---    ---    ---

[23:45] <sleepyhead99> they call you?
[23:45] <jtrin86> trist.
[23:46] <sleepyhead99> isn't that a boy's name?
[23:46] <jtrin86> i get that a lot.
[23:46] <sleepyhead99> ellis.
[23:47] <jtrin86> isn't that a boy's name?
[23:47] <sleepyhead99> it's not. i think.
[23:47] <jtrin86> LOL nice to meet you, ellis.
[23:48] <sleepyhead99> same here, trist. :)

---    ---    ---

The Union Metro Access Rail Transit System or U-Met has served as the main transportation means of the Agavean Region, the center of trade of the country of Phallastine, for the past fifty years. The transit system has been expanded by classes over the generations. The U-Met Class 1 or U-Met1 spans from North Abella to Sant Marcelle. The U-Met2 is from North of Sant Marcelle to Reina Piedad. The U-Met3 is from West Abella to Elodia. The U-Met4, U-Met5, and U-Met6 are subway systems starting from the Abella - Sant Marcelle border leading to the provinces outside Agave.

Every morning, more than half of Agave's productive populus ride the U-Met Classes 1 to 3 to head to their destinations. These people patiently wait through the routine long queues, the often unpredictable train schedules, and the occasional drama for a less expensive, yet faster route.

One of them is Jacey Arno.

Tan, bespectacled, and slightly built, the youthful Jacey blankly stared at the blurry scenery from outside the moving train while listening to the tune from her headphones. It was midweek, and the train was not as crowded as the one she took the other day. Jacey hates the dayshift when it falls on the start of the week. The start of the week has always been more crowded than the rest of the days, especially at North Abella Station. The rush, the crowd, the growing temper, the atmosphere can be infectious. Nearly three years since she started working in Mannheim's business district, she has grown immune to the morning mood but yet to adjust to it.

Jacey looked at the time on her bulky gray watch. Forty-five minutes early, she thought. The walk from her stop to Merton Avenue, where the shuttle stop was, usually took ten minutes. She was to arrive at the office earlier than expected. It was more than enough time to stop at Café de Eloise to get coffee and bread.

"Cameron Station, Cameron Station," the recording sounded through the speakers as the train slowed down. Jacey heard almost nothing because of the sound blasting from her headphones, but the train's entry point reminded her that it was her stop. Placing her headphones in her green and gray knapsack and lightly combing the fringed bangs of her pixie-styled burgundy hair, she moved to the train's exit.

The train slowly came to a stop, and its doors hissed open. Jacey moved along with the alighting crowd, finding her way to the Cameron Station's south entry and exit point. She stopped a bit to search her pockets for her U-Met1 card. Finding it and taking it from her left pocket, she suddenly felt her phone vibrate from her knapsack. Walking toward the exit, Jacey opened her knapsack and fished for her phone.

A long series of digits flashed from her phone. By convention, a local, national, or international call would not contain as much numbers. When one of Jacey's overseas-based cousins called, a lengthy series of digits would also appear on the phone's screen. But the encoded series this time wasn't her cousin's. Jacey has been wary of unknown and encoded calls. These were often fraudulent, as work taught her.

Yet, she decided to answer this one.

"Hello?"

---    ---    ---

Suite 2730 of the Lauder-Abdon Hotel was half-empty at the moment. Honouji's delegate was included in the next batch scheduled to head for Chateau de Verlaine, the venue of the next photo shoot. Having been included in the previous batch, Phallastine's delegate had the room to herself for the next few hours.

A few hours alone were just about enough to relieve her of the rising tension. Malka Ioan sat against the window pane, mobile phone clipped between her ear and her shoulder while both hands held a mug of hot coffee. The view from outside was overlooking the view of the deep blue water and the white sandy shore of Golas Island in Aegalia, this year's host of La Reine de la Gia.

La Reine de la Gia or simply, La Reine is said to be the oldest and the most prestigious pageant in history. Its standards are known to be strict and rigid that tension catches on even in the most confident and the most competitive of women.

Malka's dream was to inspire, to teach, and to influence people. She believed that women have better influence if they have a title next to their name or if they gain international recognition. Tall, slender, beautiful, and intelligent, she saw these traits as an advantage. After years of study, training, trying, and waiting, she was closer to her dream.

At this point, Malka considers herself very fortunate to have made it far. To be part is enough. To be a frontrunner is a bonus. She is the early favorite, as it was revealed in the standings. Some of the ladies might take this as an advantage, but Malka took it with caution. To her, it meant more pressure. Since the first standings update, she has been hearing of catfights, arguments, and rumors. Just a few days earlier, she began hearing rumors of herself. But instead of explaining herself, she chose to keep a safe distance and focus.

Talking to someone outside the competition somewhat felt relieving.

"I'll be home in a few weeks," Malka said. "I just needed to be here. To be honest… I am homesick."

"You've only been gone two weeks," the female voice on the other line said. It was Trist, a secret friend she had kept in contact with since she was eighteen.

"I know, but the people here… the atmosphere is becoming more and more uncomfortable," Malka took a sip from her coffee and stared at the tourists by the shore. She wanted to enjoy the sights just as much.

"You never told me where you are. You just told me you needed to be offshore for a month."

"Sorry," Malka said, placing her cup on the window pane and holding the phone. She felt guilty not revealing anything. But she needed to hold her secret… at least, for a little while.

"I understand, you know. We agreed on this, remember?"

"Trist…" Malka said, trailing. She noticed a couple from the balcony of the neighboring hotel. She pulled the curtains a little, leaving a space in-between for the view.

Malka admired Trist for agreeing with her terms. No pictures. No physical contact. Strictly communication only. At first, it was intended to be an experiment for a thesis, but Malka soon found it routine. Malka knew Trist as much as Trist knew her. Trist became her constant clutch, always ready to listen. Years have passed, but she heard no complaint or suggestion to meet from Trist. Sometimes, she would wonder if Trist was actually comfortable with the boundaries. But sometimes too, the guilt would sink in. But the truth mattered. The truth might push Trist away.

"Are you still there?"

"Yeah…" Malka answered. "I was… just checking out something."

