Chapter 20
HEATHER
Heather twitched as soon as a flower-arranging class formed around her.
Last time it had been a yoga class. She had such a bad feeling.
Especially when she recognised the exact same horse-faced woman with bleached-blonde hair from her previous trial: the dreaded Karen. And, yes, that was her actual name.
Karen chomped on her gum loudly. ‘I am, like, totally excited for this class.’ She had a particularly shrill voice, designed to pierce the eardrum like a fire alarm.
Each loud chewing sound was like nails against the chalkboard of Heather’s mind.
She silently took her place in front of her nameplate.
She barely even looked at the flowers spread in front of her.
Instead, she grabbed them randomly and cut them short enough to fit into her green vase.
The faster she could finish this, the faster she could pass her trial.
Karen picked a giant bogie out of her nose. She tried to rub it off her finger against the side of the table. The sound was so loud that Heather couldn’t help but look over. After two failed attempts, Karen stuck her finger in her mouth and ate the bogie.
Heather dry-retched. She fixed her gaze back on the vase. Do not look at the Karen. Do not speak to the Karen. Do not engage with the Karen. Remain calm and peaceful, like the flowing river. Let all your anger wash away.
By this point, Heather had a full vase of flowers, but the trial had not ended. She feared she needed to wait for everyone else to finish . . . including Karen.
Loudly, Karen complained, ‘There are no daisies! What kind of flower-arranging class doesn’t have daisies? I cannot work under these conditions. I am, like, totally going to leave a bad review.’
Heather did her best to tune it out and focus on the music instead.
Since she had time, she worked on beautifying her admittedly sloppy flower arrangement.
First, she cut the stem lengths to have shorter ones in front with taller ones forming a spherical shape in the back.
She balanced out the colours to have a row of red, a row of blue, a row of purple and a row of white.
As the finishing touch, she added the largest sunflower in the middle.
Stepping back with a smile, Heather thought it looked lovely, even if she did say so herself.
Karen snatched the sunflower from the middle of Heather’s arrangement. ‘I was just looking for one of these. You don’t mind if I take it, do you, sweet cheeks?’
‘Grrrr . . .’ Heather’s nails dug into the wood of the table. She counted to ten in her head. She drew upon all her patience from years of working at the reception desk. She reminded herself how badly she did not want to go back to the receptionist position for decades.
Gradually, her breathing calmed. None of this was real. None of it mattered. She only needed to pass the test.
Heather walked along the table, looking for another tall and large flower to serve as her centrepiece. The other women all worked in total silence, no human emotion on their faces, little more than props in this trial.
Meanwhile, Karen hacked the sunflower into pieces down the middle.
‘Whoopsie! These scissors are, like, totally broken. That wasn’t my fault.
’ Her vase held nothing except empty stems and mutilated flowers.
She scattered sunflower petals on top of her horror.
‘The perfect finishing touch! This is a work of modern art. I am a genie in a bottle!’
What is she even talking about? Heather wondered. Does she mean génie as in French for genius? How is it even possible for someone to be this stupid?
Finally, Heather found a tall lily to serve as her centrepiece. When Karen looked over at her arrangement, Heather held up her arms as a shield to block more theft.
Karen tilted her head. ‘Sweet cheeks, I’m sure you did your best, but that looks like butter.’
Is she trying to say it’s butters? Heather wondered.
Karen tutted her tongue. ‘I’m telling you this for your own good. You should be embarrassed to present that at the competition. There’s still time for you to make something else.’
This time, Heather’s nails dug into her palms. She stared straight ahead, whistling along to the music.
When the door opened, Heather believed that she’d passed her trial.
She had done it! She’d overcome her past anger issues!
Annoying people no longer had the power to drive her into a frenzy.
All her training as a receptionist had paid off.
She could get into Heaven now. A tear of joy formed in the corner of her eye.
Instead, Godfrey strode into the room.
‘What?’ This had never happened before. Heather gaped.
Godfrey said, ‘I’m here to judge the flower arrangements.’
Heather gasped. Whoever had designed this trial had been a sadist, drawing on all her worst nightmares.
Godfrey stopped at Karen’s horrific mess. ‘This is brilliant! A true work of creative genius!’
‘Oooo, you mean genie.’ Karen nodded. ‘I always knew I was great.’ She picked her nails with the scissors, making awful little sounds.
