What next?

6- The time we took an involuntary driver's test

"Sold!"

***

Polite applause erupted from the linoleum bleachers. I was vaguely aware of hands pushing me back towards the backstage area, but I was busy registering that this was actually happening. All I saw were hundreds of hands clapping together in darkness, framed by white light. The kind of scene I had seen dozens of times onstage for dance, except this time my heart was racing for a very different reason.

Oops. I may hold some responsibility for us being sold, but hey, we would have anyway and it was mainly Cruise's fault. Oak was definitely going to put me in a choke hold for this. And, as a bonus, everyone else would probably sit on top of me.

The scene disappeared, applause fading. We were backstage again. It was a black paneled room I hadn't noticed before, with stairs leading down to the salon and a hallway going in the direction of the bleachers. It was one of those times where I was living in the fantasy world of my head, because reality was being stupid. I could tell we were being ushered down the hallway, and that the group of six mutts behind me were trying to ram their guards into the walls. I was busy debating whether this was cool or not. There were so many books and movies I had read and seen, and now we could be in one instead of boring school. Downside: we were sentenced to Australia to do who knows what.

The hallway opened up to a part of the mall that was familiar. Our reflections were visible in the dark windows of stores. Five brunettes and a blonde. There were two guards on everyone except me (what a shock), along with one man holding a clipboard and another walking up the stairs from the bleachers.

The voice of an over enthusiastic business man made its way into my glazed-over state.

"That's quite the hefty purchase you made Mr. Martin!"

"Wh- oh, yeah." The man coming from up the stairs looked caught off guard. "Mate, you have no idea how badly my country is in need of defending."

Who I figured was the Australian wore a suit that seemed too big for him, while the clipboard guy wore a crisp black and white one. Our new owner's suit was so baggy you couldn't see his form at all.

"Lovely. Will you be signing for Mr. Nguyen?" the bald man with clipboard asked, grinning.

The Australian, or Mr. Martin, hesitated before answering. He looked nervous, and for some reason he seemed familiar.

"For sure. Hopefully he'll get over that nasty cold before the next auction!" His voice was shaking. So was his hand. It was as if he had forgotten his own signature.

"The government of Alberta appreciates his participation! Also, Mr. Martin, will you be needing your purchases to be escorted?" The business man inquired while holding the clipboard for his latest customer.

"Er... No I'll be fine. These ankle-biters are no match for the men I have waiting at the doors upstairs. If ya don't mind stringing 'em together though so they're easier to tow, I'll be on my way." Mr. Martin said. He stood up, done signing now, and light cast shadows across his face. His head was decorated by a fedora and his face by stubble.

"Bastard doesn't even shave..." Cross muttered to Piper. She snickered, drawing the attention of jumpy Mr. Martin.

"Hey, would you mind tying that one up in the front?" He asked, eyeing Cross with a look that said I've got something special for you.

The guards were immediately tying our wrists together, following the nod of the clipboard man. Not again. Those damn plastic ties hurt. Obviously some of group felt more strongly about this fact than I did, Piper, Cross and Oak lashing out. Cruise resisted too, though his attempts seemed more like body-checking. Hockey boy, I guessed. I wouldn't be surprised considering I had only met two Albertan guys who had never played hockey.