Unexpected Encounter

Chapter XI: Laughter and Rage

VP and BP Standings
Claire - 23 VP - 2000 BP
Dawn - 3 VP - 2000 BP
Sam - 2 VP - 2500 BP
Emi - 1 VP - 2000 BP
Erin - 0 VP - 1000 BP
Liesa - 0 VP - 2000 BP
Marissa - 0 VP - 1500 BP
Norah - 0 VP - 1000 BP

Andy spent most of the morning pacing the halls, not because he had anywhere urgent to be, but because the hotel never let him feel truly at rest. The geometry of the place was impossible—endless corridors that doubled back on themselves, plush carpets over what felt like solid stone, windows that should have looked out on the same view but never did. He was trying to find the gym, clear his head. The night with Claire had been wonderful, and he was still wondering how that slip of a girl had succeeded, without even speaking, to slide under his defenses and under the clouds of their history. She had done so effortlessly, and he found himself grinning like an idiot. But now he needed to be alone with his thoughts for five minutes.

He rounded a corner and nearly bowled straight into Norah and Dawn. The collision was not, strictly speaking, his fault. Norah walked with her head down, arms folded beneath her swollen chest. Dawn trailed just behind, hands clasped at her stomach, lost in thought. At the moment of impact, all three froze: Andy, mid-step, with Dawn’s sneaker half on his foot, and Norah pinioned between them like a hostage in her own body, her breasts pressed against Andy’s arm.

“Watch it,” Norah snapped, recoiling with enough **** to nearly topple backward. She crossed her arms instantly—reflex, but also a shield, though her forearms barely covered half of what needed covering. Andy tried not to stare, but the transformation had taken her from “athletic” to “animated porn star” in less than twenty seconds, and the sight of her struggling to find a comfortable angle was both tragic and, in some unfair corner of his brain, a little bit funny.

“Sorry,” he said, moving back. “I wasn’t—”

She cut him off with a glare. “I bet you weren’t. Jesus, can you try to warn someone next time before you barrel into them like a linebacker?”

Dawn, ever the mediator, moved between them with a quickness that bordered on supernatural. “It was my fault, Norah. I should have been looking where I was going.”

Norah ignored her, lips thinning as she leveled her gaze at Andy. “Do you get off on this? Wanted to cop a feel? Is that what this is? ‘Let’s see how fast we can turn the women into erotic props for your enjoyment?’”

Andy could feel his ears going red. “That’s not—” he started, then let the sentence die. Norah stood, chest heaving, breathing hard through her nose as if even the oxygen here was tailored to offend. Every subtle movement seemed to pain her; the straps of her sports bra were biting into her shoulders, and even though the rest of her outfit was baggy and loose, nothing could disguise the literal and figurative weight she now carried.

Dawn’s hands twitched, and she reached instinctively for Andy’s sleeve. She brushed a bit of invisible lint off the cuff, then quickly smoothed the lapel of his shirt. He tried to step away, but she followed, her urge to serve plainly at war with her sense of propriety. After a few seconds of adjusting, she realized what she was doing and blushed, withdrawing her hands.

Norah gave a sharp, bitter laugh. “There it is again. The magic touch. I wonder if you can even help yourself, or if you just like being the center of gravity for every girl here.”

Andy looked down. “I’m not trying to—” but again, nothing he said would land right. He hated this about himself. Always trying to make it better, never able to actually fix anything.

Dawn tried again, softer. “Norah, you okay? Maybe you want to sit down?”

Norah shot her a look, then softened a half-degree. “No, I’m not okay, Dawn. None of this is okay. You’re all acting like this is a game, but some of us don’t get to opt out when it gets too weird.”

Dawn nodded. “I know it’s hard. But maybe if you talk about it, it’ll be less—”

“—humiliating?” Norah finished, deadpan. She looked down at her chest, then at Andy. “Maybe if you had to walk around with three inches shaved off your height, and with bowling balls sewn to your sternum, you’d understand.”

Andy, **** to redirect the target, said, “If it helps, you’re handling it way better than I would.”

Norah’s face pinched. “Right, that’s why you let Arabella walk all over you every time.”

Dawn squeezed her eyes shut. “Let’s not fight, please? We’re all stuck here. Maybe we could just—”

“—Pretend it’s not happening?” Norah said, sarcastic. “Or maybe we could call it what it is: a slow-motion train wreck, and we’re all passengers.” She glared at Andy. “Look, I know this isn’t your fault. But it’s not not your fault, either. All of us poor peons are here because of you. The sooner you figure out what Arabella actually wants, the sooner the rest of us can go home.”

Andy took a step back, hands up. “You’re right. I’ll try harder.”

Norah blinked, as if surprised by his surrender. She opened her mouth to say something, then stopped. The anger drained from her face, leaving only fatigue.

Dawn, ever the peacemaker, smiled with brittle brightness. “You know what helps me when I’m stressed? Tea. I can make some, if you want. Or coffee?”

