Oliver

Cheryl hadn't heard the boy approach either. She had been sitting there trying not to look at Blossom and making an effort not to get weepy about being here, when suddenly someone said something and there was a boy, a very attractive boy, climbing quickly up to the landing.

"What," she said, looking around at them briskly, "are you doing down on the floor like that?" Blossom was perusing him from her kneeling position, and Peter was gaping at him, his usually expressionless face spread wide open in disbelief.

Cheryl couldn't imagine why he should seem so surprised; it had been startling to see the boy appear, but it wasn't as if he were a ghost or anything.

"Food," Blossom said, pulling herself up to her step and still eyeing the boy. "Food used to come out of that slot. I was trying to make it come out again." As she explained, the boy turned away from her to look appraisingly at Cheryl.

His eyes were a very intense shade of blue-gray. Cheryl met his gaze for a moment, then looked down, a flutter of excitement beginning in her stomach. Already his arrival had changed the situation completely for her. Blossom and Hanna, after all, were girls. And Peter, though he seemed nice, wasn't very good-looking and was so terribly shy. But this new boy! He was just the kind of boy who got her all stirred up, who distracted her, who made it practically impossible to think about anything else. And even though she knew that it was wrong to have such feelings, she could not make them go away. She looked up at him again.

He already seemed slightly bored by Blossom's explanation of the food machine, staring off into the distance and tapping his foot restlessly. His dark blond hair was just curly enough, Cheryl reflected, and just the right length to set off the planes of his lean face. He was wearing athletic clothes—a white T-shirt and gray sweat pants—but they certainly looked good on him: It was clear that the body underneath, which he held erectly, was hard and smooth-muscled. And of course it wasn't just the way he looked, it was the confidence and energy and potential high spirits that he exuded. They rippled in the air around him like waves from a pebble tossed into a pond. Though his presence made her tense, Cheryl nevertheless felt suddenly more comfortable, more at home, than she had felt since she had entered this place. Peter was still gaping at him, but now he seemed puzzled.

"And now it doesn't work at all, nobody can make it work," Blossom finished, and, with a quick glance in Cheryl's direction, the boy turned to Peter, really looking at him for the first time.

Cheryl felt her heart contract in a sudden spasm of pity—the expression on Peter's face had become so unutterably pleading and pathetic, like a begging dog looking up at his master. But why?

The new boy didn't seem to notice.

"So," he said, "you the only other guy? Anybody else around?"

Peter was studying his face intensely. And all at once his expression faded, the life in it suddenly draining away. He looked down.

"Huh?" said the boy.

"Um … there's another girl," Peter said, his voice fuzzy. "Hanna. We haven't found anyone else yet."

"So it's us two guys alone with three girls, huh?" Grinning, the boy cuffed him lightly on the shoulder and Peter flinched.

Then he sighed and looked up again. "What … what's your name?" Peter said.

"Oliver." He turned and stepped lightly over to the empty flight, sat down, resting his elbows on a step behind, and looked around at them again.

"Two guys and three girls," he went on. "So far. And nobody knows a thing. Including me. There I am, just leaving the locker room to go to soccer practice, and they call my name over the loud-speaker to come to the office, and then they blindfold me, and bring me to this … this crazy place."

"The same thing happened to all of us," said Blossom. "And we're all orphans, and all sixteen."

"Really? No kidding! Me too." He chuckled briefly, shaking his head.

It bothered Cheryl a little. He was taking the whole thing too lightly; somehow it didn't seem real.

"Well, I think they're going to come and get us out pretty soon," said Blossom. "I mean, they have to. I don't deserve to be here. That other girl, Hanna, thinks they're just going to leave us here, and maybe that's what they're going to do to her, but—"

"But she might be right," Cheryl interrupted, turning from Blossom to look Oliver briefly in the eye. "It couldn't be a mistake, it's all too crazy and coincidental. Don't you think so? I'm really kind of scared. It's so …uncomfortable here, and who knows what might happen next? What … what do you think?"

"I don't think anything yet," said Oliver. "Who can think in this place?" He looked casually over his shoulder at the empty space below him. "But it sure beats solid geometry by a mile, I can tell you that!"

"But," said Peter, "but what if … what if they leave us here for a long time? I … I don't think I could stand it. I mean … I mean, there's nothing to lean against, nothing that feels safe. I just can't stop thinking that … that…." He stopped.

Cheryl had never heard him say so much at one time.

"Stop thinking what?" Oliver said. "Come on, you can tell us."

"I … thinking that I'm going to fall," said Peter, and looked down at his feet.

"Yeah, and who isn't?" said Oliver. "But you're not going to fall unless you want to—or unless somebody pushes you, and I don't think I'm going to push you. And I don't think these girls want to push you either, do they?"

"I wouldn't mind pushing Hanna," Blossom murmured.

"Say, where is this Hanna, anyway?" Oliver asked.

"She went to find a toilet," said Cheryl. "She thought if there was a food machine, there would probably be a toilet somewhere. And water. It makes sense. Somebody should have gone with her, I guess, but I was so tired of walking around."

Oliver was watching her. "And what's your name?" he asked.

"Cheryl." She forced herself not to look away from him.

"And I'm Blossom."

"Blossom, huh. And my buddy there, what's your name?" He was still watching Cheryl. When no answer came from Peter, he looked over at his face. "Peter."

"Uh-huh. So it's Oliver, Cheryl, Peter, Blossom, and— don't tell me—Hanna!" He was making it all seem like a game.

Cheryl couldn't understand how he could be so jaunty about the situation, but she was beginning to accept it, to drift with the mood he was creating. Peter, after his brief look of despair, now seemed more alert than he had ever been, gazing at Oliver in that doglike way. And Blossom now seemed to be relaxing. Cheryl sensed that he met with her approval.

"Yes, Hanna," Blossom sighed. "If only she wasn't here! Everybody else is nice."

For a moment no one spoke. Cheryl wished Blossom would stop talking that way, it was embarrassing, and so pointless.

"Well anyway," Oliver said, "here we all are. We might as well enjoy ourselves while we're waiting."

"Well, maybe we should try to make the food thing work," said Blossom. "Maybe it would work for Oliver."

"Sure, why shouldn't it?" said Oliver. "They don't want to starve us. Actually, I think it's kind of fun here, like a dream in a video show. We should probably all be dancing and singing." He stood up suddenly and jumped down to the landing. Spreading his arms, he began to sing, smiling at each of them as he turned in a small circle.

"Just singin' my cares away," he sang. "On the happy little steppy steps. Just singin' till my heart goes—" He stopped suddenly and reached out for Cheryl's hand, pulling her to her feet.

"Come on, you too," he said, swinging her arm and swaying back and forth. "Let's give them a little show."

Cheryl had never been touched by a boy before, and though she felt a bit frightened and embarrassed, nevertheless the pressure and warmth of his hand were strangely thrilling. And he began singing again, funny nonsense words that made them all laugh, that made Cheryl almost forget where they were.