by Rayya Deeb
A giant music sound system’s bass vibrations radiated through me as we got out of the flighter and walked up the smoothly paved driveway. I was dwarfed by the entryway staircase, and felt like a tiny figurine. I glanced over at Reba who exuded enthusiasm from head to toe. This guy was seriously feeling it. Two men in blue were standing on both sides of immense glass French doors. Still as statues, they didn't even acknowledge our arrival. It was pointless to knock or ring a doorbell. Nobody could possibly have heard it with the loud music, so we let ourselves inside.
A cyclone of debauchery vacuumed us in. I assumed the extremely dim lighting was designed to try and keep the faces of the privileged from being captured and plastered on social media by moles. Flashes of light that pulsated from a DJ booth set up in the foyer were all that helped us see where we were going. We made our way inside through throngs of people. There must have been a hundred teenagers, if not more, upstairs and downstairs, too. A molecular mixologist was serving up beverages from high-end bottles of liquor which were being consumed as quickly as they could be created. Moderation wasn't in the cards tonight.
It was so loud in there that Reba and I didn't bother to try talking to each other. Reba’s eyes were bigger than his head. I, on the other hand, was not fazed by all of it. It was just like an LA party, with more money. Ultimately, teenagers partying were teenagers partying and there was nothing more to it. One difference I noted between LA and here, though– the array of art on the walls. This stuff was truly classy, and obviously of such tremendous value that it could only clash with the brazen consumption ritual G.W. had arranged.
Hot and heavy make-out sessions seemed to block our way every ten feet or so, more for exhibition’s sake than from honest passion. Still, I'd be a hypocrite not to admit I'd engaged in a few of them before myself. I couldn't picture Reba making out, though. He was starting to feel more like my brother than just some guy I hung with.
I didn't see G.W., or anyone else I knew. A few people looked familiar, when I got close enough to them to see. I turned around to look for Reba but he was gone. He must have followed his curious nose in another direction. I decided I would just wander and we'd catch up later. I noticed a sliding glass door to a back porch and, thinking I could get a break from the head-pounding sound, I headed out that way.
Illuminated only by the half moon and flickering candlelight, it was really dark out there. Just enough light to recognize that a few people on lounge furniture were injecting themselves with Mojo Sticks. I felt a tap on my shoulder.
"Hey, Doro, right?"
"Hey, yeah. Brittany."
"You made it."
"Yep, thanks for having me. Fun party."
"Eh, yeah, if this is your thing, I guess."
"What, it's not yours?"
"Me? No way. I can't wait for it to be over."
"But isn't it your party?"
"Theoretically. Really, though, it's for my boyfriend. G.W. likes his fun in all forms, what can I say? My idea of fun is an afternoon on horseback in the foothills or popcorn and a movie." She grinned. "Shh, don't tell anyone."
"Your secret's safe with me. Maybe you should date a jockey."
"Not a bad idea!"
Brittany and I laughed. Apparently she wasn't the vapid, entitled daughter of a politician that I’d expected. Just another lesson in not judging a book by its cover, something I would probably have to remind myself of until the end of time.
And then, in the candlelight, I saw something that nearly made me hit the wooden deck. One of the people on the lounge chairs was Dom. He laid back, his head in a girl's lap. He couldn’t see me from there, but I squinted, trying to see who the girl was. Once I recognized her I literally could have spewed my insides out. McKayla Gordon.
"You okay?" Brittany took my arm.
"I'm fine." I wasn't.
"Want some water?"
"No, no, I'm good."
I took a step back behind Brittany, making sure to obstruct Dom's view of me. I could see him perfectly, though I so deeply wished I couldn’t. His eyes flickered open and closed, and kept rolling back behind his eyelids. He was unquestionably out of his head on something. On the table in front of him there was a bowl of Mojo Sticks. The icing on the cake was McKayla Gordon seductively rubbing his head, leaning down and whispering into his ear. He didn’t respond to her, he was just lost in this Mojo'd out state. I was shattered.
