Unfinished Muse (6 page)

I was learning
something
, at
least.

At lunch, my three new friends and I
gathered in the cafeteria over tiny Styrofoam bowls of thin
vegetable soup, shoe-leather roast beef drowning in lumpy gravy,
mushy Brussels sprouts, and some sort of burned rice casserole.

None of us shared a bite with poor Elmore
this time. As nasty as the food was, I was starving from all the
exertion, and apparently so was everyone else. Elmore had to go
back for seconds.

Jillian slumped in her chair. “I can’t go
back in there. I can barely walk.”

Hal stared at his empty plate, glassy-eyed.
“I ate all of it. What the hell? I can’t eat like that. It’s bad
for my blood pressure, all that sodium and cholesterol. I’ll have a
heart attack if I have to run or climb one more step.” He groaned.
“That’s it. They’re trying to kill me—weed out the weak and the
old.” He used his napkin to mop the sweat from his bald head.

Elmore slurped his soup. “I heard the next
part is all upper body stuff.” He held up his arm. “I’m too skinny
to lift, guys.”

I listened to them complain while my feet
throbbed and my ass ached in the uncomfortable booth. They sounded
so defeated. I wasn’t too happy either, but I wasn’t ready to throw
in the towel, yet.

“Come on, guys. This sucks ass. We all know
it. But look around and out in the lobby. All those people survived
it. We can, too. And if we try harder and complain less than most
of the other people in our class, we’re bound to get the better
jobs, right?”

Jilly sat up a little straighter. “You think
so?”

I nodded. “I do. Hal’s right.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “They
are
trying to kill us?”

“No. I think they’re trying to weed out the
weak people.” I narrowed my eyes at my tablemates. “And we’re not
those people.”

The second half of the day was no less
strenuous than the first, but this time, Hal, Jilly, and Elmore
formed a sort of pack with me, and we stayed ahead of everyone
else. We were wolves, not sheep. We would not be culled.

Elmore’s rumors had been correct. We did a
lot of boat rowing the first hour, back and forth across a murky,
dark river that had been hidden under the gymnasium floor. Hal did
especially well and coached Jilly, Elmore, and me so we’d get the
rhythm right.

The hour after that, we paired up and took
turns holding or winding an enormous, heavy ball of thread that we
couldn’t allow to touch the floor or any part of our own bodies
besides our hands. My arms quivered with the strain of holding it
out for Hal to wind, and I dropped it twice.

The final hour saw us all in harnesses,
floating in midair. At first, it was fun, and I thought the test
was passive. The minute I relaxed to enjoy it, I flipped upside
down, dangling six feet from the floor.

“Help!” I struggled to right myself, finally
getting the momentum I needed to spin back around. It was a test of
balance and core strength, and I had to focus to remain
upright.

All around me, others flipped over, asses in
the air and faces toward the ground.

Mrs. Moros strolled across the floor with a
pointed stick, poking at bellies. “Up,” she shouted. “Pull yourself
back up. What are you, a mortal? You have the blood of gods and
heroes in you! You should all be able to do this!”

Most of them figured it out—Elmore was
already up, and Jilly was nearly there. Not everyone was close,
though.

Hal wasn’t far away from me, and he
struggled, hands fisted and arms flailing, trying to swing around
by sheer will.

“Hal. Stop.” I waited until he relaxed and
turned his head toward me. “Take a deep breath. Focus on your
center. Breathe.”

“I can’t do it, Wynter.” His face was bright
pink from the blood rushing there.

“You
can
, Hal. Come on. Relax.”

“One more try, but I swear, I’m done.” He
dropped his hands toward the floor and inhaled a few times.

“Use your stomach muscles to guide you. You
can do this. It’s more about balance than strength. Don’t force it.
Focus it.”

Jilly had been close already, and my words
may have helped. She flipped upright, grinning. “Hey! That wasn’t
so bad.”

Elmore swung himself toward her and gave her
a high five. “Nice going.”

Hal strained for a moment, then relaxed. He
drew himself up, as if sitting up in bed. “Oh.” His eyes grew wide.
“I did it.” He relaxed too much and started for fall forward, but
caught himself.

