Free Feedback by Mira Grant

naturalization—and since my commitment was a part of my record, I’d been on pins and needles until our applications were filed.
    â€œWe didn’t get it.” Mat looked so morose that it was all I could do not to bust out laughing. It’s not nice to mock the pain of others, but the fact was, none of us had been banking on this opportunity the way Mat had. Sure, it would have been nice to spend a few months basking in the limelight of someone else’s problem, and the ratings would have been incredible—we could have done all the house renovations we had to keep putting off—but we’d never really been in the running. An Irish expatriate, a black man, a lesbian, and a techie who didn’t want to be nailed down to a gender? Not the sort of thing that says “we’ll sell you to the masses” to a political campaign.
    â€œSorry, Mat,” said Ben. “Any idea who did?”
    â€œGive me a second.” Mat settled in to type, ignoring the soup cooling by their elbow. I calmly leaned across the table and pulled the bowl to me. Audrey looked amused. I shrugged. If Mat wasn’t going to eat it, there was no sense letting it go to waste.
    â€œYou know, it’s probably good that we didn’t get it,” said Audrey. “I mean, we would have been following the
Republicans
. Can you imagine them trying to deal with us? It would have been a disaster of epic proportions.”
    â€œDisasters make the news,” said Ben.
    â€œHow many Irwins are at this table?” asked Audrey. “One. One person at this table intentionally and voluntarily puts herself in danger for the amusement of others. I don’t want to
be
the news, ever. I want to live a long, happy, peaceful life, figure out how to oil paint so that it doesn’t look like dog poop on canvas, and maybe see China one day. Becoming the news gets you dead.”
    â€œOr it gets you famous,” said Mat. “Okay, get this. The winning team hasn’t been announced yet, but Georgette Meissonier just cancelled her attendance at all local events and locked down her group’s firewall, and Georgia Mason has resigned from Bridge Supporters.”
    I straightened. Shaun and Georgia Mason were journalistic royalty. Their parents had survived the Rising and become two of the world’s first fully accredited Internet journalists. Stacy Mason had virtually written the book on what it was to be an Irwin, and her son had followed in her footsteps. No one took a risk like Shaun Mason. No one took a hit like him, either. We’d been on a few of the same group expeditions. I’d flirted with him because the cameras loved it, and he’d flirted back with exactly the same level of interest—the sort of thing that turned off like a switch had been flipped as soon as the cameras stopped rolling. He was a consummate professional, and everyone who knew his sister said she was even colder and more wrapped up in her work.
    â€œIf they were submitting an application, why did we bother?” I asked. “They probably got it on the strength of their family name alone. They didn’t have to
try
.”
    â€œCome on, Ash. They’re people like anybody else. I bet they have the same problems we do.” Audrey leaned over to rest her head against my shoulder. Her shampoo smelled like apples. “This would have been a great opportunity for anybody. You can’t blame them for trying.”
    â€œI can blame them for anything I like, but since I didn’t want this opportunity anyway, I am choosing to take the high ground and say I hope they will have a wonderful time,” I said primly.
    Audrey laughed. “Good girl.”
    â€œPlease, stop,” said Mat, in a monotone. “The cuteness is toxic and will destroy me. Stop, stop, stop.” They looked up from the laptop and frowned. “Wait, where did my soup go?”
    This time, Audrey wasn’t the only one