I glance down at my tab, my fingers dancing across the screen. I quickly type:
Stopped for something to eat. Back home now. TTYL
I’m about to hit send when my hand hovers over my tab and freezes.
A minute passes and then another.
When I finally do send the text, this is what it reads.
Going to Elusion to check out the Universe. Come with?
I guess, deep down, I don’t want to go back there alone.
I touch the screen and the blue status bar zips along the bottom as my tab attempts to engage the Elusion program. A second later, a message pops up on the screen: ELUSION® is only supported by Tecno 115 or higher. Press Enter if you would like to download now.
I press Enter and wait for the app to be updated. A message pops up: Download successful. Installing ELUSION®. My heart banging in my chest, I sit down on my bed again and slide the wristband on, making sure the tips align with the pressure points and the digital dial is facing up. I press my start code on the small numeric keypad, connecting it and the tab by satellite to the main server.
An emergency warning flashes on the screen, a warning I’m guessing was CIT mandated:
If your wristband alarm sounds and you have difficulty Reawakening, please seek medical attention immediately. Staying in Elusion longer than recommended might result in brain injury.
I reach for the earbuds as my tablet buzzes with a message.
Meet you there. 7-3-4-8
Patrick.
My pulse is picking up steam. I enter his companion code into the keypad and then wait.
A second later, I have another prompt from Elusion on my tablet:
User 7348 has accepted invitation request.
Another instruction flashes on-screen.
Please insert earbuds.
I take my earbuds and slip them in place.
Please engage video visor.
I slide the visor over my eyes, balancing it on the bridge of my nose, and push the switch forward on the temple. At first I’m surrounded by darkness, but then a glowing panoramic rainbow, created by the microlasers, stretches out in front of me.
A robotic female voice begins to speak in a droning tone, accompanied by a low hum, the kind of sound that electric transformers make.
“Escape immersion in five . . .”
I lie back on my bed, my hands folded comfortably over my stomach in what Patrick always refers to as the “casket” position.
Four . . .
I stop playing with my great-grandmother’s ring as my fingers relax.
Three . . .
I have a vision of Josh in his uniform, his amber eyes staring at me intensely as if he’s trying to read my mind, but just as quickly it’s gone, replaced by a fuzzy white airiness.
I’m beginning to feel a little light-headed, like I did after mom and I painted my room three years ago. I see her standing on the ladder, her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, the familiar laugh lines etched around her eyes as she smiles and says, “At least pretend like you’re trying not to get it on the ceiling . . .”
Two . . .
A bright, all-encompassing white light dances around me.
One.
I’m floating in outer space among a cascade of stars, slowly spinning in circles, my arms stretched above my head and my open hands dangling loosely from my wrists. I’m amazed by how weightlessness feels—it’s like swimming through a pool filled with the fuzzy petals on one of those flowers you make a wish and blow on. I can’t remember what they’re called. Actually, it seems like I can’t remember much of anything—the name of my calc teacher, what sector I live in, or why I’ve been away from Elusion for so long. I keep searching the recesses of my memory for anything to hold on to but I’m coming up empty.
It’s the most soothing feeling I’ve ever known.
Patrick’s virtual universe—all the planets, moons, and stars—is completely astounding. Luminous yellows, greens, and reds come together like large blotches of oil paint mixing together on a blue-black canvas. Pinpricks of glowing white light are scattered everywhere, like someone has thrown confetti up into the air and it’s never sprinkled back down. Strangely, the sound of nothingness is something I can taste on the tip on my tongue—it’s sweet and soft, like melting caramel. I look down and see that I’m dressed in an aquamarine neoprene jumpsuit, very similar to the ones the waitresses were wearing at Cathryn’s party, and heavy moon boots that have soles built for maximum traction.
My body feels warm, every cell channeling an indescribable energy that makes me believe in things I know aren’t true, like my father is still alive, and I belong out here, hurtling through the galaxy. When I arch my back, I swing into an elegant, gravity-defying somersault. And then I see it—a comet blazing toward me. But unlike the one in the Orexis demonstration, it seems as though this comet has been designed just for me, in all my favorite colors. Vivid streaks of blue, purple, and magenta fill a sphere of charcoal gray, and orbiting around it is a wide stream of neon-pink stars.
