Gale #3
All, that is, except me. I’d spend four years studying this material.
Instead, I watched my sister light up at the chance to be part of a show.
I watched Ozrik’s crew salivate as they stared at the screen.
Excitement sparkled in Ozrik’s eyes. Even across the table, he radiated with an undeniable energy.
“Mostly,” Charles continued, “people love danger so long as it’s happening to someone else, and they can watch it unfold from the comfort of their living room. Am I right?”
A few chuckles arose. Ozrik and his buddy, Vern, bumped fists. One of his other friends—I thought his name was Noah—leaned over and whispered something in Ozrik’s ear. In an instant, Ozrik’s demeanor changed, and he narrowed his gaze at the screen.
“What I’m planning”—Charles was in full production mode—“is a reality-based show that will capture the essence of what you do best. I want to take viewers along for the ride of a lifetime, so they too can witness the heart-pumping power of a tornado chase.”
Again, the screen changed, showing a thinly dissipating rope snaking across the sky, the final stage of a diminishing tornado. The camera’s motion and instability suggested the video had been recorded from the window of a moving vehicle.
“Is this our footage?” the guy I presumed to be Noah asked. “That’s my fucking footage.”
Charles beamed. “Yes! Good eye, my friend. Borrowed, of course, to give you an idea of what we have planned. Your YouTube channel is an excellent stepping stone and has garnered a lot of attention. My goal is to take you to the next level, polish what you already do, and add studio flavor to help it flow. Same raw footage, with better production, edited to create heightened tension. We’ll include more background information about chasing and compile interviews with team members to give the audience a taste of who you are. ”
I hated it more and more.
Ozrik diverted his attention to my sister, perhaps to see what she thought of all this, but Olivia was too engrossed in Charles’s presentation. Instead of turning back to the front of the room, Ozrik’s gaze landed on me. I couldn’t look away fast enough.
“We’re looking for a five-person team to star in this miniseries.” In case we couldn’t count to five, Charles held up the corresponding number of fingers.
Something akin to irritation crossed Charles’s face before he continued. “Originally”—he cut his gaze briefly to Dennis—“I planned to give this opportunity to Mr. Devereaux and his wonderful group of chasers.”
To Ozrik, he said, “I’m a longtime subscriber and avid supporter of Twisted Fates. Your videos are spectacular. Engaging. Daring. Heart-pumping. Your fans love you. I love you.”
“Might as well offer to suck his dick,” Olivia muttered under her breath to Maggie, although it wasn’t quiet, and I was certain the entire room heard.
I cracked my knee against hers hard enough that she winced and shot me a dirty look like I was in the wrong.
“Thank you, Charles. We appreciate all our loyal fans.” Ozrik looked about as pleased as a person could get.
“My pleasure. However,” Charles’s smile faltered as he shifted to face the other side of the table. “Mr. Hawking has insisted that I consider your lovely group of chasers as well, Miss… Um… forgive me. I didn’t catch your name.”
“Olivia Windrow,” my sister provided, not looking impressed.
“Yes. Miss Windrow. I hear the”—he referred to a notepad—“Wind Riders are gaining traction on social media as well.”
“We’ve tripled our audience in the past six months alone,” Jazz said when my sister remained silent. “And we’re in off-season.”
“Admirable.” Charles sniffled. No compliment had ever sounded less authentic.
Clearing his throat, Charles clicked a key on the laptop. The storm footage vanished. A PowerPoint appeared, displaying a list of merits and/or traits he deemed necessary to earn a position on his show.
Included among them were years of experience, outside qualifications or specialties in the field, charisma and stage presence, articulation and expressiveness, must be personable, and be able to educate an audience by comfortably dictating the process of a chase while explaining the science behind certain decisions.
The final point read simply: Must look good on camera. Photogenic.
Charles gave everyone a minute to read before he spoke. “All right. Consider this a group interview. I have five slots and ten—” He frowned and performed a silent head count, lips moving and pointing as he went around the table. “Nine contenders?” He checked his paperwork.
Ozrik’s hand shot into the air, but he didn’t wait to be called on to speak. “I’m sorry. Can you clarify something for me? You said you’re looking for a five-man team.”
“Person,” Olivia cut in, rolling her eyes.
Ozrik glared at my sister. “Person. My bad. No disrespect, Liv.”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
“I want it on record that we are five people. We’re down a member today. Elliott had a work obligation, but Twisted Fates is a group of five. Always has been, always will be.”
Addressing my sister, he asked, “Should I assume the lovely Wind Riders have increased their numbers to five as well?” His gaze flicked to me, eyes glittering with that devilish smile I’d seen a few times. Me, the wild card. The unknown factor. How did I fit, he wanted to know.
“Yes,” Roe said for Olivia. “Gale is a new addition. The Wind Riders are officially five.”
The objection sat on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it. For Olivia’s sake.
Ozrik continued to stare. My cheeks burned.
“I see.” Still sizing me up and down like I was a science project, Ozrik continued.
“So, we’re five, and they’re five.” Finally, he moved his attention to Charles, and I could breathe again.
“Do these qualifications”—he added air quotes—“pertain to the group as a whole? As in, you’ll pick either Twisted Fates or Wind Riders for the show? ”
“No.” Dennis got to his feet, jacket flaring as he propped his hands on his hips. “We considered that, but due to differing opinions, we’ve decided on a blend. The five best candidates will form a new team. Stormz Rising.”
A lengthy pause filled the room as the information hung in the air.