9
Timmy appears on the screen. Did he know he'd be the Trickster all day long? Was he just playing us, pretending he was afraid to get ranked?
“Wazzup, Faya?” Timmy smirks on the screen in a head shot. His nose is long, and too close to the camera. His eyes glitter with evil ideas and a touch of mascara. He wears red lipstick, and his face is covered in silver glitter. He looks like a total loon in a circus. He is a loon. Actually, the role suits him perfectly. The audience welcomes the Trickster with enthusiasm.
“In the name of the Burning Man, let the games begin!” Timmy shouts. “Play and die!” he follows. “We’re starting with a couple of warm-ups, to eliminate as many Monsters as possible,” the Trickster explains. “You know there is no fun in tracking three thousand Monsters,” his head looks as if it’s buzzing with electricity.
“Dear clownies — Oh — I mean Bad Kidz. Argghh. I mean little Monsters.” Now he is talking to us. “May I call you Monsters?” He grins again, and the audience laughs. “I hope you know the rules. We’re tracking you by your iAms. We use them to make sure you attend the games when announced. Even though this was not allowed, we’ve changed the rules a bit this year. You can certainly use it if you want to contact us or your families, but only with our permission, which will be granted according to how well you play the game.” He rests his palms on a podium. “The games are deadly. That is the point of it. We want you to die. But we don’t want you to die fast. The slower you die, the more entertaining. It's like in movies. We know the villain is going to get kicked at some point, but not that soon," He licks his lips. “You’re allowed to use any strategy that’ll keep ya alive—” He stops again and acts as if thinking, putting his index finger on his lips and staring upward. “— as long as possible, of course,” he adds, winking at the audience. The audience winks back at him, and nod to each other about how cool Timmy is.
“After every challenge, you have to push that red button on your iAm, and scream as loud as you can. I repeat. As loud as you can. You know what to say, of course.” He puts his hands behind his ears, pretending to be listening to the audience.
“I AM ALIVE,” the viewers say in one breath that rocks the ground underneath us.
“The game only ends,” Timmy explains, “when there is no one left to scream ‘I am alive’, or if you survive the next three days, long enough to be worthy of meeting the legendary Carnivore as your last challenge. If you beat Carnivore, you’ll be the first to ever do it.” Timmy knots his face and claws his hands against the screen, imitating an angry tiger. The audience gets crazy in a way I have never seen before. They love the Carnivore. “The best record in the games ever was accomplished last year. Only the sucker — urgh, I mean the Monster — died in the very last game at the paws of the vicious Carnivore. That Monster’s name was…” Timmy fumbles through some papers. “Ah — here it is. His name is Woo. I mean was Woo. Because Woo, after meeting Carnivore, has gone whoooof with the wind.” The audience laughs. I grit my teeth, and swallow my anger. You never make fun of Woo in front of me, but how am I going to kick all those viewers’ butts? “Who names his son Woo?” Timmy says absently, as if he is talking to me precisely. Timmy used to pretend Woo was his idol a year ago.
The camera shows a cartoon of Timmy running in a field, wearing sneakers. He is sweating. When he stops to take a breath, he wipes his sweat away and says, “Whoo.” The audience laughs more and more. I feel helpless, unable to stop the world from laughing at my best friend. “Oh — that was how his mother came up with the name,” Timmy says, showing his claws like the paws of a tiger again. So repetitive, cliché, and boring. It sells.
“Let’s see if you can do better,” Timmy says to us. “Let’s see if we have a Six coming out of the Monsters for the first time. Or better yet, maybe the audience will vote for you to become a Nine! Or maybe a Ten!” The audience boos at him for mentioning a Ten. No one ever jokes about Tens. “All right. All right. I know there is no Ten. I just want to encourage them. That’s all,” says Timmy. “And remember, Monsteries and Monsterellas, you have the right to remain silent because anything you say or do will not even be considered in the court of bfweeert.” He makes the sound of a fart with his mouth. “We’ll start with a brand new opening game unlike the likes of anything you have seen before. The SEBS game,” announces Timmy. The audience is excited and happy, as my world falls apart.
I have never heard of this game before. Of all the details I studied, this has never been played. What is going on? Are they changing the games this year? This would be the end of me. It means that I have no power in the Playa.
"For those of you across the sea who might be watching for the first time and don’t know what the SEBS is, it’s the Speed Exploding School Bus game. And yes. This year the games are all fresh and new. The things you will see, you will not believe your eyes.” Everyone is extra-excited. I don’t bother correcting him that the abbreviation should be SESB, not SEBS. All I can think about is that I am toast. Toast! All my plans just flew out the window. Why would they change the games this year? I am not prepared for this. “We all wanted to blow up our school bus so we could sleep the day away when we were kids, didn’t we?” he adds cheerily.
I am paralyzed with shock, not knowing what to do. All I have planned for has been messed with. Suddenly, someone squeezes my hand. I turn to look. It’s Leo. With his sealed lips, still not saying a word, and my plan thrown out into the ocean, he stares at me. I don’t expect him to talk. He is pushing me forward against my will. Where is he taking me?