Leadership

The toilet, as Hanna had said, was on a narrow bridge, just a small round hole filled with water, flushing constantly. It was difficult to get to, even more, difficult for Blossom to drink from it, and then squat there, teetering and clutching at the bridge, while she used it. And embarrassing; for though Hanna seemed to be staring politely off in the other direction when Blossom looked back at her to check she was almost sure she saw Hanna quickly turning away, a smirk on her face, as though she had been watching her and laughing.

It was infuriating. And when she herself, overcoming her natural repugnance in order to pay Hanna back, turned to spy on her sitting there, Hanna just waved and cried out, "Enjoying the view?" But Hanna grew more serious as they started to leave.

"Hey, listen," she said. "Those other guys are gonna have trouble finding this place, even with that marker I left. It might be good if we left something here, so they could tell from below which bridge it was. And I don't really have anything to leave, I've already torn up my shirt. But maybe, well … well one of those ruffles on your dress, if we could hang it down over the bridge, it would be really easy to see from far away."

Her dress? But it was her favourite dress. It was unthinkable. How could this hateful girl even suggest it? Her voice shrill, and Blossom began to shout. "They can find it anyway! Why should I—" Hanna's expression stopped her.

She was nodding, her lips pursed, her eyes sliding off to the side. It was just as if she were saying, I knew you'd say that, you trivial, selfish thing. With a tremendous effort, Blossom forced herself to think rationally. There was no way of avoiding it; she had to tear off that ruffle. Not only was it a matter of principle to show Hanna that she was wrong about her, but if she didn't make this sacrifice now, Hanna would probably never trust her.

Breathing heavily, Blossom picked up the hem of her skirt. Hardly able to watch her hands, she pulled the bottom ruffle off all the way around the skirt. She stepped out of it, and staring hard at Hanna (who was watching her as though she couldn't believe her eyes), ripped apart its one seam, turning it from a circle into a long strip. "Here," she said wheezily and handed Hanna the piece of cloth.

For a moment Hanna seemed confused. She stood there, the cloth dangling from her hand, still just watching Blossom with her head tilted to the side, squinting. "You know," she said at last, "I never thought you'd do that."

"I … I didn't want to," Blossom said, pleased with Hanna's reaction. "But what you said was right. And what does a dress matter in here anyway?" With what she hoped was a sad little gesture, she picked up her ruined hem and gazed wistfully at it."It'll be a big help," Hanna said. "It really will. Everybody will appreciate it." She turned away quickly, ran out along the bridge, and tied one end of the cloth around it, so that it hung several feet below, motionless in the still air.

After that, Blossom got what she needed with hardly any trouble at all. They had been up for hours now, and had been working at the machine, on and off, for the entire time. They were hungry, not having eaten since the previous afternoon, and getting more and more irritable. And still, the machine refused to respond.

"Stubborn bitch!" Oliver said. He was out of breath, sweat was dripping from his nose, and his T-shirt clung stickily to his chest. Struggling over the machine without any breakfast, without even having brushed his teeth, was not very enjoyable. Yet he had forced himself to keep on trying. It was not only that he was hungrier than he had ever been in his life; he also desperately wanted to be the one to make the machine work.

Somehow his relationship with all the others depended on it." Using dirty words isn't going to do any good," said Blossom peevishly. She was hunched over at the bottom of her stairway, staring intensely down at the machine."Well then you try again," Oliver said, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand and sitting down. He watched the fat girl bend over the screen for the hundredth time and stick out her tongue at it. He felt like hooting at her, for she looked ridiculous; but though she was a cow, there was something about her that made him feel he should watch his step with her.

Hanna sat tensely on her step, biting her thumbnail as she watched Blossom. Every once in a while her hand would move toward her shirt pocket and the pack of cigarettes, then quickly back to her mouth again. She was unlike any girl Oliver had ever known (he hadn't known very many) and made him feel slightly uneasy, for she did not respond to him the way other girls had. He felt no power over her, no ability to make her stammer and blush by merely smiling at her, and for this reason, he did not know how to behave with her. He also didn't like that she had been the one to find the toilet. It put her altogether too much in the leadership position, the position he craved for himself. That was why he felt it had to be he who made the food machine work, and that was why he was beginning to resent Hanna.

At least there were Cheryl and Peter! With Cheryl he thought he knew where he stood; she acted just the way he expected girls to behave. And furthermore, here they were without any adults around! He had never been alone with a girl, and the thought of what might possibly happen was terribly exciting—though also a little frightening. He shifted on the step, and Peter looked up at him for a moment, wide-eyed. It had been rather unexpected to find himself almost at once the object of Peter's intense devotion, but Oliver didn't mind.

It made him feel confident and powerful to have someone look up to him so much. Although, down at the bottom of it, something about Peter gnawed at him. He shook his head, smiling to himself, trying to laugh at and discard the discomforting fact that there wasn't one of them that didn't bother him in some small way. What was it that Hanna had been shouting about yesterday? That they were in a prison, that they were being tortured and driven mad? It was a bit farfetched; but on the other hand, it might just be possible that each of them had been picked for a certain reason….