Mrs. Moros stood beneath me with her stick,
head tilted a little. I kept my mind blank. She made a gruff sound,
then moved to poke a few more people.

Some of the folks in our class never did get
the hang of it. One woman, petite with dark skin and fantastic
braids all over her head, was a natural. She made us all look like
uncoordinated oafs. She did forward rolls and backward rolls. She
swung herself to the wall and climbed to an overhead beam where she
did a graceful pirouette and somersaulted off, allowing the harness
to catch her.

I found out later she’d been a dancer until
she gave it up to run off with some guy who eventually dumped
her.

Rock bottom. Every one of us.

After an hour or so in the harnesses, right
about when I realized I’d probably be saddle sore on top of
everything else, Mrs. Moros hit a button and lowered us all to the
floor.

“Go home.” She moved through the class,
unbuckling each of us. “Take some ibuprofen, a hot shower, and
maybe ice the places that hurt the most. Get some sleep. Don’t come
back until Friday.”

We glanced at each other in surprise, making
sure everyone had heard the same thing.

Someone in the back of the crowd squeaked
out the question we all wanted to ask. “We have tomorrow off?”

She gave a curt nod. “Tomorrow the placement
team will go over your test scores and evaluations. Friday morning
you’ll receive your assignments and be taken to your new
departments.”

“Unless we washed out,” Hal whispered.

Mrs. Moros snapped her head around to glare
at him. “No one washes out in my orientation class. Some
assignments are simply more desirable than others.” She spread her
gaze over all of us. “If you think you’re leaving the company now,
you’ll have to think again. I suggest if any of you are unsure of
this, you spend your day off reading your copy of the contract you
signed.” Her words were clipped. “Nine on Friday.” She turned and
strode from the gym, leaving us all to wonder what the hell we’d
signed.

~*~

I slept late on Thursday and woke up so stiff it
took me ten minutes to achieve an upright position. After I grabbed
some yogurt and made coffee, I sat down to examine the
contract.

I hadn’t read it. I freely admit I’d been
stupid about that. But to be fair, I’d been scared to death of the
gorgon who’d given it to me, and my houseplant had told me to do
it.

Not an argument that would hold up in court,
though. I was probably screwed.

The contract wasn’t huge, so it didn’t take
long to find what I was looking for. In essence, I’d signed a
three-year contract which gave them access to my bank account,
credit cards, phone records, financial statements—everything. As
long as I worked for the agency for the next three years, money
would be deposited in my account. If I tried to break the contract,
they’d take everything I had, including my car title and the lease
to my apartment. I’d have nothing and have nowhere to live.

Harsh.

I scrubbed my face in my hands. Too late to
do anything about it now. I gathered my spoon and empty yogurt
container and took it to the kitchen, tossing a nasty look at
Phyllis on my way past.

She’d been refreshingly quiet since I’d
asked her about the contract on our way home the night before.

I tossed the container in the trash, rinsed
the spoon, and set it in the sink. The kitchen was dark, so I
pulled the curtain aside to let in some light. Movement caught my
eye, and I peered into the courtyard.

That guy—Mitch? Mark?—stood outside his
apartment with a bottle of window cleaner and paper towels. I
leaned against the sink and watched his muscles flex as he scrubbed
at a stubborn spot on the glass of his back door. Did he always
wear shirts that tight? Why hadn’t I noticed him before?

Something made him turn and look at my
window, and I froze. He waved his wad of paper towels at me and
smiled. Not knowing what else to do, I grabbed the sponge in the
sink and waved it back at him.

That’s right. Standing here doing dishes.
Not staring at rippling muscles. Nope. Just doing a little cleaning
of my own.

The smile on my face felt strained. I hoped
it looked genuine from across the courtyard and not like I’d
swallowed a bug.

He turned back to his work, and I ducked out
of the window before he could catch me watching again.

Honestly, he wasn’t my type. First of all, I
preferred blonds with power haircuts. His hair was a dark chestnut
that fell over his eyes when he leaned over. I liked suits and
ties, not jeans and tight T-shirts. Blue eyes, not dark
chocolate.

I shrugged. Besides. I’d only broken up with
Freddy less than a week before. I had enough problems without
adding a guy into the whole thing. Especially not one that lived
across the courtyard. They have a phrase for that: don’t shit where
you eat.