"Oh… Tell me when you're busy then."

"Nah, not really," Malka paused again, breathing. "Trist…"

"Yeah?"

"I miss you."

2: One

---    ---    ---

[00:01] <sleepyhead99> let me set the rules ok?
[00:01] <sleepyhead99> no pictures.
[00:01] <sleepyhead99> no physical contact.
[00:01] <sleepyhead99> no descriptions whatsoever.
[00:01] <sleepyhead99> just talk.
[00:02] <sleepyhead99> clear?
[00:02] <jtrin86> yes ma'am.
[00:02] <sleepyhead99> questions?
[00:03] <jtrin86> just one.
[00:03] <jtrin86> how long is this "study" of yours going to last? 

---    ---    ---

The Old Sumner Compound is a gated property that stood at the corner of Blanc Avenue and Sumner Drive of the Mannheim Business District. It consists of a central parking area, two warehouses, and three buildings, Sumner East, Sumner West, and Corespan Old Building. The warehouses and the buildings, Sumner East, and Sumner West, are logistics offices owned by F. C. Sumner Inc., one of the pioneer corporations of Phallastine. Corespan Old Building, once owned by F. C. Sumner, Inc., was purchased two years ago by SullerTech-Alpha or STA, one of Phallastine’s major communications service providers.

The Corespan Old Building served as one of the main offices of Corespan Dotcom, once the major communications services provider for Phallastine’s provinces. Spanning three floors and divided into twenty-one areas, it was the office of Corespan’s service support groups.

Area B19 is the OCFM or the Offshore Communications Facility-Mannheim. The restricted area, spanning almost three fourths of the old building’s second floor has served as one of the main facilities responsible in ensuring the continuous communication between Phallastine and the rest of the world. The OCFM was once maintained by a fourteen-man team under Corespan. But since the management changes and security measurement adjustments, it is now maintained by six, deployed by STA’s On/Offshore Net Support.

Like the rest of her team, Jacey experienced the shift from Corespan to STA. It was not easy, having to fear being in the unemployment queue once again and considering leaving the country to work. STA had a reputation for constantly realigning and shifting. Those traits made it one of the strongest corporations in Phallastine but also the harshest.

Fortunately enough, Jacey happened to be among the employees transitioned into STA.

Jacey stepped onto the scanner.  The life-sized screen on her left showed an X-ray scan of her profile. “No possible threats found,” the screen flashed. Then, a high-pitched beep emitted. Jacey stepped off the platform and walked to the doors ahead. The sign on the doors read, “RESTRICTED AREA. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.” Beyond the doors, a female guard in navy and white uniform waited on the front desk. Jacey approached, wiping her brown leather boots on the doormat as the doors slid open. She smiled at the guard as she greeted.

"Weekend, ma’am?" the guard asked. The deployed guards for the OCFM are sent copies of the staff’s schedule of duties before the start of each month that they were aware if sudden changes are made.

"Just today. Andy isn’t available," Jacey said, typing over the touch panel beside the guard’s desk. She placed her hand over the far right square on the screen as it appeared.

Andy or Andreas Langen is one of Jacey’s coworkers. He had called in sick the day before. It was the weekend, and Jacey was supposed to be off-duty.

The female guard noted the shift changes and took out a pair of access cards, one blue and one white. She placed them on her desk.

Jacey heard the confirmation beep. Her photo appeared on the screen. The text read:

Serial ID: 5201-00082451100
Name: ARNO, J. T. R.
Group - Department/Section: STAG - OONS/TFSS
Time-In: 0545H

Jacey took the access cards, thanking the female guard, and continued walking along the carpeted hall. She turned to the second door on the right and tapped the blue access card on the small panel. The door slid open, and Jacey stepped in.

Cori Alba, support for the preceding shift, is on the first control workstation. She sleepily greeted Cori and carried on.

Jacey placed her coffee and and the brown bag on the second control workstation. She took out a wrapped bun from her brown bag and placed it next to Cori.

"Thanks," Cori said, still focused on the screen before her. "My turn next time."

"You’re welcome." Jacey took her coat from the rack. "Any news on Andy?" she asked, sitting on the chair and unlocking the second control workstation.

"None yet," Cori answered. "But Mr. Beeks relayed via thread that he caught the stomach virus."

Jacey laughed. “And Mr. Beeks believed that?”

"Don’t know," Cori answered, also laughing. "Andy’s part of the outsourced staff. I don’t think Mr. Beeks and the other bosses believe the excuses. But… you know how it is." She opened her wrapped bun and took a bite.

It annoyed Jacey and the rest of the deployed Technical and Field Service  Support team that the direct groups and outsourced groups are handled separately. Workplace management is disorganized, and manning is often disputed. STA has been known for strict worth ethics, and this is inexcusable.

"STA should’ve hired everyone," Jacey said. "It’s useless if they can’t fully rely on the outsourced manpower."

"Yeah…" Cori agreed. "I’ve been counting my nightshift days, and it’s terrible. I haven’t had good sleep in months."

"Me too."

Jacey and Cori often shared the nightshift cycles within a month. The rest of the support preferred those days least that they would pass the burden to them.

"Hey, the polls have opened," Cori said, tone slightly changing.

"What polls?" Jacey said, taking a bite of her waffle.

"You know, La Reine."

"Oh…" Jacey said. She believed pageants are a form of woman empowerment, but at the same time, somewhat an indirect form of sexism. She was raised in a typical Phallanese family, avid viewers of competitions and reality TV. Growing up, she watched pageants with them. She saw the trend but never grew fond of these competitions.

This year is an exception.

Malka Ioan is competing. End of story.

"Malka is so beautiful," Cori gushed. "And so smart. And so nice. Eee, I’m girl-crushing again!"

Jacey laughed as she accessed the Official Site of La Reine de la Gia and browsed the list of candidates. She clicked on Phallastine’s candidate, Malka Ellis Ioan. “You’ve met Malka?” she asked.

"At a fundraiser a year ago," Cori answered. "Love her."