This wasn't the intelligent, alert Dom I’d been with just hours before. Dom was different than these insipid Mojo Stickin' types. I didn't understand. We'd experienced such powerful moments in total clarity. He didn't need Mojo Sticks.
And McKayla Gordon. She was horrible. Why her? He must not have felt what I was feeling. My entire world was crashing down on this deck. The stars above us were still twinkling so I knew that it wasn't officially the end, but it sure felt like it.
"You've got to be kidding me." Brittany lunged to the edge of the deck and hit the solid wooden railing circling it.
A flighter pulled up alongside her and hovered in the air as the tinted passenger side window lowered. G.W. was piloting– he leaned forward, peering across a giddy Mikey, in shotgun. "Hop in, Brit! Come do some loops at the bridge with us!"
"G.W., no way! I told you, my dad will lose it if he finds out you were piloting his flighter!"
"Don't worry, baby, just a quick spin."
"G.W., please, just put it back in the garage, before anything happens."
"Relax. Ten minutes!" Mikey stuck his tongue out, and with that, the flighter popped off into high speed, leaving a small trail of white steam behind it. Half of the people on the deck who weren't too Mojo'd out to realize what was happening jumped in excitement, cheering on the speeding flighter.
Brittany rubbed her temples with her fingers and clenched her teeth. It obviously wasn't the first time something like this had happened.
"Now it’s my turn to ask. Are you okay?"
"I can't even watch this." She turned her back to avoid seeing the flighter. And I was avoiding Dom. What was supposed to be a fun party had turned into a night of torture for the two of us, flung together in an unlikely connection.
"There you are!" Reba came running out the back door just in time for the spectacle. "Campbella, chica, I couldn't find you anywhere!"
We had sweeping views of the river and the Key Bridge all the way to the Washington Monument. Cars and flighters were abiding by traffic laws for as far as the eye could see, but one lone flighter was twisting and turning as it gained speed towards the bridge. The cheers on the deck became wilder and more intense as everyone watched G.W.’s antics. Amidst the escalating jubilation, Brittany actually started to calm down, visibly attempting to block it out. I tried to do the same with the horrendous scene on the lounge chair.
Reba had grabbed a cookie from a nearby tray and nervously chomped at it as he watched the flighter. Through no fault of his own, this guy hadn't gotten out in a long while and he was soaking up every minute of it. I actually think this was his first high school party ever, and what a first it was. The chomping was too much for me, though; I was already way over the edge. I elbowed him in the side.
"Ouch! What was that for?"
"Chew with your mouth closed."
He gave me a hurt look but dutifully closed his mouth. I felt bad. I was taking things out on him and he didn't deserve it. I shouldn't have hit his positive vibe with my negative one. "Sorry," I said.
I was trying to think of a way to explain my reaction when his face changed completely, as if something had possessed him. His eyes glazed over in a controlled stare toward the bridge. The Reba I knew was gone. He started to hum anxiously and rock back and forth. I didn’t care that his mouth hung open with chewed up cookie inside. I was just worried about him. Something wasn't right.
Just then the cheering thundered with elation as G.W. looped the flighter three times around the Key Bridge. People jumped up and down to the music’s thumping bass... and then the flighter went for a
fourth loop… and did a nosedive crash into the top of the Key Bridge!
A billowing cloud of purple flame burst into the sky. The hooting and hollering suddenly changed to complete silence. The music stopped. Everyone was pressed up against the back of the deck, mouths agape. The boom from the crash reverberated through the sky.
Brittany let out an agonizing scream and dropped to the ground. After a brief moment of silent shock, complete chaos hit the back deck. Everyone scattered, even the Mojo'd out ones fumbled to bail. Everyone was aware of the consequences to come and nobody wanted to be anywhere near the scene that had started it all.