Godfrey walked over to Heather next. His evil little smirk promised retribution for past quarrels.
‘Oh, Heather, what were you trying to do here? It’s just so .
. . boring. I haven’t decided first place yet, but last place is obvious.
You should stick to being a receptionist. That’s all you’re good for. ’
Heather’s hands curled round the table, about to throw it at Godfrey’s head. She fantasised about stomping on his kidneys.
At the last moment, she remembered that the floral arrangements were innocent. If she overturned the table, they’d be ruined. She turned and ran through the nearest door. If she stayed in that room for one more second, then she would commit unimaginable violence.
On the other side of the door, Heather emerged into a cinema. The seats were bright red, and an old-fashioned projector cast wavy light across the screen. Though this place was dark, she didn’t see anyone else.
At first, the screen showed snapshots in time like a family photo reel.
This was a depressing story, though, showing a girl left abandoned at a hospital and growing up in foster care.
Heather did not recognise the girl at first, not until she grew old enough to start winning competitions.
On the screen, a smiling Jaime held up a trophy for a trivia contest.
This was Jaime’s test? Where was Jaime? Heather looked around at the empty cinema. Perhaps Jaime had left for another room.
The pictures shifted to a video. A middle-aged man and woman sat in an office, with Jaime sitting between them.
They looked wealthy, from the emerald on the man’s belt to the diamonds in the woman’s earrings and her enormous wedding and engagement rings.
The woman told the social worker, ‘We’re applying to adopt Jaime. ’
The social worker glanced at Jaime. ‘Foster care can be a good trial run before adoption. Have you been happy with your current family?’
Jaime bounced in her seat. ‘It’s been extraordinary! I’m excited to be adopted!’
The man said, ‘Jaime here has won so many competitions. She’s the pride of the neighbourhood.’
The woman said, ‘We’re flying her to an international competition next week.’
Heather didn’t like the focus on competitions. But Jaime looked so happy. The smile on her face was brighter and more innocent than Heather had ever seen before. Jaime had never talked about any parents. Why not?
The question was swiftly answered as the video shifted to a hospital. Jaime sat in a waiting-room chair. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. Looking up, she pasted a much faker-seeming smile on her face. ‘I know the diagnosis is scary, but I’m going to beat this cancer, right?’
Her foster mother was already on the phone, saying, ‘Yes, we’d like to cancel the adoption. Could we meet with that boy who won the sculpture contest? I’ll look up his name. It was in the news.’
‘Cancel?’ Jaime asked in a very small voice.
Her foster father peered down at her. ‘You have to understand that we didn’t sign up for . . . all of this.’ He waved at the hospital. ‘You don’t want to be a burden, do you?’
Jaime hung her head and whispered, ‘I don’t want to be a burden.’
The woman grabbed her husband’s arm and hissed, ‘Let’s get out of here before she starts crying.’
Heather exploded, ‘The lion, the witch and the audacity of that bit—’ She censored herself by habit, even though the only child was Jaime on the screen. The girl stared straight ahead. She wasn’t crying. There was something much worse in her eyes: a total lack of any hope.
The image shifted to Jaime sitting on a hospital bed. She’d grown heartbreakingly thin, with a scarf over her bald head. A fire burned in her eyes. She held up a notebook. ‘I want all of my designs on billboards.’
A woman wearing a Make a Wish Foundation T-shirt frowned.
‘Are you sure? Most children want to go to Disney World or to see their favourite celebrity. Do you want to spend your one and only wish on . . .’ Her eyes widened as she saw the designs.
The top one had a green Jesus Christ with the words Zombie Jesus: died for your sins and came back for your brains.
The next had a crossed-out picture of Buddha with the words: Wise or thoughtless?
Jaime said, ‘I’ve learned there are over ten thousand religions in the world, so I couldn’t manage to insult all of them. Just to cover all my bases, I added the last billboard at the end.’
The woman flipped to the end, where giant black letters said: ALL GODS ARE BASTARDS.
Heather restrained a snort behind her hand. Oh, Jaime. This is how you managed to be the first person to get heresy as a sin in decades? You truly did your best to earn it.
‘You want these on billboards across the country?’ The woman from the Make a Wish Foundation stared. ‘Why?’