"I’ve seen her a few times in Du Maurier," Jacey said, referring to the old arts school south of Sant Marcelle, the Jean Du Maurier Institute. As part of her study grant’s terms and conditions, she took language and music courses for four years at Du Maurier, a school just a comfortable distance away from Beaumont-Forte Technical University, her alma mater.

"Really?" Cori said. "No autograph or pictures?"

"Du Maurier is known for its schedule flexibility programs. Seeing celebrities is sort of routine," Jacey said. "Malka frequented the library. Her usual spot is a shelf away from mine. By impression, I can say she’s really smart. Few friends, mostly alone. And I could overhear the loud thinking from the shelves."

Cori laughed. “She talks to herself?”

"A lot," Jacey said, laughing. "But I don’t think it’s odd or anything. I mean, intelligent people tend to think aloud." After scanning through Malka’s profile, she clicked on the "Vote" button. "Voted."

"Same here. Wait… you didn’t say hi or anything?"

"Once," Jacey said. "I was looking for a book, and it was near her spot. She greeted first, smiles and all. It would be more embarrassing if I didn’t."

"I would’ve swooned if that happened. Lucky you."

Jacey laughed, remembering the incident. It did not exactly go well. “I feel uncomfortable around beautiful people, you know. It just seems awkward. My body parts aren’t normal.”

"That, I don’t get. But I would’ve wanted that on video," Cori laughed and gathered her things. She carried her gym bag and hung her coat on the rack. "I’m off to the gym. If you need anything, message me."

"Sure, I’ll be here until the afternoon."

---    ---    ---

…I’ve thought about my decision a long time ago. I just couldn’t go about it. I thought giving time might change things. It doesn’t seem proper that I answer you here. Please wait until I come home. We’ll talk…

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

"I’ll get it."

"Okay," Malka answered, slightly startled. Her train of thought suddenly came to a stop. She browsed the composed message on her tablet. Seems enough, she thought. Then, she tapped send. She logged off and locked her tablet. Taking off her reading glasses and placing them on the side table, she turned to the door where Honouji’s delegate, Keiko Sakurazawa, was signing from a clipboard.

The man next to Keiko was holding a large, colorful bouquet of flowers. On his vest was the red and white logo of DPX, Aegalia’s flagship courier service.

Keiko Sakurazawa has been Malka’s best friend since the first week of the competition. She had the typical Honoujin and modern Easterner’s standards for women, tall, beautiful, smart, and appealing. Unlike Malka, who has been early and consistent favorite, Keiko was eyed by many admirers.

Three out of four isn’t so bad, Malka thought. Comparing notes and other things considered, she felt she did not need the appeal. The industry in Phallastine taught her better.

"I don’t really understand why pale is now synonymous to appealing…"

Malka remembered Trist’s words during a conversation some months back. She glanced at Keiko, who was still talking to the DPX man. Trist is right. Who needs pale, she thought. She did not need to be pale to attract attention.

Keiko closed the door, now holding the large bouquet and smiling brightly.

"Whoa, who’s it from?" Malka asked.

"Adam Shahan," Keiko answered.

"Oh. No chocolates?" Malka joked. Speaking of chocolates, she suddenly felt hungry. She browsed for something to eat in the refrigerator.

Malka had been tipped off a few days earlier by her stylist, Berns, of the possible judges on the coronation evening. Adam Shahan, known business tycoon and bachelor in the Southern Regions, is one of them. Handsome, charming, and extremely wealthy, as often described by the press. In Malka’s short stint in the modeling industry, she is well aware of Adam Shahan and his friends. They all had a reputation.

"Says on the card that he wants to meet me at the Belisarda after dinner," Keiko said. "He left this number to call in case I want to confirm."

Malka suddenly closed the refrigerator door and looked back at Keiko. Food can wait. “We’re not supposed to leave the hotel unless we’re told,” she sternly reminded Keiko. “You know the rules.”

"Then… cover for me," Keiko said, her tone apparently playful. "Besides, we’re not doing anything later."

Malka felt her jaw drop. What, she thought. Intelligent, Keiko is far from at this point. Or maybe just clueless.

Berns had warned the downsides of joining pageants. That if someone is interested in a candidate, there will always be ways to reach her. That interest can form a web if that candidate is not careful.

Since the first week, Malka has been wary. And she is thankful to have survived that far not being sent anything or asked out by anyone.

"What?" Keiko asked. "Are you?"

"I’m not going to answer that," Malka said. "Tempting as it is, we’re supposed to look out for each other. You know I’m sticking by the rules."

Keiko sighed.

Malka paused, tongue in cheek. Big girls can’t be hindered, so she thought. “Okay, I’ll offer you a deal,” she said. “I’ll look the other way. If Madame Pike and the organization find out about this, I can’t answer for you.”

Keiko slumped on her side of the bed, as if thinking.

Malka thought Keiko’s after-dinner date would give her time to relax. But she could not help but worry about what she had said earlier. Her friend was bound to break the rules.

"How come they never ask you out?" Keiko asked.

"Hm…" Malka thought for a moment. She never really thought about why no one has asked her out. But she happened to be one of the frontrunners. It seemed somewhat unusual. "I didn’t pass standards, Keiko," she said, then laughing. It was the only thing she could think of without offending Keiko.

"Standards?"

"My father’s from the west. My mother’s from the east," Malka explained. "It’s in my name. I’m not a full-blooded Easterner unlike you. The Easterner is in trend. Guess… that explains it."

"But… if you were asked out, would you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because the rules say so."

"Even if you are interested?"

By experience, Malka already is playing the waiting game because of the rules she made. And she had no intentions to break any… at least, just yet. “I’d wait,” she answered.

Keiko grabbed her pillow, hugging it. “Ah, could it be… that your waiting for someone?” she asked.

Malka smiled. Seems Keiko is not as clueless as she thought.

"Now, this is interesting!" Keiko said, hugging her pillow tighter.

"It’s not." Malka shook her head. "It’s a long, boring story."

"I won’t tell anyone, you know."

"Let’s just talk about something else."

A moment of silence followed.

"Wait," Keiko said. "What if I offer you a deal?"

