Elusion

by kindle@abovethetreeline. com

  I know the way, of course, but I let her lead me because it makes it seem like I’m a stranger around here, and I have to admit, pretending feels kind of good right now. Along the way, I catch a flash of long spiral curls and shimmering green in one of the mirrored walls. I don’t even register that the reflection is actually of me until Blue Lady and I are just about to step into the ballroom.

  But when she opens the doors, I don’t know where I am anymore, let alone who.

  The ballroom has been transformed to imitate the space theme of the Universe Escape. A hologram show beams brightly colored images of stars and planets overhead. They flash in synchronized patterns above the guests, who seem totally delighted by the scene that’s playing out on the cathedral-style ceiling.

  I meander through the room, noticing the stage that’s erected at the far end, where enormous speakers blare hybrid classical-techno music while shirtless male models wearing the new Equip and purple lamé boxer-briefs strike statuesque poses on towering platforms. Tuxedo-clad men and ornately dressed women crowd the dance floor as silver-painted cocktail waitresses sporting Elusion visors weave among the masses, holding large trays filled with crystal glasses of champagne.

  Clearly, this party isn’t just celebrating Cathryn’s fiftieth birthday.

  I take a deep breath as my eyes scan the crowd, hoping to find Patrick’s friendly face. Instead they connect with someone else, someone totally unfamiliar. He’s standing only a few feet away and wearing a uniform—small bronze medals and pewter buttons are sewn onto his gray jacket, and his black pants have thin red stripes up the sides. His sandy-colored hair is cut close to his scalp, making his cheekbones stand out as much as his amber-tinted eyes.

  Military academy. No doubt about it.

  And from the small grin he’s giving me, there’s no doubt that he just caught me staring at him.

  I blow out a sharp, nervous breath and glance to my right, praying that a champagne girl will be in reach all of a sudden so I can grab a glass of bubbly and wash the embarrassment away in one big gulp.

  No such luck, though. Soldier Boy is now standing a few inches from me, rocking back on the heels of his spit-shined shoes and looking like he’s trying to think of something to say.

  We’re both silent, and I’m thinking too—about who he is and why he’s here. I feel a stroke of heat spreading up the back of my neck, and then a loud voice slices through the music, catching me off guard.

  “Regan!”

  I spin around and see Patrick moving through the crowd. Even though he’s slowed down by the throng of admirers who want to shake his hand, he keeps his gaze fixed on me. He looks absolutely fantastic, dressed in a retro Edwardian-style tux, but his blue eyes appear a little bit bloodshot, which happens whenever he spends too much time working.

  I hate to say it, but I kind of wish he’d find someone else to talk to right now. I’m on the verge of a conversation with Soldier Boy, after all.

  But lo and behold, there is someone tagging along with Patrick, though he’s moving so erratically across the dance floor she can barely keep up—Zoe Morgan, the daughter of one Orexis’s biggest stockholders and one of the most popular seniors at my high school. Since she’s two years older than me and way above my popularity status, my only personal contact with her has been at corporate, family events. But it’s well acknowledged in school that every boy lusts after her great figure, flawless mocha-colored skin, and long, raven-black hair. And tonight, her ivory spaghetti-strap dress and elaborate updo make her look even more perfect than usual.

  “You’re here!” Patrick says to me as he finishes saying hello to his mother’s friends and business partners. He wraps me up in one of his signature bear hugs, and the part of me that just wished he’d leave me alone clamps its mouth shut. “You look amazing,” he whispers in my ear.

  “Thanks to Alessandra Cole.” I pull away and pick up the skirt of my dress, then playfully dip into a curtsy.

  Patrick laughs. “Did you learn that from a princess or something?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did.”

  Patrick does the gentlemanly thing and nods at Zoe. “You two know each other, right?”

  I extend my hand toward Zoe and she shakes it.

  “Yeah, it’s good to see you, Zoe,” I say.

  “You too,” she replies with a smile that’s nothing but genuine. “That dress is a knockout, by the way.”

  “Oh, this?” I say. “I just . . . threw it on.”