My relationship status needed to remain
single for a little while before I made another spectacular mess of
things.

I glanced at my phone sitting on the kitchen
counter. No messages. No missed calls. Freddy had continued leaving
voicemail, sending alternating angry and sad texts, and even
pictures of himself with his dog. I’d kept to the one-week rule,
but it hadn’t been easy. I felt terrible, but honestly, I’d told
him I wouldn’t answer him. He simply hadn’t believed me.

Now it was one day before the week was over,
and he’d finally gotten the message.

I rubbed the front of my phone with the hem
of my shirt, smoothing out the smudges and fingerprints. A tiny
twinge of regret hit me, and I brushed it aside. Freddy wasn’t The
One. And even if there was no such thing as The One, Freddy still
wasn’t someone I could be happy with long-term.

I sighed and slid my phone in my pocket.
Maybe he’d given up and wouldn’t start calling again. Maybe he’d
gotten the message finally.

The rest of the day I moved slowly. I caught
up on laundry, soaked my aching muscles in the tub, and even
ventured out to buy groceries to fill my refrigerator and
cupboards.

I’d set Phyllis in the kitchen window to get
some sun while I was gone. When I came inside, plastic bags cutting
off the circulation in the fingers of both hands, Phyllis curled
and uncurled her leaves as if I’d woken her from a nap and she was
stretching.

Her greenery brushed together, making a soft
shushing. “That was quick. Did you get anything healthy this
time?”

I winced as I lifted my sore arms to put the
bags on the counter. “I bought vegetables, among other things. I’m
making progress.”

“It’s a start.” Phyllis sniffed, which was a
weird sound, coming from a plant. “You’re not doing the planet any
favors with those plastic bags, though.”

I scowled and shoved a package of powdered
sugar donuts in the cupboard. “If you’re so worried about it, help
me out. Remind me to take the reusable bags with me instead of
leaving them on the table. Again.”

She was quiet while I put milk and carrots
in the fridge, but I saw her twitch a branch when the package of
cookies came out of the bag. Eggs and a brick of cheddar cheese
were fine, I supposed, but the ice cream seemed to be the last
straw.

Phyllis groaned. “Honestly, Wynter. One bag
of carrots doesn’t mean you bought healthy food.”

I ignored her and put away the rest of the
groceries. “Now that you can tell me what you need,
do
you
need anything? Fertilizer? More water? I felt terrible when Mom
replanted you. Why didn’t you tell me you were crowded in that old
pot?”

Several leaves rose and fell in what I
thought must be a shrug. “You’d figure it out eventually. We’ve
been together for two years. You never leave me uncomfortable for
long.”

I didn’t feel like I deserved her gracious
attitude. I’d ignored too many things lately. “Well, make sure you
tell me next time, okay? Now that you can talk, it should be for
more than sea shanties and television theme songs.”

“I don’t see why you can’t appreciate my
musical gifts, Wynter. I’ll have you know, I once trained
with—”

She stopped so suddenly, I moved toward her
and looked out the window to see what had stolen her attention.

Mark or Mack or whatever his name was, stood
in the courtyard with his shirt off this time, spray painting a
stack of old tires.

I slid Phyllis to one side of the windowsill
to get a better look. “What the hell is he doing now?”

The plant spoke in a whisper next to my ear.
“Do you suppose he’s suffering from a brain injury?”

I didn’t answer as I pressed my face closer
to the glass. His muscles flexed when he stopped to shake the can.
He turned and looked right at me, and I ducked under the
cabinet.

“Well, now you’ve done it,” Phyllis said,
chuckling. “Now he’ll think you’re interested.”

I groaned and covered my face. I’d just
broken up with my boyfriend, started a new job, and found out the
world was a much different place than what I’d always believed it
to be. Getting cozy with the half-naked neighbor next door was not
on the agenda. That was the last thing I needed.

In fact, all things considered, I probably
needed to stay off the dating circuit.

Possibly for good.

Chapter 6

Friday morning my muscles ached worse than they had
the day before. I sat in the same room we’d started in on Monday,
in the same chair in the front row, and tried like hell not to
squirm. If I could make it through the day without pissing off Mrs.
Moros, I could say I survived boot camp.