Malka kept quiet, still staring at Keiko. She had enough of the rumors spreading about her. She believed Keiko did not start any of the rumors, but she did not need another one. But maybe telling a little bit of something personal will help clear a few things.

"I’ll turn down Adam Shahan now, but you’ll have to tell me even a little bit about your story," Keiko said. "It will help me know more about you. You never really told me much except your family these past weeks we’ve been here." She ripped the card off the bouquet and drew closer to the phone.

Malka was still quiet, thinking over and watching as Keiko dialed the number on the card. Then, she listened.

"Hello?" Keiko greeted over the receiver. "Um… yes, this is Keiko Sakurazawa. May I speak to Mr. Shahan, please? Oh… Then, may I leave a message? Okay. Please tell Mr. Shahan that my parents have arrived from Honouji late this morning, and that I won’t be able to meet him. We’ll see about the schedule. I would prefer if he would after the competition, in case he’ll still be interested. Okay. Okay. Thank you. Bye." She replaced the receiver and smiled back at Malka. "Where were we?"

Keiko drove a hard bargain. But somehow, Malka was willing to consider. “Okay,” she said. “But just to make it clear, this isn’t exactly a love story. It was meant to be a social experiment.”

---    ---    ---

The alarm screen generated the same trouble on and off. Jacey followed strictly what the affected remote facility, Markham Corp., specified via mail thread. But the alarm intermittence has been going on for the last three to four hours that she had been alerted three times by Central Ops. Apart from her section, Central Ops can remotely view the alarm panel from their end, and one of their functions is to notify any uninformed irregularities occurring across the network. 

Weekend shifts are normally lazy and slow, and not much trouble occurs. Today, however, was different. Markham Corp., had its routine brief power outage from its end a few hours earlier. But when power was restored, its connection to Corespan was not.

Jacey waited while sitting on one of the steps of the equipment room’s ladder.  Markham Corp.’s patch location was on top of the third frame from the left, just across from where she was sitting, and she was waiting for further instructions. The latest instruction was for her to wait until Markham Corp.’s support calls her to revert the patch.

Her phone suddenly rings, and the number of Markham Corp.’s support group reflects from the screen.

Jacey picked up and answered. “Hello?”

"Hello," a male voice said from the other end. "Ecker here. Sorry for the long wait. Please release and revert."

"Please hold." Jacey put her phone down and removed the patch cables she placed on Markham’s location. Then, she took the dangling cables on the sides of the item, locking them back. Patch reverted. She turned to the alarm screen mounted on her extreme right.

The intermittence in the alarm screen stopped. Markham’s item is still red. But after a few seconds, the highlight clears.

Jacey picked up her phone. “Alarm’s cleared on local end,” she said.

"Same result here," Ecker confirmed. "Uptime from Markham’s end is 0530H, CMT-3."

"Uptime from Corespan’s end is 1330H, CMT+8," Jacey said. "I’ll notify ops and view traffic. Please do the same. Thanks."

"Will do. Thank you for your usual support."

Jacey hung up and climbed down the ladder. She headed for the blue door on the left, taking the blue card in her coat pocket and tapping it on the door’s panel. The door hissed open. She returned to the second control workstation, unlocking it. She opened the traffic viewer she had earlier configured for Markham Corp. Minimal traffic, but she saw no trouble. She opened the draft tab to confirm the uptime:

To Markham / Corespan Ops:

Alarm has ceased at 1330H, CMT+8. Patch replacement was done on remote end. Alarm duration on local end was 3 hours and 47 minutes. Please confirm.

Thanks,

Jacey

Jacey clicked send. After the mail was sent, she clicked on another tab to continue composing another message.

Then, her phone rings again. This time, a name reflects on the screen: Jordi.

Jordi is the sister of Jacey’s best friend, Jarka. Jacey remembered Jordi had given her a number two or three years ago, but she had almost forgotten about it. She thought that Jordi would be the last of the human race to call her.

Jacey picked up the phone. The message on the screen is almost completed that it can wait. “Hello?”

"Jacey, it’s Jordi," the voice on the other end spoke. "I’m nearing Maddenfield Drive. I’ll pick you up in twenty. Traffic is terrible. I’ll wait for you at the lobby."

"What the…?" Jacey uttered. She had no plans for today. She was supposed to go look for a gift at the mall after shift. This was a surprise.

"Don’t make me wait like the last time," Jordi said. "I hate it when the men stare at me."

"There are no men on the weekend, don’t worry," Jacey assured. "My shift is over in ten. I’ll see you at the lobby by then."

"Okay, bye."

Again, Jacey hung up. What did I just do, she thought. She never went with Jordi without Jarka. Urgent as it was, it was also unusual. She turned to the screen again and continued typing her message:

…If you win, I’ll tell you my name. But you’ll have to come home first, haha. That won’t take long, will it?

Jacey scanned through her message for the last time then clicked “Send.” Here goes, she thought.

Both sides made it clear. It was meant to be a social experiment, not a story that unravels by itself. But time and space have a funny way of building and naming things. Neither of them wanted to call it anything. But even if people seemed to have the rights to labeling what is and what is otherwise, they are not powerful enough to control or change everything at will.

Jacey looked at the synchronized clock above the door. Five minutes. The succeeding shift will be arriving soon. She logged off all her accounts and locked the second control workstation. She gathered her things and placed them in her bag. She tidied up her area and hung her coat on the rack.

3: Two

---    ---    ---

[22:30] <jtrin86> i used to write. but i burned out and ran out of ideas.
[22:31] <sleepyhead99> why? inspiration's everywhere.
[22:31] <jtrin86> maybe that's the problem.
[22:32] <sleepyhead99> or maybe you're in love.
[22:33] <sleepyhead99> i pick up these things in class.
[22:33] <sleepyhead99> when you think about it, it's kind of true.
[22:34] <jtrin86> gullible. are you sure you're a nerd?
[22:34] <sleepyhead99> are you sure you're a geek?
[22:35] * jtrin86 throws book at sleepyhead99.
[22:36] <sleepyhead99> ow! no physical contact! LOL
[22:37] <jtrin86> sorry. LOL
[22:37] <sleepyhead99> but... seriously. are you?
[22:37] <sleepyhead99> in love, i mean.
[22:38] <jtrin86> i wouldn't call it that.
[22:38] <jtrin86> but i am seeing someone.
[22:38] <sleepyhead99> oh...
[22:39] <jtrin86> my turn to ask. are you seeing someone?
[22:40] <sleepyhead99> yeah, just recently.
[22:40] <jtrin86> from school?
[22:40] <sleepyhead99> work.
[22:41] <sleepyhead99> wait. you never told me you've been seeing someone.
[22:41] <jtrin86> it's only been a month. and i'm not really sure about it yet.
[22:42] <sleepyhead99> mmm... i do see your point.

