Chapter 15.
Alek Andrich hates any small room.
She was never claustrophobic before the war, before air-raid sirens became a part of her daily routine.
A routine of running and locking a door behind you and listening for the moment the world breaks.
A routine that chased her and her family to all the places they’d called home with a bomb shelter in the basement. There was always a bomb shelter.
“Before we begin,” the man on the other side of the desk says, “is there anything you’d like to ask me?” His tone is professional. Calm as someone used to being obeyed.
“I’m fine,” Alek says.
“You’re sure?”
“I thought you were here to interview me,” Alek says.
A faint smile. “We are. But let’s not pretend we don’t know what this is.” He taps his pen once. “A billion dollars changes people.”
Alek holds his gaze. “It only changes the people who’ve had the luxury of being changed.”
She is trying to be polite. But the man’s line of questioning is beginning to annoy her.
He watches her wristband. Like it’s speaking.
“But isn’t that really why you’re here?” the man says.
“No,” Alek says.
She takes a deep breath. She had come here determined to present her best self. Alek slows her breathing the way she used to curled up in basements, counting in her head so she wouldn’t lose control.
“There must be a reason why I’ve been spared,” she says.
“Not because I’m special. Because I was lucky.
Luck that feels like a curse when you’re the one who lives.
Or the kind that comes from some higher purpose.
That may sound corny to you, but I believe that.
When I received the letter, I thought this competition might be that purpose. And that is why I’m here.”
The man doesn’t move.
Is that the right answer?
What if it’s not?
Her father, a professor emeritus at the time of his death, a kind and learned man, used to joke with her all the time that you didn’t get a second chance to make a good first impression.
Alek now wonders how much of her five minutes she has left, and if there will be a bell like you’d hear in a classroom at the end of a period.
“My father used to tell me,” Alek continues, “that if you survive something, you owe it meaning. You don’t get to waste it.”
“You’re telling me that money beyond your wildest dreams isn’t what made you accept the invitation to be a part of these games?” the man says. “You’re here for meaning?”
Alek leans forward.
“No. This isn’t about money,” she says, “not for me, sir. I’m here because I refuse to let my life be just running. I want a future that isn’t a shelter. I want my mother to never hear another siren again.”
The interviewer doesn’t blink.
“And if you win?” the man asks.
Alek leans forward. “Then I make sure no one ever has to beg the world to care again.”
That is the right answer.
Whether he believes it or not.
Somewhere in the tent, her wristband gives a soft beep.
Alek stands. On the way out, the man says, almost casually, “Dreams are expensive, Ms. Andrich.”
Alek doesn’t turn around. “So is war.”