I glared at him.
He shook his head slightly, as if confused by me. ‘You really don’t get it, do you?’
‘Get what?’ I said, already exhausted with the conversation and missing my sweat pants again.
He opened his mouth as if to respond, but then he took a small step back, speaking softly. Now it was him who seemed awkward. ‘I’m a neg, Maggie. What I think doesn’t matter.’ He half laughed and opened the car door. ‘You’ll see for yourself when we walk into the party tonight and every pair of male eyes fixes on you.’
Out of all the insanely rich kids from school, Morris Delaware was one of the few I could actually stand, so I was relieved to discover the party was at his house – which just happened to look out over sprawling lawns equipped with terraced, Tuscan-styled gardens and an indoor pool. Naturally.
Morris was the son of a popular senator, a star on the athletics track, a solid grade getter, and came from ridiculous wealth. Rumours circulated that, since his Phera-tech was fitted a couple of months ago, he’d rated impressively on a number of occasions.
By the time we arrived, the party was already in full swing. A bunch of people were hanging out on the front veranda, which looked like it swept all the way around the house.
It didn’t take long for people to recognise Quentin’s car and start waving in our direction. It was at this point I noticed just how nervous he was.
‘Stop,’ I ordered, holding down his bouncing knee. ‘You’ll be fine. I promise this will work. Just remember –’
‘Two hours,’ he cut me off.
I nodded, looking down.
He opened the vial. ‘Just swallow?’
‘Yep.’
And he did, both of us taking note of the time. He had until 11 p.m.
Quentin punched a few keys on his M-Band and an activation beep sounded. His Phera-tech was live. The next person he walked by with active tech – everyone inside that house over eighteen – would rate with him.
My mouth was suddenly dry.
He glanced at my M-Band, which remained silent. I couldn’t give him what he wanted at that moment. Turning on my tech was not an option. So instead, I put my hand on his forearm and squeezed. ‘I promise it will work.’
He grabbed my hand and closed it in his, meeting my eyes. ‘I trust you.’
I forced a smile, even though at that moment the only thing I really wanted to do was leap out of his car and run as far away as I could.
When we walked up the steps, there were a few random whistles, which I ignored.
‘Hey, man,’ Morris said, pushing through the people milling about on the veranda. He shook hands with Quentin and the two of them seemed to be genuinely pleased to see one another. Quentin glanced down at his M-Band, prompting Morris to do the same.
If I judged a person purely on his wardrobe, I’d never have tolerated someone like Morris. He had the whole wealthy-but-casual look mastered, wearing khaki pants, a navy button-down shirt and tasselled loafers. Morris was just lucky he had kind eyes and a nice laugh, which was in full swing. ‘Good to know we can still be mates.’
Quentin nodded, glancing at me shyly. He’d had his first non-neg rating. His first real rating, given that the vial he’d just swallowed was nothing more than saline and bitter flavouring.
Morris nodded to me. ‘Hey, Maggie. About time you started to make the circuit.’
I couldn’t help but smile back at him. Then he looked me up and down, turning his attention back to Quentin.
‘Dude, you should’ve brought the bike.’
Quentin started laughing beside me. My defences kicked in and I glared at Morris.
He put his hands up in mock surrender. ‘Sorry, babe. But come on, who wouldn’t want to see you on the back of a bike. You look kinda saucy!’
My eyes darted between Morris and Quentin, who seemed to be sharing a look I couldn’t decipher. Then, saving me from the awkwardness of the moment, Quentin grabbed my hand and started to lead me inside. ‘See you later on, man,’ he said over his shoulder to Morris.
I followed, feeling out of my depth and still uncomfortable with the ‘saucy’ comment. When I had to play the part out with Gus at the clubs, it was different … Anonymous. This was the school crowd. The people I’d made sure I remained invisible to.
We stepped into the entry foyer, which also gave us a good view of the massive open-plan living area. Morris didn’t do parties by halves. And with the kind of money he had at his disposal, he’d never have to.