---    ---    ---

Jordi Sandor patiently waited on her seat across the right front window of Clovergate Cafe. She could see Jacey standing outside, still talking to a coworker who had called some minutes earlier. She had been called twice since they arrived. Jordi looked at the time. Jacey had been talking for the last seven minutes, the longest so far. Jordi could not hear anything, but she could tell that it was serious.

Jordi has been called many things since she was little. Princess, Lass, Muse, Goddess, and Gorgeous were some of those names. Current? Foxy. She has been the envy of many girls, then ladies, and now, women of her age. Beautiful, tall, confident, and very intelligent, traits of a woman with a bright and prosperous future, as her sister Jarka would say. Jordi seemed to have everything, including a promising career at STA.

Jacey walked back in and rushed back to her seat in front of Jordi's. "Sorry," she apologized.

"Who was it?" Jordi asked.

"Someone from ops," Jacey answered. "Backlog matching."

"Ops is allowed to have backlogs?"

"They've always had backlogs," Jacey said. "They handle a lot on a daily basis that we try matching the logs before official recording. We're kind of... having a problem with one issue. And we're sorting it out before the monthly meeting."

Jordi could tell from Jacey's tone that she was tired and rather irritated. She invited Jacey on a whim, deciding to pick her up after a weekend meeting at STA's executive office. She hoped they would finally be able to talk. But the calls to Jacey kept ruining the moment.

"Sorry," Jacey apologized again. "They won't call anymore, I promise."

"They'd better not," Jordi said, rather annoyed. She noticed Jacey's half-eaten slice of dark chocolate cake. "It's bad to make food wait."

"I'm on it," Jacey said, smiling and picking up her fork.

Jordi picked up hers and poked the opposite side of Jacey's cake. She did not order food. But waiting for Jacey made her hungry.

Jordi remembered hating Jacey first when they were younger. To her, Jacey was mysterious, different, and despondent that she was unfit to be her sister's friend. But she admitted admiring Jacey's effortless brilliance as a student and as an artist. Jacey rarely excelled at anything, but when she did, she was often the surprise. Jordi wanted to have that character. But Jacey has always been Jacey. Though her character has changed throughout, she has been a tough act to follow.

"Where's Jarka?"

"Out of town convention. I told her I was going to see you," Jordi found Jacey's cake bitter. She wondered how Jacey found the taste for it. But then, she reached again.

"And?"

"She told me not to rough you up," Jordi said, laughing.

"Oh..." Jacey chuckled. She put her fork down and sipped her tea. "Will you?"

Jordi shook her head. "We're not kids anymore."

"I thought you still hated me," Jacey joked.

"I grew out of it some months after meeting you," Jordi said, rather embarrassed. She did not think Jacey would know. She hid that secret from everyone. "Wait, how did you..."

"I could just tell," Jacey answered before Jordi could finish. "I wasn't well-liked, you know that. Well, I never was. I learned to take hints, I guess." Then, she laughed.

Jordi did not think it was funny. Not everyone in school liked Jacey, she could recall. She was guilty of it at some point. "How do you do it?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"Take it as it is."

"I just stopped trying," Jacey explained. "You know, it wasn't as easy as it is now. Sometimes, I'd ask why. I envied people who seemed to carry it out so well. But everyone is different. I needed to deal with that and..." Her voice seemed to trail. But she fell quiet, lifting her mug to sip her tea.

"And...?"

"You know, move on..." Jacey moved to take the bite-sized piece of cake left. But Jordi reached in and sliced it in half.

"Piet said there's a park not far from here," Jordi said, smiling. "If it's fine with you, I'd like to see it." Then, she ate her share of the cake.

"Sure. I don't have work tomorrow."

"Okay then." Jordi suddenly heard a beep coming from her bag. She opened her bag and took her phone out. Edd, one of her coworkers had sent her a message. Jordi opened it and read:

From: Hazan, Edd

Jordi, the Kohler-Bays deal has been parked. Still waiting for details on the next steps. Also informed of talks about a new account. Boss H. will be assigning you to it. Will keep you informed. Thanks.

Jordi stared at the message. New account? Her job description did not include handling accounts.

"Something wrong?" Jacey asked.

"No," Jordi answered. "Nothing." She closed the message and locked her phone.

---    ---    ---

Malka sat patiently with Berns and Raya in Dressing Room CYM-C while waiting for the next scheduled photo shoot. Afternoons at Golas Island were noted to be harsh and unpredictable this time of year. Wet weather, it would rain heavily. Dry weather, the heat from the sun would be too unbearable. The organizers of the competition had initially arranged the photo shoot to be done earlier in the day to avoid the afternoon weather, but the photographer's prior commitment has delayed the shoot for hours.

"It's already raining outside," Berns said, peeping through the blinds. "Do you think they'd cancel?"

"I'd checked earlier," Raya said, reading and tapping on her tablet. "In case of downpour, they'll be moving the shoot at the fiftieth."

Bernhardt "Berns" Maxence and Raya Edouard have been Malka's parent figures for the past eight years. When Malka's parents divorced during her starting days as a model, her mother decided to leave the country, opting to work in Nova Venea, a prosperous territory in the far west. She and her siblings had been left in the care of her mother's relatives, who live in Bantroy, a nearby province outside the Agavean Region. The competitive modeling industry happened to be in Agave, and Malka was advised to leave Bantroy if she wanted to focus on her career. Malka's mother initially hired Berns to be Malka's stylist and Raya as Malka's road manager. But since Malka was a minor, she was entrusted to them.

