American Hero - George R. R. Martin Page 0,4

Wasp Boy.

That ain’t to say that our competition doesn’t have its weak links too. I mean, really. Toad Man? Fat Chick? She’s just a big [bleep]ing blob. Spasm, the Hiccup Man? That kid with her stuffed animals?

At least there are some women around the set who are awfully easy on the eyes, I gotta say. That ain’t all bad. Maybe I can have some fun around here after all. Gotta have something to do while I’m wasting time with this garbage, right? They don’t want us fraternizing with the other teams, but I look to do all the fraternizing I can. I’m all about having good relations.

Here’s the honest truth, folks—though I bet they cut this part out, ’cause they don’t want to hear it. I don’t give a damn who wins this thing. I’m not interested in being Mr. [bleep]ing American Hero. This whole show is bull[bleep]—there aren’t any real heroes here. Including me. I’m here for one reason: because our manager KA wrangled a deal with the network, and my contract says I gotta do what he tells me to do, and he said, “You’re off to Hollyweird.” So here I am, when I really want to be somewhere else playing music. Playing . . . Man, that’s the real true kick. I’ll give this a shot, but if I get kicked off tomorrow, you ain’t gonna see me crying about it. That’s just fine with me.

But I don’t think that’s gonna happen. The way I figure it, I’ll end up being one of the last ones out . . . I won’t win the damn contest—they’ll end up picking someone who looks less like a freak than me, probably one of the cute chicks. But I figure that strength has to play for something in this, and that’ll get me through to close to the end.

So figure that I’m gonna be around here for a while, and you’ll get to see my lovely face plastered on your big hi-def screens for a long time.

Ain’t you the lucky ones?

Confessional: Guadelupe Maria del Rosario Garza aka Rosa Loteria

Is my hair . . . ? Oh, okay, good. We’re rolling? All right then . . .

Hello, America. You probably don’t remember seeing me at the American Hero tryouts, and I bet you’re wondering, Who is this chola, and what’s she doing here? Well, remember San Francisco? Remember La Goldrina, the feathered swallow woman? That was me. And La Sirena, the mermaid? Me too. And La Dama, the beautiful lady who made all the judges fall in love with her? At least the men? Me again. And even El Valiente, the knife-fighter? He was me too.

Mr. Downs was the first to sniff me out, and while I’m not that happy he figured out my game, he told me if I just stopped auditioning, I was on the show. So I did, and here I am now. So hello, America. Meet your next American Hero. And the one after that. And after that, too.

Now you’re probably wondering, is this really me? Is the pretty chola in the T-shirt with the rose on it who I really am or just another character, another crazy ace? And I ask, does it matter? You can call me Rosa, or the Rose, or if you want to be all fancy and Christian, then Guadelupe Maria del Rosario Garza. But back in East LA, most of my homies just call me Rosa Loteria.

See these? These are Loteria cards. Loteria’s a sort of Mexican bingo game, kind of like Old Maid meets Tarot, and goes back to the Middle Ages, or at least that’s what mi abuelita told me. There are a lot of decks. This is one of the Campeche ones. It’s got over a hundred characters and it’s been in my family for ages. Loteria’s played pretty much like bingo, except instead of boring numbers, everyone gets a mat with pictures, and instead of just saying what the picture is, the Loteria caller calls out a little verse or riddle for someone to guess. My grandma taught me all of the traditional ones, and I made up some of my own, and that’s how my power works.

Here, let me show you. I give the deck a good shuffle, like this. Then I draw a card so only I can see it—like this—and then I call out the rhyme:

Here’s a riddle: Tell me why

When it’s up, it’s wet; when it’s down, it’s dry.

What’s that? Cameraman in the