My eyes perused the dozen red-felted rectangular tables that bordered the room, each manned by a dressed-to-the-nines attendant. In the centre of the room, high round tables with white linen and stools took up one half while the dance floor, equipped with a lounge band I’d seen flyers for around town, occupied the other half.
Although drinking was still in vogue, nobody wanted to do it in excess anymore. Too risky for your pheromone ratings. But that had also left a hole to be filled and Morris, who ran one of Kingly’s largest gambling rings, always came through. He had staged a cross between a 1920s prohibition bar in Paris and all the glitz of a Las Vegas high-roller room.
In short, he’d built a casino in his house.
I was instantly jealous as I considered the profits he would reap from this night and the intel that money could buy.
The majority of the girls were familiar faces from school. They were dressed as I’d expected: short skirts, bouncing boobs and too much – colourful – makeup, but I figured they knew what they were doing since they worked so hard at it.
One of the positive side effects of Phera-tech was that underage sex was now uncommon. No point rushing into sex with a non-viable partner at sixteen when at eighteen you may rate with an ideal partner – one who may not see you as so ideal if you couldn’t hold out for them. STDs were also a dying concern; M-Bands provided a zip accessory to authorise a ‘partner-check’ for any red flags before getting it on.
On the flip side, once people were finally fitted with their Phera-tech, well … Let’s just say pants didn’t stay on for long. If it wasn’t with long-term matches, lust-matches – which basically translated to ‘consensual random hook-ups’ – often proved too hard to resist.
Looking around the room, it was obvious to distinguish who was and wasn’t over eighteen. Mostly due to the R-rated behaviour.
Quentin led me to the far side of the room, stopping in front of me and putting his hands on my upper arms.
‘You don’t have to babysit me,’ I said. As much as I’d been taking in the room and the girls, my main focus had been on him. He hadn’t glanced at his M-Band again.
‘I know that, but I have a point to prove.’
I narrowed my eyes. ‘What’s that?’ I asked, my attention drifting towards a game of Phera-bet. It was a stupid tradition for those not yet eligible for Phera-tech. Guys or girls would throw their tops on the table and then a person would be chosen to basically ‘sniff the shirt’. The person sniffing would then choose the one they liked the smell of most. Punters would bet on the outcome and results were often embarrassing.
It was stupid. Most traditions were.
‘Do me a favour and turn around,’ Quentin said. ‘When you do, tell me if I was right about all those eyes.’
He was talking about what he’d said earlier. Fine. If he wanted to make fun of me, he could do his worst.
I turned around slowly and, as I did, I felt the fast onset of heat in my cheeks. More than a handful of guys’ eyes had followed me. Not just creepy bar-guys, but guys I went to school with, guys I’d made a point of staying under the radar around. Quentin stood close beside me and I noticed he tilted his head, but when I looked in his direction, he wasn’t looking at me. His jaw was locked and he was glaring back at every pair of eyes turned in our direction.
I crossed my arms. ‘You do realise the only reason they are all checking me out is because I walked in here with you?’
He gave me a no-holds-barred smile and, he
ll, the shock of it almost took me to my knees. I’d never seen him smile like that. It changed his face completely, freeing him somehow. And yet, something in his eyes, the something darker that had been spearing guys around the room a moment ago, remained.
Before I could ask what was going on, we were joined by a group of his buddies and he was quickly submerged in the latest sport and school gossip. I noticed every now and then that he would glance at his M-Band – obviously picking up more readings that he was satisfied with. It wasn’t a surprise to me that his true ratings were consistently strong.
There were two girls standing in the group from school, Olivia and Avery. They were both over eighteen, which meant they had active Phera-tech and, by the way they were eyeing off Quentin, they wanted to be first in range, and fast.
‘You want me to grab you a drink?’ Quentin whispered in my ear, his hand lightly touching the small of my back, catching me by surprise. For some reason it seemed so intimate. He could’ve just yelled over the music. God, what was I thinking? Why was I thinking?