Malka did not disappoint them. In the absence of parents, she matured into a fine woman.

"The fiftieth?" Malka echoed. The fiftieth floor, the topmost floor of the hotel, is the indoor pool. It was beautifully done, inspired by the beautiful Golas Island beach and covered by a tempered glass dome. Because of the design and setting, it is often mistaken for an outdoor pool area with white sand, trees, and cabanas.

Malka’s first memory of the fiftieth was not very pleasant. She and some of her friends in the competition ran into trouble while taking a peek of the indoor pool. Some men were forced out of the hotel because of the incident.

"Seen your swimsuit yet?" Raya asked.

"Yes. It's in the box," Malka answered, referring to the box next to Berns. It was different from the swimsuit she modeled on opening night. Yes, she has seen it, the dreaded swimsuit. Malka hated wearing swimsuits. She wondered the need for the swimsuit category in all pageants. It was unnecessary. But she joined La Reine. She needed to wear one and flaunt it like the rest of the candidates.

"Today, swimsuit. Visits to Aegalia's other orphanages, nursing homes, and animal shelters follow for the next three days. Then, the evening gown shoot and catwalk event. Then for the next three days, your last field trips. A day's rest, so you can spend time with family. Then, coronation night," Raya enumerated Malka's schedule. "Nervous?"

"A little bit," Malka admitted. "But no matter what happens, I'll be fine with it. I got this far. I just..." She trailed a bit. "I just want to go home, I guess." She has been away for more than a month. She wanted to go home after everything. It did not matter if she would win.

Berns tapped Malka's shoulder. "You've made it this far, princess," he said. "We've always been proud of you. Where the road takes you, we'll always be here."

"Thanks, Pops," Malka said, smiling. She has always been grateful for Berns' and Raya's presence.

"Malka, I just received word from Jerry," Raya suddenly said while reading something from her tablet. She was referring to Malka's publicist Jerry Sanga. "Press reporters seem to be feasting on rumors of your love affair."

"What?" Malka was surprised at the news. "Love affair?" She did not have any as far as she knew. She did not know where the stories started or how these even started.

Phallastine’s entertainment press has been widely noted to be natural fairytale weavers. The stories were either exaggerated or untrue. International celebrities dreaded them the most.

"Malka, I've also been asked by reporters about Dr. Liu," Berns said. "It's been on the news for months."

"That's not true," Malka said. "We're friends. We hung out a few times. What happened?" Dr. Brian Liu is a known writer and life coach in Phallastine. He is known for his appearances in self-help programs on television. He and Malka met during a gala several months ago. They became close friends overtime. The rumors must have started there. Malka admits not being well-received by most of the local entertainment press because of her privacy and discretion. And because she rarely read entertainment articles, she was unaware of the rumors about her and Dr. Liu. It seemed the press knew her life better than she did.

"I've heard from a lot of sources that he really likes you," Berns said.

"Same here," Raya said. "He's been open about it, which is surprising that we haven't heard it from you. It used to be off the record, but... in his recent interviews in the major networks, he’s admitted you’re his special someone."

"What? He should have told me first!" Malka complained, annoyed by what she just heard. She did not need to hear it from others. Dr. Liu could have at least told her firsthand. "He knows the press doesn't like me that much. This is very embarrassing. Once we're home, I don't think I'll hear the end of it."

“Not to sound evil,” Raya said. “But methinks the press is building Dr. Liu at your expense. You know how the entertainment business works. The recipe to instant fame can include using a celebrity or two. Jerry heard from a friend of Dr. Liu’s agent that in order to boost his celebrity status, he needs the attention. His popularity has gone up. Endorsements, projects, you name it.”

“At my expense?” Malka asked. “Of all people…” She thought of Dr. Liu as an intelligent individual who would yield or sell out to consumerist television. She was wrong.

“Feeding fame too much can cause it to turn parasitic. It feeds on the brain first before taking on the rest of you...”

Malka recalled those words.

"Well," Raya said. "We can always clear it up when we arrive home."

"You know how the press thinks," Berns reasoned, voice very stern. "Malka denies it, the press release more nonsense. Malka confirms it, the press release more nonsense. If there’s anyone who needs to clear this mess, it’s Dr. Liu. He started the tale-spinning by answering those questions."

“I can just talk to Dr. Liu once we arrive home,” Malka suggested, trying to think clearly. “You know the press…”

“I think… why the press managed to make tales out of you and Dr. Liu is the fact that you’re here,” Berns said. “You’re not allowed to talk to the press while you’re competing. If you didn’t compete, would the press have noticed? Would Dr. Liu have made all those interviews, publicly stating that you’re someone special and that you’ve been dating? I don’t think so. If Dr. Liu is man enough, he wouldn’t be hiding behind media curtains. It’s making him less and less of what he is. Let him clear it.”

"So… I don’t have to do anything?" Malka asked.

The two kept quiet, as if thinking.

“Well…” Raya suggested. “Once Dr. Liu clears everything, maybe you can prepare yourself in telling the truth.”

Malka suddenly kept quiet. The truth... Raya was right. Telling the truth will certainly end the rumors. But she feared it will stir more controversy.  Old stories of her that once created noise might even be revived. Those stories, unlike hers and Dr. Liu's, had some truth to it. As a role model, she needed to protect her image. It was easier said than done.

A knock suddenly disturbs their conversation.

Berns opened the door. “Good afternoon,” he greeted.

"Good afternoon, Pops," Keiko and Belle Guillory, St. Martin de Masson's candidate, greeted back. The two shared the dressing room with Malka.

"Is Malka inside?" Belle asked.

Berns showed the two in.

"Malka," Raya said. "Berns and I need to go back to the room. If you need anything, call us. Your phone is in the bag. Have fun, sweets." She lowered to hug Malka. “I’ll send you the interview links later,” she then whispered.

"Sure thing, Momsy," Malka said, hugging back and glancing at Berns. She slightly waved. "Pops..."

Berns waved back, waiting by the door as Raya approached. Then, the two left.

"So..." Keiko said, smiling. "You ready?"

