Page 3 of The Love Interest
After an eternity, the door slides open. I gulp, then step forward. The door whooshes closed behind me.
The room is plain, the walls smooth and featureless. Sitting at a stainless steel table is a trim man with rigidly perfect posture and solid gray hair. Despite his hair color, his eyes are bright and his face is mostly wrinkle-free, so pinning his exact age is difficult. I’d guess late thirties or early forties.
He gestures toward the seat. “Congratulations on making it this far. My name is Rodger Craike, and I’m the manager of the Love Interest Compound. You will call me Mr. Craike or sir, nothing else.”
He picks up a tablet and starts scrolling. I sit and peer at the screen.Huh.It’s filled with reports from my monthly integration exams. Because the LIC is so isolated, we have to take classes to keep up with pop culture, and each month we’re quizzed to make sure we’re keeping up to date. It’s usually about big movies, popular TV shows, and hit songs, which we are required to know by heart in case of karaoke or sing-alongs. For Bads and select Nices, sports are included, but I don’t have to learn about that because they decided I’m more of a nerdy-boy-next-door type. Thank goodness. Anyway, we do all this so we can “integrate seamlessly” with the real world when the time comes. Their words, not mine. I know my test scores are good, but he’s frowning at them like I failed every single one.Why?
“I should thank you, sir,” I say, trying to draw his attention away from whatever is wrong with my scores. He keeps reading. “For giving me the gym equipment and the food. I wouldn’t look this way without you.”
“We provide the equipment, you do the work.” His eyes flick down over my body. “And you’ve done an exceptional job. You’d be surprised how many Nices ruin their bodies by making themselves too big. But you understand what it means to be Nice, don’t you?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I hope so.”
He tilts his head back and laughs. Recovering, he leans forward. “Maybe, after all this time, we’ve found a genuinely nice guy.”
Or someone smart enough to know how to play the system.
“Enough pleasantries. As the manager of the LIC, it’s my job to make sure every Love Interest is the right man or woman for the job. So I’m going to ask you a few questions to see how well you’ve applied yourself to your time here. Are you ready to begin?”
I nod.
“What disposition are you?” he asks.
“Nice.”
“Why do you think that?”
“All the tests told me that’s what I am.”
“You think they made a mistake?”
Yes.
“No, it’s not that,” I say. “It just feels weird to call myself Nice; it seems boastful. I’m not perfect by any means, but I think I’m a nice person. Plus, I’m so obviously not Bad. I’m good at making people laugh, not manipulating or intimidating them.”
“Some people would say making someone laughismanipulating them.”
“Some people,” I say, “would say if laughter is a manipulation it’s the best one there is. It makes people feel good. Who cares how that end is achieved?”
He looks down and starts typing something on his tablet. The room fills with the sound of his fingertips hitting the screen. I breathe in through my nostrils, then exhale slowly.
Finally, he lowers the tablet and rests it on the table. “A lot of Nices have told me they’d give their life to save their rival if they could. Would you be willing to do that?”
I look down at my hands. The true answer to this question is the reason I know I’m not a genuine Nice: I’m not ready to die, and I’m not willing to give up my life for anyone else. I’ve always known that if I made it out of the LIC I’d fight as hard as I could to make sure I got the girl and survived. It’s what I hate about myself the most.
I meet his stare. “I would be willing to do that. Sacrifice myself, I mean. I’d do it in a heartbeat.”
He grins. “You know what I think? I think you’re a great actor. I know you’re lying, yet I find myself believing you. It’s truly a rare gift.”
I tense, and it spreads through my entire body, with cold dread creeping down from my cheeks to dwell in the cords of my shoulders.He knows.
“Oh, don’t look so scared; it’s a good thing. You’re going to be a spy, after all, so being able to act is one of the most valuable skills you could have. And you clearly are a natural liar. But I’m not interested in an actor who needs to memorize lines; you need to be able to improvise. So answer these questions with the first thought that enters your mind. If you pause, you’ll fail. Now, why do you think your Chosen should pick you over your rival?”
“I don’t. I just hope she does.”
In his eyes, I see him ticking the boxes.
Modest? Check.