  Zoe laughs good-naturedly at my lame joke, but when Patrick puts his arm around me, her smile fades a little bit.

  “I’m so glad you could come,” he says to me. “Is your mom—”

  “She had to work tonight,” I blurt out.

  I’m not proud of myself for lying just now, but the thought of Zoe Morgan knowing my personal business makes me queasy for some reason. Patrick gives me a quick squeeze, signaling that he understands, and graciously changes the subject.

  “So did you scare Josh off or something?” he asks me.

  “Who?”

  “Mr. Buzz Cut,” Zoe adds, grinning. “You were standing next to him a minute ago.”

  I peer over my shoulder and my stomach tightens. The boy I was staring at has completely disappeared.

  “Oh, I didn’t notice,” I fib.

  “How is that possible? That boy is one-hundred percent man candy,” Zoe says with an easygoing laugh.

  “Man candy? I wouldn’t go that far,” Patrick says with a slight twinge of annoyance.

  “Don’t worry, you’re still the most eligible bachelor in the country,” Zoe teases him.

  I can’t help but smirk. I’m so used to girls fawning over Patrick that it’s nice to see him with someone who can hold her own.

  “You saw the splash page on Celebrity.com, didn’t you, Regan?” she asks me.

  “Of course. Patrick sent me the link the second it went live,” I joke.

  “No, I didn’t,” he protests, as if embarrassed.

  Zoe smiles and laughs flirtatiously, touching his elbow delicately with her well-manicured fingers. “I’m going to freshen up; try not to miss me,” she says, all elegance and sass.

  When Zoe is out of range, I pull away from Patrick and gently nudge him in the ribs.

  “She’s really nice, Pat.”

  “She is nice. She’s just been following me around all night.”

  I elbow him again. “Maybe she just wants to get to know you.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s only one person who’ll ever really know me, and that’s all I need,” Patrick replies.

  I know he means me, and it’s a sweet thing to say. But it leaves me feeling like a spotlight has just landed on me and everyone expects me to do something I can’t, like . . . sing the national anthem without sounding like a frog.

  “Well, what about this friend of yours? Josh. How well does he know you?”

  “Remember that sleepaway tech camp I went to?” he answers.

  “That camp in Canada? The one where they made you hike with a sprained ankle?”

  “I only sprained my ankle at the end,” he says, embarrassed. “Anyway, that’s where I met him. In fact, we were pretty tight.”

  “Then why is this the first time I’m hearing about him?”

  “Probably because that was a million years ago, and back in those days I didn’t feel it necessary to share every single detail with you,” he says with a grin. “We lost touch when he was shipped off to the academy. I haven’t heard from him since—until I got his text today. Turns out he’s in town visiting family, so I invited him.” He takes my hand and grins, giving me a little bow. “Enough about Josh. Do you want to join me on the dance floor?”

  I back up a couple of steps. “No way—I’m still limping from the country-club thing we did last year.”

  “Come on, we have so much to celebrate,” he pleads.

  I smile for a moment, because in his world, Patrick’s right. Life is pretty much all wine and roses.
>
  “Please. It’ll be fun,” he urges.

  I’m about to give in, when the music dies down and a hush falls over the crowd. Patrick tips his head toward the stage, and when I look in that direction, I see that the shirtless male models have left so Cathryn Simmons can own it herself. She’s wearing a black empire-waist chiffon dress and a small microphone headset, which she adjusts a bit before addressing the room.

  “I hate to interrupt a good party, but I just wanted to thank everyone for coming here tonight.” She pauses for a moment to allow her guests to applaud and puts her hand over her heart. “I have such amazing friends and colleagues, and I swear, you make fifty feel like thirty!”

  God, she’s so incredibly poised, no matter what the situation. After my dad’s accident, she just stepped in for my mom and took over all the planning of the memorial. Sometimes I wish Patrick still lived here, so I could be in close proximity to that kind of strength and absorb every morsel of it.