Reba stood, frozen, holding the last little bit of cookie up to his quivering lip. Sirens blared in the distance, and we could hear the muffled sound of a helicopter. I looked down at Brittany on the ground, alone and completely destroyed. With one hand planted on the deck, she lifted herself just enough to look up at the clouds of smoke invading the clear sky. She wailed in desolation, at the same time gripping a hand over her heart and pummeling her chest over and over. She hit herself so hard I could feel it vibrate across the wood planked floor we shared. As the rest of the guests fled, I bent down and wrapped my arms around her. What she needed right then was the one thing I could be– a friend.
23
S.E.R.C. RESIDENCES WERE on lockdown all weekend long as the flighter crash investigations went down. Men in blue were positioned everywhere to make sure nobody tried to go anywhere but their residence, the bathroom, or meal hall. We weren't allowed to go to each other's rooms, only our own. I knew that if I flexed Reba, the communication would be traced. I didn't even know what I would say. I was creeped out big time. It felt like he had known somehow that the flighter was about to go down, but how would that be possible? I didn't know what Reba’s role was here in Seneca, but it seemed like his uncanny premonitions had something to do with it.
I was so consumed with comforting Brittany when the party broke up and the feds arrived at her place, that I never saw what happened to Dom. He’d been in no shape to drive, so I had no clue how he’d gotten out of there. I was so angry I didn't know if I even cared. Scratch that. I did care. As much as it had pained me to see him like that. But all I could do now was sit tight.
I flicked on my flexer. B3 News. Becky Hudson was reporting from the studio, as footage from the scene of the crash played on a screen behind her. "Three people dead, six in critical condition, all of them remain unidentified."
No way anyone could have survived that crash. People don't walk away from crashes like that.
"Officials are still unclear if the crash was due to pilot error or a flighter malfunction, but sources say the flighter was taken that evening from the home of Senator Walton Gilroy, where his daughters, Brittany and Samantha, were hosting a party. We expect a statement from Senator Gilroy this evening. Mojo Sticks are believed to have been a contributing factor. The alleged source of the contraband has been identified and is currently under investigation. Officials are asking that anyone with information please come forward."
My flexer buzzed. It was Reba. I flipped off the news and accepted his FigureFlex. A six-inch hologram of Reba, sitting in his room, appeared in front of me. It was my first FigureFlex since I’d come to Seneca. "Reba."
He was so relieved that I picked up. "Hey! Are you okay?"
"Yeah, what about you?"
"I am now."
"What was up with that? Did you know that crash was about to happen?"
Reba blinked about a mile a minute and then took a deep breath, before changing the topic. "They're saying that Dominic Ambrosia brought the Mojo Sticks to the party."
"What?"
"I know for a fact he didn't, though."
"How can you be so sure?"
"I just know."
"Well, then someone is lying."
"Someone's gotta be the scapegoat."
"Not Dom."
"He's being taken to the Aboves, and, if S.O.I.L. has it their way, he won't be coming back. Soon, he won't even remember having ever been here."
"They can't do that!"
"They can do anything. And they will. You know that."
I didn't know what to think, what to do. True to form, Reba's eyes glimmered with optimism. "You can save him, you know."
"You don't care about Dom."
"I care about you... and I care about the future."
"Thanks for the info, Reebs. I owe you big time."
"No you don't. Just be careful, Doro." And with that, hologram Reba dissolved into the disinfected Seneca air.
24
I HAD TO find a way to get out of the S.E.R.C. residences and into Dom's secret sushi lab. Usually I was good on minimal sleep but now it had been two whole days, going on two nights with only a few hours under my belt. My brain was fried. I was borderline delirious, operating on adrenaline fumes. There was no way I was getting past the men in blue so I buckled down, brainstormed and began to devise a plan.
An hour later Ellen Malone showed up at my door.
"Thank you so much for coming, Ellen. I'm sure this isn't how you want to spend your Saturday night."