I shook my head and leaned back. ‘I’m going to grab some fresh air. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.’ He studied me for a moment, then nodded. I stepped away, leaving a gap beside him; I wondered who would fill it first. As I headed for the doors, I glanced back. Olivia.
I smiled when I saw the disappointment on her face.
I walked around the crowded front veranda until I found the more deserted back half. I sat down on a swinging chair and watched the party inside the house.
Eventually Quentin moved into my line of sight. He was smiling and looking relaxed. In control. Like his old self. He glanced out the window and caught my eye, giving me a wave. He made a drinking motion. I shook my head. He was there to get ratings and be happy and normal, not to look after me. He shrugged and stayed where he was. I saw him wave at someone and then Morris joined him. Whatever they were talking about seemed serious and private. Morris nodded and shook Quentin’s hand, glancing over his shoulder in my direction as he did. It made me nervous. Maybe he’d told Morris to throw me out of the party now he knew his Phera-tech was working.
But more time cruised by and nothing interesting happened on my deserted section of the veranda. Settling in for the final hour, I picked up a magazine that was on the chair beside me, the cover advertising a debate on the recently introduced Poverty Tax. I didn’t look at the article, knowing it would only infuriate me. The new tax would take another four per cent of Mom’s salary to subsidise the costs of microchipping and M-Bands in countries that couldn’t afford the outlay. It was crazy. Why was it suddenly so important every single person in the world had this tech? I was sure the people of Zimbabwe would prefer the money went towards food and housing if they were asked.
I flipped through the pages, stopping at an article that caught my attention.
It was about a 43-year-old man who’d been so adamant about finding his true match, he’d taken to walking the world. He believed if he walked for long enough, eventually he’d pass her and get the rating he’d been waiting for.
I shook my head, imagining how many ratings he must have had along the way. He’d probably amassed a number of long-term matches and turned his back on them in favour of an ideal he may never find. Would he walk his entire life? Waste it all for the one thing he may never find? Was his true match just like him, dedicated to the cause so much that she would walk the world? Was she reading the article right now, feeling some kind of connection with this man?
All because of a stupid rating.
Reading on, the article speculated on his motivations, stating it was likely that he was after the riches and fame that accompanied a true match. I wondered if that were the case. True matches were treated like uber-celebrities, and money and power accompanied the position, but still … I looked at the picture of the man’s face and saw only desperation in his eyes. The kind of desperation that comes from knowing you won’t settle until you have your answer. Even if it kills you.
The article made me feel sick. Was I just like that man? Walking the world trying to find my father? To prove his innocence? Would I walk on and on until there was nothing left?
I knew I would.
I glanced back through the window. Girls surrounded Quentin, shoulders back, boobs out, basically lining up to get a reading with him. Some looked disgustingly ecstatic with their results. I rolled my eyes, more at the grin plastered on Quentin’s face than the ones on theirs.
A door clicked open and I turned back to the veranda to see Ryan Merit walk out. He was smiling at me as if he’d found exactly who he was looking for.
‘Why out here all alone?’ he asked, taking the liberty of settling himself in the chair beside me.
I shrugged. ‘Not really my thing.’
He nodded, as if he understood. I wondered how a guy like him could.
He held out one of the two drinks he was holding. I didn’t need to taste it to know it was alcoholic. I shook my head. ‘Designated driver.’ The car wouldn’t even start if my M-Chip registered alcohol in my blood.
He put the drink on the ground by his foot. ‘You came with Mercer?’
‘I did,’ I answered.
He glanced towards the window. ‘He seems otherwise occupied.’
I didn’t need to look to know he was referring to the girl-horde.
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you trying to make me cry and cause a scene?’
He laughed. Not a small chuckle, but a full-out laugh. It sounded kind of sleazy. ‘I heard you rated high with him?’
I nodded.
‘And now you keep your tech off?’