Norah shrugged. “Knock yourself out.”

Dawn nodded, then looked at Andy. “Do you want some too, Andy? Or would you prefer I take you to the gym?”

He smiled. “Tea would be good. Thanks, Dawn.”

She darted off, shoes barely making a sound on the carpet. Andy and Norah stood in silence for a minute, not looking at each other.

Eventually, Norah spoke, voice flat. “If you’re waiting for me to apologize, don’t.”

Andy shook his head. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She looked up, then away, then let out a long breath. “You know, I used to respect you. Before all this. Back when you actually stood for something.”

Andy’s gut twisted. “Yeah,” he said lamely.

She huffed, not quite a laugh, and for a second, he saw the old Norah—sharp, uncompromising, always a step ahead of the rest of the world.

When Dawn returned, tea in hand, the tension had cooled, if only by a fraction. Norah took her mug, cradling it like a life preserver, and Dawn offered Andy his with both hands, as if it were a precious artifact.

They stood, sipping, none of them speaking for a while.

The next time Andy looked at Norah, she didn’t seem quite so ready to bite his head off. Instead, she watched him over the rim of her cup, suspicion and something like curiosity mingling in her eyes.

The only sound was the faint hush of the central air and the periodic, muted slurp as one of them remembered to drink. Norah held her cup in both hands, fingers clenched so tightly that her knuckles were white. Her back was pressed to the wall, posture rigid, as if expecting the corridor to collapse on her at any moment. Andy stood opposite, mug cradled at his chest, trying to find something—anything—to say that wouldn’t make things worse.

Dawn kept glancing between them, her gaze anxious and apologetic, like she wanted to offer herself as a buffer but had realized (possibly for the first time) that some gaps were unbridgeable even by the best intentioned of mediators.

Andy cleared his throat. “Norah, I—” He caught himself, changed course. “This is probably the last thing you want to hear, but if I could fix it, I would. I’m not sure what Arabella’s endgame is, but she doesn’t care about what we want.”

Norah’s mouth twisted, skepticism incarnate. “That’s generous, coming from you. But if you really wanted to help, you’d at least try to understand what it’s like.”

He nodded, then looked at her straight-on. “Okay. So tell me.”

Norah blinked, not expecting that. She shifted her weight, arms unconsciously coming up again to shield her chest. She looked down, then up, then let the silence stretch so thin it was about to snap.

She finally said, “It’s not just the size, the shape. It’s the attention. The stares, the way every movement feels like I’m a punchline in a bad joke.” She looked at Andy, and for once her expression wasn’t hostile, just tired. “You ever spend a day knowing everyone is looking at you, but not seeing you?”

He shook his head. “No. Not like that.”

She shrugged. “Didn’t think so. But you could try harder not to look so guilty about it.”

He laughed—just a little, not mocking. “I’m trying to figure out the boundaries. I don’t want to treat it like it’s normal, but I also don’t want to act like it’s a disease.”

Norah’s lips curled, grudging respect. “That’s… better than most.”

Dawn, standing off to the side, watched with growing discomfort. She’d poured herself a cup but hadn’t drunk a sip; she just clutched the handle like a lifeline. Her compulsion to intervene to help Andy get comfortable warred with her sense that this wasn’t her fight.

Andy set his tea down on the thin ledge of a hallway table. There was something that needed to be said. “Norah, I’m sorry about that time. The boardroom thing.” He rubbed his thumb along the mug, not meeting her eyes. “I shouldn’t have called you out in front of the team. I thought I was being constructive, but really, I had not been able to speak with you beforehand, and I was just trying to make myself look smart.”

Norah snorted. “I already knew that. I just wanted to hear you admit it.” She paused, searching his face. “You were always my favorite speaker. Even after you shredded me in front of everyone.”

This time, Andy was the one who looked away. “I didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do,” she said, voice softening a touch.

Dawn edged closer, compelled to tidy up the aftermath even if it wasn’t hers. “If it helps, I think everyone here is struggling. Not just you.” She offered the sentiment with a hopeful tilt of the head, but Andy saw that her hands were trembling, as if even being this honest cost her something.

Norah smiled, brief but real. “Thanks, Dawn. But you don’t have to fix me.”

Dawn nodded, stepping back. “Of course. I’ll, um, make sure the lounge is ready if you need to chill out.”

She vanished down the hallway, shoes squeaking on the marble. For a while, Andy and Norah just stood, the awkwardness evolving into something closer to mutual tolerance.

Andy broke the silence. “If you want, I can talk to Arabella. Maybe there’s a way to change the transformation. Or at least take some of the pressure off.”

Norah’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

He raised his hands. “Just saying I’ll try. That’s all.”

She watched him for a beat, then nodded. “That’s all anyone can do, I guess.”

They finished their tea, not friends, but not entirely enemies.