  “But as you all know, there are more important things happening right now than my birthday,” Cathryn says with a gigantic grin. “Yesterday, my little company had its most cutting-edge property, Elusion, approved by the Center for Interface Technologies. Soon, Equips will be in homes across America, and I just have to thank the person who made it all possible. My son, Patrick!”

  The person who made it all possible?

  I love Patrick, but he’s not the person who conceived of Elusion and spent years creating the trypnosis technology within the Equip. My father was, and everyone in this room knows that.

  “Patrick, could you come up here and say a few words?”

  As another round of clapping stabs at my ears, Patrick kisses me on the cheek, his smile easy and light. He walks away from me without a word of regret or a hint of awkwardness, waving to all the people who are cheering for him, including Zoe, who returned from the bathroom just in time to pump a celebratory fist in the air.

  But I can’t stay here.

  Not for another minute.

  I’ve retreated to the main veranda—my favorite part of Patrick’s house. When he and I were kids, sometimes we would come out here at night with his precious pocket telescope so we could lose ourselves in the glow of the moon and constellations. We could never do that at my house—the oil clouds always cling to the sky in the Historic Sector, making any kind of stargazing pretty impossible.

  Now here I am, looking up at the billion little flecks of light scattered above me and wishing I were anywhere but here.

  Last night, Mom said she didn’t want to come to this party because there might be too many people who’d talk to her about Dad, but how wrong was she? From the crowd’s reaction to Cathryn’s thank-you speech, it’s like everyone inside that ballroom has suddenly forgotten my father altogether. Seeing that self-satisfied smile on Patrick’s face when his mom acknowledged him, watching him accept her invitation to come on stage to be recognized . . . it felt as though they were betraying not only him, but me as well.

  I know I’m probably overreacting, but I can’t stamp out the feeling of hurt that’s gripping me so tightly it aches to breathe.

  I clutch at my sides with my hands and bow my head, hoping to hide my flushed cheeks. There are a few guests and Lycraclad waitstaff milling around on the veranda, and I don’t want them to see me all worked up. Then again, does it really matter if anyone catches me like this? If my dad isn’t alive and well in the Orexis family’s collective memory, then there’s a more than good chance I’m not either.

  “Garlic bread?” a soft but commanding voice says from behind me.

  I turn around, expecting to see a man holding a serving tray, but instead I’m met with a pair of devastatingly beautiful amber-colored eyes.

  Patrick’s long-lost friend Josh is standing next to me, straight as an arrow. His broad shoulders are pulled back so his chest sticks out a little.

  Instead of being embarrassed that he might have seen me trying to collect myself, I have the exact same stunned yet overstimulated feeling I had after the demonstration at Orexis yesterday. My fingers are hot and tingling, like I just burned them on a boiling kettle. I’m standing here, staring at him again, wondering why I find it so hard to say something, or even move.

  But then he holds up the tray and gives me a serious look.

  “Before you say no, it has melted cheese on it,” he says, pointing to the last remaining slice.

  When I laugh, it’s like someone has taken a pin out of me, and my entire body loosens.

  “Oh really? Well, that changes everything.”

  I pluck the piece of bread off the square white dish and pop it in my mouth.

  “Wow,” I say, even though I’m not done chewing. “That’s good.”

  Josh nods, his lips curving into a full smile. He doesn’t have perfect teeth—there’s a slight gap in between the front two—but I find that kind of endearing.

  “Feel any better?” he asks.

  The sincerity in his voice surprises me, and it makes me look away. I guess he did notice something was wrong with me.

  “Sorry. I just saw you walk out here a minute ago. You seemed sort of upset,” he says.

  I shift my gaze back to Josh, shaking my head in denial. “No, I’m fine. I just needed to cool off.”

  “That’s why I came out here too,” he replies.

  I smile, adjusting the top of my dress and hoping that I don’t smell like garlic when I talk.

  “So you’re a friend of Patrick’s. Tech camp, right?”

  “Yeah. A long time ago.” He puts down his plate of food on an end table and extends his hand toward me. “I’m Josh Heywood.”