"It depends..." Malka replied, discreetly observing her friends. Swimsuit for them, not for me, she thought. Keiko and Belle had just about enough curves to flaunt. She felt she did not. It made her uneasy.

"The photographer will arrive soon," Belle said in her thick Massonic accent. "We need to go to Floor 50 and prepare. Everything is set."

"Let's pack up and head to the pool area," Keiko said as she packed her things.

Malka stood and started gathering her things. Fiftieth. The indoor pool. Great. Keiko and Belle seemed so eager despite their unfortunate encounter a few weeks earlier.

"Hey, have you heard?" Keiko asked the other two.

"About?" Malka asked back while fixing her swimsuit's box.

"Ms. Malligan was called by Madame Pike yesterday," Keiko answered, referring to Malligan's candidate.

"Malligan? You mean, Frieda?" Belle said. "What happened?"

"I already learned from Alyssa and Yannis during breakfast," Malka said. "They saw Frieda leave the hotel last night with a male escort. The hotel authorities must've informed Madame Pike about it."

"Someone must have contacted Frieda," Belle suggested. "I received a call from Adam Shahan's secretary two days ago. I turned the offer down. I cannot possibly deal with such things. I carry St. Martin de Masson's name. I have no plans of staining it."

Keiko and Malka looked at each other.

"What?" Belle asked.

"Oh... nothing," Keiko answered, chuckling. "I'm done. Ready?"

The other two nodded.

"I need to meet up with Yannis first," Belle said. "She is still in our suite. You go on ahead." Then, she opened the door.

"Okay, see you at the pool area," Malka said, lifting her things, and watched Belle head out.

"Ah... Malka?" Keiko called from behind.

"Hm?" Malka turned.

"Thanks," Keiko said. "I owe you one."

Malka smiled back. "Let's go."

---    ---    ---

Wyndham Park has been known for its size, facilities, and its view of sunrise and sunset. It was designed some decades ago by foreign engineer, Gregor Wyndham. It was at first, meant to be a learning playground for children. But midway of construction, Wyndham decided to turn the bayside lot into a recreational park. The park had been a popular destination of families, friends, and couples until it was closed for a rehabilitation project funded by the East Abellan local government and some unnamed private institutions. It was reopened to the public again nine months ago, roughly three years after it was closed.

Jacey sat on her usual spot, on the bench by the fountain, directly where the view of the reddish sun was. She has been a visitor of Wyndham since it reopened. She would drop by on dayshifts before rest days, strolling, taking photos, or sitting on her usual spot to watch the sun set or to think.

The orange sky, the flying birds, the faint voices of children playing, and the sound of docking ships made her relax that she felt a little sleepy. It has been a long day. Even the sun needed to set, she recalled wise words. She looked at the time. Then, she searched around for Jordi. Jordi had left the bench a few minutes ago to answer an important call. Jacey found her near the old bayside wall, still talking on the phone.

She and Jordi did not start as friends, as far as she remembered. She met Jordi through an old classmate at St. Oliver Gael Institute when she was ten. Jordi was nine, then "princess" of her class. With Jarka, they were part of "Société de Arts," the boarding school's official arts club. Jacey was recommended into the club by teachers who were impressed with her works. Recommendations, at the time, would exempt a student from the club's cutthroat qualifiers. News of her recommendation disappointed some club members. One of them was Jordi. While Jacey built her longstanding friendship with Jarka, she unintentionally built an awkward relationship with Jordi. Jordi's dislike for her was subtle and silent. Jacey felt it but never asked. She assumed it was coming from somewhere but cared less of it. The SDA recognized her skills. At the time, it was more important to her than impressing people and getting along with them.

"Tired?"

Jacey looked up. Jordi had returned. "No. I was... just trying to loosen up." To this day, she still wonders how Jordi changed. She never imagined talking to her beyond old boarding school days, much less, spending time with her without Jarka.

Jordi sat next to Jacey again. "Boss H. wants me to go to Gavan next week to meet some people."

"Gavan? Really far, don't you think?" Jacey said. Gavan is one of the mountainous provinces of Phallastine, located in the far south. It was a turbulent three-hour flight from Sant Marcelle. She had been deployed there twice for planning and inspection.

"He wants me to assist the business teams there," Jordi explained. "Gavan isn't exactly STA-dominated."

"So I heard."

"Such a peaceful place, isn't it?" Jordi commented, looking around.

"I come here to unwind," Jacey said, shifting her head to the dimming sky. "Adult life can be consuming."

"True," Jordi agreed. "We can do anything we want now. But we can't find the time for it."

Jacey laughed. "I'd always tell Jarka how much I hate growing up. She does, too."

"I never knew about that," Jordi said. "But you two can pass as teens. Not quite what you both wished for, but it'll do. The world needs people like us." She paused a bit. Then, she started laughing.

"Since when did you become a workaholic?" Jacey asked, still laughing.

Jordi cleared her throat, chuckling a bit before turning a little serious. "When Evert and I broke up, I became... really depressed. Three years is still three years, and he was my first. I needed a change of everything. I left my old job. I sold my car and some valuable things he gave me to raise funds, supposedly to work overseas. But an old friend recommended me to STA while I was in Dongsuk. The post allowed me to travel a lot, and it required a lot of conceptualizing. After some thought, I decided to take it. Though I can't say I have 100%, I was able to recover."

Jacey knew of that story, as Jarka had told her over a year ago about Evert and Jordi's breakup. Jordi did not take it well and suffered depression. One of Jacey and Jarka's good friends in Dongsuk, Soon Haneul, decided to take her until she recovered. She would update Jacey and Jarka of Jordi's progress via private blog and chat. After recovery, she returned to Phallastine with Jordi.

"I owe Haneul a lot," Jordi continued. "She was there when I'd have those... episodes... She was patient, determined... She would check even while she was at work."

"Haneul requested to be transferred back here because of you," Jacey said. "She's enjoying it so far. The people here are warmer, she'd tell me."

"Haneul's a workaholic, just like you and Jarka," Jordi said, laughing. "I had little faith she'd help me recover. But she did."

