Page 29 of The Lottery

I look around for Lana and see her on the opposite side of the room, dressed all in black—from the elegant headpiece made of fine black feathers to the matching cocktail dress and dangerously high heeled shoes. I wave, but she doesn’t seem to notice me, as an attractive man whispers something in her ear and she laughs. But based on how she described her partner, that is not him. Oh, Lana.

“I’ll grab drinks,” Robert says with a gentle squeeze of my elbow. I nod and turn back to the setup, taking in the layout and trying to get an idea of how many people are here.

I start counting chairs and notice that round tables are arranged throughout, with name cards at each place setting.

We have assigned seating.

I pray to all the gods at once that I don’t get stuck at Buddy’s table. Lana wouldn’t do that to me, right? She’d remember the other day and make sure that didn’t happen.

Music—something generically classical in nature—is piped through invisible speakers. While other people saunter and mingle, I decide to find my name in case I’ve accidentally been placed in bad company. I had Lana to rescue me the other day; I can’t count on such a miracle when my savior is also the party planner.

I’m checking the third table when I hear my name being called.

It’s Robert, waving me over to where he stands. Right next to Buddy.

Ugh.

I sigh and walk over. “Found our seats,” he says, as if he’s just discovered a cure for cancer.

I’m being ungracious, of course. I chastise myself and vow to be kinder. He’s just trying to help.

Buddy, on the other hand…

“You two were placed at a different table,” he says, pointing to the seats closest to a small platform. “You would have been freaking lonely over there by the captain or whoever, so I swapped cards so we could all sit together.”

I look back to the table where my name card supposedly used to be. Captain Millard and a few other members from the bridge have arrived and are taking their seats… and there is one empty seat remaining.

For Marek.

My heart lurches, my stomach dropping. My thoughts become very hostile, knowing that Buddy ruined my chance to sit near the man I want to see more than anything.

I tell myself it’s probably for the best. I already think of him too much as it is. To be that close, even with Robert by my side—especially with Robert by my side—would just be a setup for trouble.

But my sad pep talk isn’t working.

I’m livid.

I want my old seat back.

Buddy sits next to a young woman with curly brown hair down to her shoulders and a pink dress that’s designed like strips of sequins and satin draped about her. “This is my piece, Rob,” he says, and I want to gag at the way he talks about his partner. “Nicolette, this is Rob—Bob the Builder, I call him. And Zae. Zae!”

Buddy says my name like it’s a martial arts term and strikes a pose from his seat, his hands slashing the air to mimic a karate chop. When he smiles, I’m overcome with the urge to pull out each of his teeth with pliers. Fortunately, Robert speaks before I say something impolite but all too deserving.

“Not sure what you’re doing, Buddy, but we’re glad you’re having fun. Nice to meet you, Nicolette.”

We all shake hands and Robert and I take our seats. He pours me a glass of wine that I gratefully accept as I study our table. I put Buddy at forty or forty-five; Nicolette looks like she just turned eighteen and is excited about heading off to college. I make a mental note to ask Metis about them later, even though I’m sure she won’t give me any good dirt.

“And these are the Petersons,” Buddy says, gesturing to an older couple at our table. “Another couple ex-pats.”

These two, who stand and introduce themselves as Vincent and Miriam, seem from a bygone era. The man wears an old fashioned tuxedo, and the woman looks like she’s ready to head to the opera in a long silk and velvet gown, emerald green and accented with an antique brooch of an owl. Her silver-gray hair is piled in loose curls and she wears long black gloves with her Art Deco wedding ring on her left hand and a stunning emerald cast in gold on her right.

She explains how they arrived already married, avoiding The Lottery process altogether, and I take the moment to drift off and look toward Marek’s table, just as the man himself walks in. Time slows as he crosses the room, his suit exquisitely tailored to match his equally exquisite form. His dark hair is neater than usual, except for a strand that falls in front of his cobalt eyes, so deep blue I could drown in them.

When he arrives at his table, he looks to the seat I was meant to have.

He studies the name card, then frowns and looks up.

Our eyes lock.

---