  Taking his hand in mine, I smile yet again. “I’m Regan Welch. Nice to meet you.”

  Just as our fingers slip apart, I hear the sound of footsteps coming fast and hard along the veranda’s black laminate flooring. I crane my head toward the automatic sliding doors and see Patrick walking straight at us, still radiant with pride.

  “There you are,” he says brightly. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  Josh takes a few steps back and gives me some room. Maybe he noticed how my stance changed from relaxed to rigid in no more than a heartbeat. Unfortunately, Patrick doesn’t seem to pick up on it at all.

  “You enjoying yourself?” he asks Josh, swatting him hard on the back.

  Josh shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Good,” Patrick says. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  But even though his words are kind, the light in his eyes has dimmed, and he’s clenching his jaw like he always does when he’s worried.

  “What’s wrong?” he whispers to me. “Did I do something to piss you off?”

  The minute I see his brow crease with concern, I start to doubt my emotions. This is Patrick. My best friend. He’d never do anything to hurt me. Not intentionally, anyway. Still, I feel the need to tell him how disturbing it was to see him stealing some of my dad’s thunder. It may be unreasonable of me, and a bitchy thing to do, considering how sensitive he is. But I can’t hold it in. I just can’t.

  “What was that in there?” I lean in and whisper, gesturing to the grand ballroom.

  “What was what?” Patrick’s light blue eyes flicker with confusion.

  “Your mom, saying that you made Elusion possible.” The words are coming out all accusatory, so I take a deep breath and try to steady myself by putting my hands on my hips. “It just didn’t feel right.”

  Patrick shoves his hands in his pockets and glances at Josh, who has turned his back to us a little.

  “Regan, there are a lot of investors at this party. My mom is only trying to remind them that we’ve got Elusion under control. You know, since the original creator isn’t in the picture anymore,” he explains, looking at me again, his voice almost pleading. “Your dad would understand.”

  What Patrick says is perfectly rational, and I know it should comfort me, but the tone he takes really gets under my skin. Your dad would understan
d. It sounds like he’s once again insinuating he knew my dad better than I did, and even though that’s probably true, I don’t appreciate the reminder.

  “Maybe he would, but I don’t,” I say.

  “Well, maybe if you hadn’t walked out, you would have,” Patrick snaps. He’s clearly not happy with how this conversation is going. “I just made a little speech in there, and all I did was talk about David, how much he did for Orexis and for me. Give me some credit. Don’t you think I miss him too?”

  Patrick and I hardly ever fight, but if we keep going like this, one of us is bound to take us into a battle.

  “I think I should go home, Pat.”

  “You don’t have to leave,” he says with a deep sigh, like he’s trying to surrender. He reaches for my hands and takes them in his. “Stay. After everyone goes home, we can go to Elusion together. It’s been so long since we’ve done that.”

  It’s true, but that’s no accident. I haven’t told him that I’ve only used my Equip once since my dad died.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t,” I say. “We’ll talk later. Just go back inside and enjoy the rest of the party.”

  Patrick’s fingers slip away from mine. “At least let me call you a car. It’s getting late.”

  “I can take her home,” Josh pipes up.

  Patrick and I both look at him, surprised. I think we both forgot he was standing a few feet away.

  “Are you sure?” Patrick asks. “She lives in the Historic Sector, so it’s a long drive.”

  “I don’t mind,” Josh replies, walking toward Patrick and giving him a nod of reassurance. Then he glances at me, his lips parting into a small smile. “It’s a beautiful night.”

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  FOUR

  MY HEART RACES AS JOSH’S HIGH-SPEED electric motorcycle weaves between oversize sedans and double trailer trucks, the headlight carving a path through the dark night. The skyscrapers that surround Jefferson Highway—the six-lane main drag that leads to the Historic Sector and continues on into the city—are zooming by us so fast they form a long, gray haze along the side of the road. If my mom ever knew I was on one of these “donor cycles” (that’s what people at her hospital call them), she would definitely have a stroke. But Josh and I are wearing helmets with built-in O2 filters, so we’ve taken that precaution, at least.