A Rising Star

The District of Canals

It takes us all day to get to Washington D.C., even though we travel non-stop on the nearly empty freeway. I share the Driverless Car with Candid, Shadow, and a Producer. I had hoped to be able to look out the window as we went. The furthest east I had gone was Las Vegas for American Acrobats. However, the Producer has insisted that all the blinds stay closed for the ride and that we forgo sleep in order to be coached for Opening Night. The only saving grace is that Winner travels separately from us.

I can barely keep my eyes open when the checkpoint for D.C. finally comes into view. I glance at Shadow, whose eyelids flutter open almost on cue. Her head has been against Candid's shoulder, but Candid—just as exhausted as me—couldn't bring herself to her usual cruelty of shoving her off. I pull out my tablet and check the time. It's three a.m. and I see that my Momma has called, probably checking to make sure I have made it to Washington. Opening Night will be the next day and we're off air until then.

We only drive for a few more minutes before the car abruptly stops. Candid and I look around in confusion. We can't already be at the Capital Building. "Out you go girls," the Producer says. We watch him exit the car and straighten the black sweater he's wearing. I stumble out of the car, trying to mask a yawn as I wrap my jacket tighter around me. The wind feels like ice against my ears.

It is Shadow's sharp intake of breath that pulls my eyes up from the pavement. I gasp at what lays before me. From the distance, I can hear the Producer's voice. "All transportation is done by boat." But I'm already rushing to the water's edge, the last vestiges of sleep flying away.

What I see before me can only be described as magical. Buildings of white limestone shine with light as the sound of rolling water twinkles in the background. In the air, I breath the sea, the salt whispers against my tongue, though the shore must be far away. As I rush atop an arching bridge, I am surrounded by twisting canals that seem to head in every direction, sneaking away into narrow columns of buildings.

Everybody knows about Washington D.C.—the District of Canals—it is in all of our history books. A capital modeled after a sunken city in Europe. When the waters began to rise, the largest construction undertaking in a century began. It took nearly twenty years and hundreds of thousands of men to finish. I have seen pictures of it before, but they could not prepare me for what gleamed before me now.

Once we cross the bridge, the Producer ushers the three of us on a boat, a porter lifting our luggage in with us before disappearing in the darkness. With it being so late, the waters are nearly empty. The boats purrs to a start and begins its journey through the city. The breeze tickles at my cheeks, but I no longer feel cold. I reach my hand out and skim the water that lay beneath us and look up at the bright stars that seem to sway against the sky.

We turn into a narrow canal, the sidewalks almost closing in on our tiny boat, as doors to homes slide past us in an almost leisurely fashion. Near one of the doors, a man with crinkled eyes sits on a lawn chair, a pole in his hand. He pulls the piece of string that hangs from it out of the water as we pass, nodding towards us as we continue on our way.

We turn the corner and looming before our eyes is a magnificent and stately building. It spreads across grass that seems too green with sturdy columns and a round dome in the center. I recognize the building instantly as the U.S. Capitol Building. The home of the Elections.

It rushes at me like a bag of limestones the Capitol Building was created from. This is the place. This is my home. This is where I will spend the rest of my years. I will win First Lady and live in the White House. I will bring Momma to Foggy Bottom. This is where I belong.

Candid and I share a bedroom and bathroom with a smaller room for Shadow to sleep. Although I know I should get as much rest as possible to prepare for the upcoming day, I call Momma instead. Her face, smooth other than the crinkles around her eyes as she smiles, beams up at me. "D.C. is amazing isn't it?"

Of course she has been here before when she was a little younger than me. I wonder if her eyes were as large as mine or if her neck hurt from swinging it around so much at the view. "I never want to leave." At this, her smile falters. In the background, I hear Candid snort.

"Mommy's girl."

I remember where I am. Who I'm with. It's frowned upon to call your family during the shows. I would assume the same for the Elections. People have been kicked off for less than that before. But how could I not share this moment with her? I keep the conversation brief, telling her that I need to rest for my big day tomorrow, but we both know the truth.

***

Shadow wakes me up the next day. "Candid is already ready. She went to see how the stage is set up for opening night." A quick glance at my tablet shows that it's already after three.

"Why didn't you wake me?" I say, shoving the blankets off me as I shove red coils out of my face. I was so tired last night that I forgot the wrap my hair. I can only imagine the disaster that sits atop my head. I see that Shadow has already laid out my plum-colored silk dress that ties around my neck and flows to the ground.

"You seemed so peaceful," she says. "You obviously need the rest." I scowl as I stare at the bags beneath my eyes. It's opening night and I look like trash. "You know I'm a miracle worker." Shadow pushes me down at the vanity table and pulls out a wide tooth comb.

Shadow has always been more gentle than Momma was when it comes to my hair. But it still hurts as she separates the curls. Tears spring at the corner of my eyes and I am glad she decided to tackle my hair before my face. Twenty minutes later and she has my hair braided up with a spring of curls raising above the crown of my head.

Her face is close to mine as she begins smoothing on my foundation and I look down, feeling a bit uncomfortable at the nearness. My eyes center on a set of beads that are falling out of her pocket. "What's that?" The words slip from my mouth as I slip the thing out of her pants. It's a beaded necklace, made of wood, the light grain smooth to touch as if she rubbed her fingers over them a lot.

"Nothing!" Shadow stands to her feet. For the first time in my life, I see a kind of fire burst across her face. I have never seen such passion from her before. No . . . It's not passion. It's fear. She yanks the beaded necklace out of my hands before shoving them back in her pocket. Her eyes glance up at each corner of the room, before bending back down on her haunches.

"It's nothing," Shadow repeats, her face smoothing back into her usual neutral position. Cool, unaffected, unnoticed. "Now I have to do your eyes all over again. Please try not to wiggle so much."

Even Extras have something to hide.