‘Ryan, what do you want?’ I asked, cutting to the chase.
But before he could answer, Morris was standing by the open door. ‘Merit, yo, this area is closed, man.’
Ryan gave Morris a harsh look, but he stood. Then he leaned over me, actually putting his hands on the sides of my chair as he whispered, ‘If you were here with me, I wouldn’t have let you out of my sight.’
Seriously? I tilted my head to the side. ‘That’s impossible, Ryan.’
He smiled, moving a centimetre closer to getting my fist in his face. ‘Why is that?’ he asked, swaying just enough that his arm grazed my shoulder.
I returned his smile. ‘Because there is no way in hell I would ever be here with you in the first place.’
I heard Morris’s snicker and watched Ryan’s smile disappear. His nostrils flared and, right before he straightened and walked back into the party, I felt his M-Band buzz where it was touching my shoulder. He had his pulse rate zip on mute, but I still felt it. It was perfect.
I started to stand, but Morris put up a hand and swallowed his chuckle. ‘You’re right, Mags. Sorry about that, I just stepped away for a bit. No one else will bother you.’
I did a double take at his words. ‘What do you mean, no one else will bother me?’
‘Nothing,’ Morris said quickly. ‘Just … relax. Quin said you weren’t feeling well and wanted … Ah, don’t worry about it.’ He tried to wave the conversation off, before slipping back inside.
I looked back through the window, beginning to fume. Quentin was still surrounded by girls, all still giggling and casually touching him on his arms. But he wasn’t paying any attention to them. No. He was glaring right back at me.
Turns out I wasn’t the only one fuming.
Well, good.
Fourteen
The drive home was hell. Actually, the drive was heaven. Quentin’s car was freaking amazing and I was tempted to really open her up, but I held back. Quentin spent most of the trip glaring straight ahead. This guy could do moody and then some. And he didn’t even have a reason to be!
Finally, when we pulled into my street, I’d had enough. I gritted my teeth. ‘Do that again and the deal is off.’
‘Do what again?’
I inhaled deeply, resisting the urge to resort to violence. ‘I know you made Morris keep people away from me at the party. I’m not
a leper. You can’t stop me from talking to people.’ When he didn’t respond, I felt like screaming. Instead I huffed, ‘God, am I that much of an embarrassment?’
His eyes flashed towards me. ‘Is that what you think?’
‘Tell me you didn’t ask Morris to make sure no one talked to me?’
I bit down on the inside of my cheek as I waited.
It took a long time for him to finally answer. ‘I apologise,’ he said tightly. ‘I thought you didn’t want to be there and was trying to make the night easy on you, instead of you having to spend the entire time fending off sleazebags.’ His eyes cut to me accusingly. ‘Morris barely stepped away to take a piss and Merit was in there like a flash. Slick bastard.’ He ran a hand through his barely there hair and my hand twitched on the steering wheel. ‘I thought …’
I sighed. ‘You were keeping up appearances, making sure no one went near what’s supposed to be yours,’ I said, starting to calm down and understand. He still needed people to believe he was entertaining the idea of going out with me since he still had to have his Phera-tech inactive for the majority of the time. Even if he was tallying up Phera-ratings at the same time.
‘It was stupid, but I get it. Just … tell me next time.’
He opened his mouth, but then closed it just as quickly. Finally he nodded. ‘Thanks for understanding. I’ll discuss it with you next time.’
Why was I sure that wasn’t what he’d been about to say?
I nodded in return, hoping to move on. ‘So your ratings went well. You must be happy.’
He shrugged, leaning his head back. ‘Do you think it would’ve lasted much longer?’
My dry mouth returned. ‘No. Maybe a few minutes, but hardly worth the risk,’ I lied. ‘You’re not in a position to test the theory at this stage anyway,’ I added, looking away.
‘There is that,’ he answered. After a few beats of silence, he said, ‘The, um, annual Mercer Ball is on next week at my home.’
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