Mack has never seen someone who wants to be looked at as much as he does. Not even beautiful Ava or the toothpaste commercial can compete. Everyone files out after him. They’ve driven a couple of blocks and stopped in front of an elegant, if vaguely out of place, building. In contrast to the idealized Americana feel of the main street, this building is pure white. Greek columns frame the front. A gravel walkway is lined with topiary and fountains with no one outside to enjoy them. Just like the main street. For all Mack can tell, they’re the only people in the whole town. Though she could have sworn she saw some faces peering out of windows at them as they drove past various businesses.
“What is this place?” the writer asks, frowning.
“A spa!” Linda holds out her hands, beaming. Several of the women and a few of the men clap excitedly. Mack feels dread. Ava sighs in annoyance. LeGrand takes a step back toward the bus.
“I’ll wait here,” he says, but the door is closed.
“Nonsense! This is a gift. The next week is going to be difficult. Let us pamper you first.”
“When are we going to meet the Ox Extreme Sports people?” the intern asks. （Mack wonders what someone would have to be like to introduce themselves as “currently an intern but ready for the next challenge!” in the middle of a diner with a bunch of clearly under-and unemployed people.） She’s wearing a blazer over pinstripe slacks. “Are they inside?”
“No, dear. Come on. They’re ready for you, and we don’t want to waste any time!”
“Then why are we going to a spa?” Ava mutters.
Mack wants to hang by the bus with LeGrand. But Linda swings back around and takes LeGrand by the elbow, steering him inside. Apparently this, like Mack’s fateful shelter meeting, is mandatory.
* * *
—
The floor is black marble, so polished they can see themselves in it. The walls and the furniture are pristine white. The kind of white that screams Don’t touch me to people like Mack. The kind of white that purrs You deserve me to people like Rebecca.
Directly across from the grand entry door, framed in gilt gold, is a larger-than-life oil portrait. A young man in a uniform that’s probably from one of the world wars, though Mack couldn’t say which, stares out at them. The edges of the portrait are dark, but he’s surrounded by light, almost haloed by it. His gaze is determined, a noble lift to his chin as he surveys them. One hand holds a small leather book over his heart.
“Who’s he?” beautiful Ava asks, pausing in front of the painting.
Linda’s smile is tugged into place, but her eyes narrow reflexively as she looks at the portrait. “The town founder. Of sorts. Silly to say one person founded a town when it was very much a group effort. He certainly didn’t do it alone! Now, boys, you go to the right, and girls, you follow me.”
They’re separated. Men in one wing, women in another. A bath stretches the length of the building. High-set windows let in light that seems alive in the shifting steam. The prettiest women are the most loath to disrobe. Ava strips without hesitating. Her right leg is a Jackson Pollock painting of damage, abstract and misshapen with scars. She slides down into the pool with a sigh.