"Haneul has been through so much," Jacey said. "Being a workaholic isn't always by choice." She knew this because she and Haneul shared the same experience. Coping never was her strongest suit. She needed distractions.

A pause followed as the two looked to the sky.

Jordi then looked at Jacey, then glanced at the ground. "You... never told us about Aydan."

Aydan... Jacey sighed. It has only been months since she had fully recovered. She never bothered telling anyone of their story, what had been and why it fell apart.

"I asked Jarka and Haneul about it," Jordi said. "I thought you were okay."

"I was... then I wasn't," Jacey said, tilting her head down. "Like you and Evert, Aydan and I, we went through a lot. When Aydan gave up on us, I felt like crashing. And... I did. It wasn't easy. I was up and down all the time. I hated it. I wanted it to stop, but I didn't know how. I didn't know where to start. I was just... lost."

"I understand."

"You know... I don't think anyone fully recovers from heartbreak. We might get past it but not exactly over it. I don't have those feelings for Aydan anymore, but... the fear of ending up the same way, no matter how many times I convince myself, I know it's in here somewhere..."

Jordi reached for Jacey's hand.

Jacey felt a firm grasp. She glanced at Jordi. Then, she shifted to the setting sun at the horizon.

The sky slowly transitioned into darkness. The park lights flickered on.

Jacey's phone suddenly rings. Jacey slipped from Jordi's grasp and reached into her pocket to take out her phone. The call was from Ellis. Ellis had called earlier in the day using a different number, but the reception was so horrible that she promised to call once her personal phone has been returned. Jacey had been waiting for a return call. She looked at Jordi, gesturing that she needed to answer the call.

"Go ahead," Jordi gestured, smiling. "I'll wait for you here."

"Okay." Jacey stood from the bench. "Hello?" she answered the phone while approaching the empty bench next to their spot. Then, she sat down.

---    ---    ---

"I... uh... just wanted to... check on you."

Malka had the tent to herself. Keiko, Belle, and Yannis Conte-Boipelo, Verdalay's candidate, were all outside watching and waiting for their respective turns. The assigned stylist and assistant were also outside, prepared in case the three candidates-in-waiting needed touch-ups.

Malka waited in the tent, still in her robe but readied prior by the stylist and assistant. Like always, she is stunningly beautiful. But her smile was missing. Aside from the issues left in Phallastine, the category has been making her somewhat uneasy.

Swimsuits never were her strongest. Pageant after pageant, still the experiences seem useless.

Malka rotated her chair so she could look away from the mirror, listening to the voice on the other line. It was her friend, Trist.

"Check on me?" Trist said. "I don't really... need any checking. Maybe Ellis needs to talk with someone older?"

"Come on, you're not that old!" Malka said, breaking into  a smile. Trist seldom calls her Ellis. She fondly calls Malka "Gran," explaining that she grew up too tall to reach and too fast that she sometimes thought like an old lady. Malka thought up the name "Prickle" for Trist but rarely called her that. She would forget.

Trist laughed from the other end. "Are you nervous?" she asked.

Malka relaxed a bit on her chair. This was the reason behind "Prickle." Trist had these spot-on tendencies that it could sometimes sting. "It's the swimsuit..." she said.

"Swimsuit? I thought you hated that." Trist has been aware of Malka's career as a model but not about La Reine. Malka only told Trist that she was competing for a model's title overseas.

"Yeah... But I need to, like the rest. I'm looking at the others and they seem so confident and so..." Malka paused, thinking of the right word. "Abundant?"

"You know, personality makes up for what lacks. And I don't really find curvy that sexy."

"Really?" Malka chuckled.

"Yeah... It's a... personal thing."

"You be the judge when I meet up with you."

"Win first," Trist said, as if teasing.

"Aw... no fair! That's a tall order!"

Trist laughed. "I'm kidding. I've been telling you I will, right? Just..."

"Find time?" Malka said before Trist could continue. Meeting in person is under physical contact, which was initially against the rules they had mutually set. The social experiment had long been over. Six years and counting is six years and counting.  Malka thought about dissolving the rules. But when she did, meeting became a luxury. If she won La Reine, it meant living in a fortress far from Trist's reach. "I want to... you know... We have a lot to talk about."

"I'm sure you will. There's always time. Not really waiting, but looking forward. Will have to warn you again, though. I'm hideous."

"Six years, and you think that still scares me," Malka said, laughing. Fact is, it never did.

Keiko suddenly peeps her head into the tent. "Oi, you're almost up. Franz and Ferne need you outside a few minutes," she called. "Yannis is almost done."

---    ---    ---

The evening had fallen on Wyndham Park. "Evenings are more colorful at Wyndham," as it was once said. The bright and colorful lights brought life to it. The sound of soft, classical music could be heard from the speaker system. This music, the fountain would dance to.

Jordi observed the park surroundings as it slowly became populated by lovers. It was a weekend night, a night when more of them come to the park. She looked to her side, to the other bench where Jacey sat, still talking on the phone. From gestures, it seemed to Jordi that Jacey was talking to someone special. The usually-formal Jacey seemed casual, her smile different from how she would at Jordi. It made Jordi curious but at the same time, uncomfortable.

"If it was up to me, I wouldn't. But if you're really bent on it, I'll look the other way and pretend either you didn't say anything or you're not my sister..."

"Good luck," she uttered softly, completing her sister's words. There was a reason she went on a whim in the first place. And she was not about to give up. Not just yet. She put on her messenger bag and stood, walking the other bench.

---    ---    ---

"Do your best, okay? Don't forget to have fun," Jacey said,  preoccupied and unmindful of the rest of the world around her. "I miss you too, Gran. See you soon." She hung up, wiping the phone's screen before slipping it into her knapsack's sleeve.

Ellis promised to call as often as possible before leaving the country a month and some weeks ago to compete. She would call at least once everyday. Jacey kept her phone close to her just in case. She saw it as the least she could do to make her presence felt to an unseen friend who has remained constant, even at her lowest and weakest.

"Done?"

A shadow hovered over Jacey, prompting her to look up. It was Jordi. "Yeah..."

"Let's go," Jordi said, reaching and offering her hand to Jacey.