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Physicals. The lights are low here, and a custodian pushes a mop down the floor. I sidestep him on my way to Dr. Kanavan’s office near the end of the hall. My ears detect a low stream of sounds, and sure enough, when I reach the doorway, I can see that the television perched on her cabinet is on. I squint, taking in what I can of
Blissful Days.
    The Bliss Elementary playground, at recess. The sinuous slide, the pine tree scarred with initials, the creaky seesaw. Kids tumbling around and laughing.
    Things were different then, I brood, watching the television. No fines, no payments, no ratings. No E.L.
    Dr. Kanavan, springy blond curls piled on her head in a messy bun, glances at the television every few seconds, her head popping up like an overambitious cuckoo clock. My producer, Mik, says Reals are addicted to the show. I don’t know how they do it—I get antsy a half hour into Lia’s Drama Club productions. But Mik says the Reals can watch it for days on end, and Media1 gives them the opportunity to by broadcasting hour-long episodes back-to-back, twenty-four hours a day.
    Dr. Kanavan doesn’t spend all her leisure time on
Blissful Days
. She’s a travel fiend, and in between glances at the television, she crosses off days on the calendar she’s mounted above her desk. Countdown to her next furlough. The goal date box always has a new place in thick black marker. Today’s is Zenta! In the past, there was Kyliss! Misk! She’s an adventurer—in her clothing choices too. Free from following motifs, she has on a glittery green sequin top beneath her lab coat; it flashes and winks when she moves.
    In the ten seasons I’ve been coming here, I’ve never seen Dr. Kanavan repeat a trip. The Sectors are a thousand times the size of Bliss, and she seems to want to visit every inch. I don’t get why. I
like
the familiarity of the island. Thanks to great set designers, anything I could ever want to see—cliffs, waterfalls, plains, orchards, hills, valleys—are all less than an hour away.
    My shoulders ache, and I slide off my book bag. Dr. Kanavan whirls around. “Nettie,” she squeaks, rising and running over to the television, blond curls bouncing behind her. Her high heels—green satin to match her top—sound like rain hitting a tin roof. She turns the television off and taps over to me, shamefaced, as if it’s the first time I’ve caught her with the television on.
    Dr. Kanavan is cute for a Real, with her messy curls, ruddy cheeks, and button nose. Still, like most Reals, she’d look out of place on the island. All the Characters are better looking than the Reals, since the Originals were cast for their appearances.
    Another difference is that Reals talk faster than Characters. But the ones used to conversing with us adapt, and I have no problems understanding Dr. Kanavan.
    â€œPunctual as always,” she says, ushering me away from the television. “You get that from your grandmother. On last night’s seven o’clock episode, I saw that Violet showed up right on time for her weekly bingo game. Reminded me of you.” Dr. Kanavan has always been more forthcoming talking about what she’s seen on
Blissful Days
than Mik.
    â€œPlus ten,” I murmur, wincing a bit at the irony of my words. “Plus ten” comes from when a Character earns bonus money for getting more than 10 percent of their ratings mark—a situation that has never happened to me, but is Lia’s ratings reality and probably Callen’s, too, since he started baseball.
    â€œHere you go.” She passes me a pale green paper smock, and I go behind the screen to change. As I fold my tunic, a foghorn blares from the beach behind us, and the walls shiver. I wonder if Belle is on the sand now, being escorted onto a ship bound for the Sectors. Now I shiver. When I come out from behind the screen, I take off my shoes and socks, then step onto to the