"Of course, Doro, are you kidding? I can't imagine how you must feel after witnessing something so awful. This is such a tragedy."
"I know. It's so surreal. One moment they were laughing. Right there, a few feet in front of me, the next..." I replayed the crash in my head, Brittany's scream, the chaos on the porch, Reba standing there with the chewed-up cookie in his open mouth. The visuals were burned on my mind like a brand on cattle. I knew it would be with me forever. "I wish that whole night never happened."
"There are a lot of people who feel the same."
I hung my head. Ellen patted me on the back. "Don't worry. Everyone is going to go through their own grieving process after what happened, and things are going to be tense around here for a while, but they will brighten up. Just know that, okay?"
"I hope so."
"So, how about those chilaquiles?"
I smiled, but not fully. I was dying for some Mexican food, but hated that I was pulling one over on Ellen. There’d been no other way. I figured that, if she knew what was really going on with Dom being thrown under the bus, she’d have understood. Either way, I had to make the decisions that were in the best interest of Dom, myself, and as bold as it sounded, the entire Seneca Society.
"I am so ready. The meal hall is great and all, but I need a change of scenery."
"You bet."
Ellen Malone and I strolled right past the men in blue, who didn't question us. Few people in Seneca could get away with questioning Ellen Malone. Congressman Wallingsford was out of the picture, I assumed, consumed with the well-being of G.W., who was in critical condition at an undisclosed location. I really hoped he’d be okay, and was sure he was receiving the best possible medical care, but I’d seen that crash and I knew it would take a miracle for him to walk away from it the same way he went in.
Ellen didn't ask any questions and thankfully she didn't try to make conversation for the sake of avoiding silence. She was comfortable just being. There were so many things about her I really respected. She was one of the people I looked up to most in Seneca, one of the ones who gave me hope that, although there were some shady things going on behind the curtains, there was also limitless possibility.
At Dia De Los Ninos, my favorite Senecan Mexican Restaurant, the hostess was happy to see me. It made me feel good. I was regarded as a regular in a spot that not so long ago had felt so strange. Seneca was starting to feel like home, or at least a home away from home. I still missed my Saturday night excursions to Highland Park for driveway pupusas with Julie and our moms and I always would, but this helped fill that hole inside me as best it could. The hostess walked us to our seats and looked back at Ellen, "Trajiste a otro amigo que chilaquiles."
"Sí, nunca los ha tenido tampoco," I replied.
The hostess gave Ellen a playful 'shame, shame' wave of the finger and then handed us our menus
as we took our seats. Ellen didn't know what we said, but she went right along with it. A waiter brought over some chips and salsa and I dove right in. There was no holding me back from chips and salsa.
"I didn't know you spoke Spanish. That's something I definitely should have known, considering."
"Everyone in LA knows Spanish."
"Makes sense. Silly me."
It was pretty funny that she knew about my quantum computing skills and offshore financial activities, but had no clue that I was fluent in Spanish.
The waiter came and took our order. I asked for two of the same dish– went for the verdes because I knew that would be easier on Ellen's undoubtedly sensitive palate than my go-to chipotle.
I gathered my nerve because I was about to lie to Ellen's face. Something I really wished I didn't have to do. I felt the guilt building from my toes to my fingertips. She’d been awfully nice to bring me out, and I did appreciate it. I hoped she would never find out about this.
And here it came.
"I don't feel so hot."
"Oh no. What's wrong?"
"My stomach. Ugh."
"Nerves?"
"No, more like sick sick."
"We can have them pack our food to go if you want–"
"No, no. I'll be fine..." I hesitated. This was tougher than I’d thought. I hunched over a little and feigned stomach cramps. The guilt running through me was ridiculous. "I think I might vomit."
"We'd better get you home."
"You know what, I'll be okay. I'll just head back. You stay and enjoy your meal."
"Doro, I can't just leave you."
"No, really, I'll be fine."