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and which are just their widely diverse lives. They’ll never see the cameras, and we’ve got cameras everywhere. Then you text us your vote on what
you
think they’ll do in situations far edgier than buying ice cream.”
    “Each week,” the girl said, “seven participants, five possible responses, seventy-eight thousand one hundred twenty-five chances to get it completely right. Way better odds than the lottery! And if you’re one of those that get it right within the first two hours after the show ends, you split five million dollars with the other winners.”
    The photos on the wall cycled faster and faster, until one face blurred into the next. The music rose to deafening levels, eerie and menacing. The title came up in scarlet:
    WHO KNOWS PEOPLE, BABY—YOU?
     
    James Taunton shifted in his chair.
    “Of course,” Myra said, “Mark can tweak any of the tech you think needs it. Anything.”
    A film started of Amy spotting the holographic dog in the tree. It ran through, followed by the return of the music as a list appeared on the screen:
     
    AMY:
Walked away from the dog!
Called authorities to get the dog down!
Brought other people to get the dog down!
Climbed the tree to get the dog!
Made the dog jump in order to catch it!
    Film rolled of each of the other six encountering a treed dog. Mark Meyer leaned forward to study his tech. Each film ended with a close-up of the unwitting teen’s startled face after the dog vanished, followed by the list of options. The whole list and all the names, identified by small head shots, stayed on the screen while the music pulsed and, presumably, watchers phoned in their predictions.
    “No,” James Taunton said in his deep, oddly musical voice. “No.”
    Myra and Alex looked at each other. Alex spoke first. “What is—”
    “This show is supposed to be edgy,” Taunton said. “
Edgy
. And you give me a dog in a tree? Why not the opportunity to help an old lady across the street? No.”
    Myra said, “We thought that for a first, introductory show we could start simple and then escalate to—”
    “No. What else do you have?”
    “Right now there isn’t—”
    “We’re done here.” Taunton rose, elegant in his suit of Italian wool. Immediately a flunky in the second row of seats leaped to turn on the lights.
    “Mr. Taunton, we can—”
    Alex cut Myra off. “We can show you the audition footage in the alley. It’s far edgier.”
    Mark looked up sharply. Myra said, “But it isn’t even—OK, yes. Jackie, roll it!”
    Taunton sat down again. Another drink was deposited soundlessly at his elbow. Jackie, clearly terrified, jumped to the computer and fumbled among files. Random shots came up: Waverly answering questions, Violet dancing, Tommy talking slowly, without sound. Finally Jackie found the right file.
    When the film, unedited and too long and occasionally jerky, without lists or music, ended, Taunton said, “Yes.”
    Myra said eagerly, “It can be—”
    “Give me more like that. Exciting. Dangerous. Rough footage by Monday morning.”
    Mark said, “But my tech with the dog was so—”
    Myra put a hand on his arm and squeezed hard. “You’ll get more tech scenarios, Mark. By Monday, sir, certainly.”
    Taunton left. Alex motioned Jackie and the other minion to leave with him. When the two producers and the tech head were left alone, Alex said to Myra, “Well, do you think you kissed his ass enough?”
    “Shut up, Alex. We’re still in, which is all that counts. What do we do for the next scenario?”
    Mark looked up from his tablet, which he’d pulled out of his pocket the moment Taunton left. “We move up scenario number five, of course. To tomorrow.”
    Alex frowned. “I don’t know if everything for that can be assembled on such short notice, and—”
    “Bullshit,” Mark said. “You can do it if you have to. And my guys are ready.”
    “Mark,” Alex said with exaggerated and condescending patience, “you seem to think your piece