It’s getting closer, and moving faster. Although it looks we’re going to collide and I’ll be incinerated on the spot, I don’t feel anything but pure elation. I reach out with my hands in front of me, preparing to graze the comet with my fingers as soon as it’s within my grasp.
All of a sudden something snags me by my arm and I’m yanked to the surface of the comet, where a familiar face is there to greet me. Patrick’s blue eyes are electric, and his legs are straddled across the back of the flaming ball of violet and periwinkle. His neoprene suit is a gorgeous shade of cobalt, but it’s a bit looser than mine.
“Ready for the ride of your life?” He grins, shifting me behind him. I wrap my arms around his waist as he types something on the keypad of his wristband.
“Yes! What are you waiting for?” I shout.
“Hold on,” Patrick says as he presses one more button. Then he grabs what appear to be reins made of fire. “Okay, here we go!”
The comet blasts off and the planets whir past us, creating an endless blur of color. We’re going so fast we barely get a chance to take any lingering looks at the wondrous scenery before us—there is a patch of hazy lavender fog that seems to go on into infinity; a gigantic tide of crimson rock formations spins out of control in every direction. And in the center of this marvelous splendor is a soulful, encompassing silence that totally blankets me.
It’s exhilarating and serene all at once.
I lean around Patrick for a better view as we soar through a network of indigo-tinged nebulous clouds.
“Duck!” Patrick shouts as he maneuvers the comet under a sparkling silver asteroid. We’re zooming downward at a ninety-degree angle, practically at the speed of light. Patrick’s blond hair is blowing back in my face, and it feels like a thousand little feathers are tickling my nose. I smile and breathe in the smell of his shampoo—a delicious blend of rosemary and ginseng. Once we’re out of harm’s way, Patrick navigates our comet in a winding pattern, dodging a spectrum of tangerine-colored aerolites.
“Let’s do that again!” Somehow, my words feel like delicate whispers, even though I am shouting them.
“Maybe later,” Patrick says as he steers the comet away from the belt of fluorescent crater-covered rocks. “I want to show you something.”
Once again the comet launches into flight, and we descend at an alarming rate. My head whips back and I squeal as my stomach dips.
Patrick releases one of the flaming reins and points into the distance. “Phobos,” he says, as we careen past a sepia-tinged rock that looks like the shape of a skull. “It’s one of Mars’s two moons.”
I hook my arms underneath his and grip him by the front of the shoulders. “I can’t believe it. This feels like—”
“Heaven,” Patrick says, turning around just enough to look me in the eyes. His cheeks are rosy, and I notice a small birthmark near the corner of his lips that I don’t ever remember seeing before. When he smiles at me,
I swear, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so clearly.
“Want to see Mars?” he asks.
“I want to see everything,” I say.
It takes no longer than a split second for our comet to streak by the Red Planet, or at least that’s how it seems to me. Time peels away here, and that’s probably my favorite thing about Elusion. Patrick pulls the comet so close to Mars’s dazzling scarlet glow it’s like we’re skimming along the outer rims of its vaporous atmosphere.
Patrick yanks the reins and the comet stops, hovering above the giant mass in midair. I’ve seen plenty of pictures of Mars, but nothing could’ve prepared me for how it really looks—a swirling globe of reds, oranges, and pinks.
“I designed that myself,” Patrick says, his voice filled with pride.
I rest my head against his back, admiring it. “It’s so beautiful.”
Patrick turns around again to face me, his intense gaze sending a ripple of heat up my spine.
“Like you,” he says.
He touches my cheek, caressing my skin with the backs of his fingers, which slowly drop down to my chin. “I mean it, Ree. No one compares to you.”
I search for something to say, but I’m distracted by a fever that has possessed my entire body. When he takes my hand and kisses the inside of my wrist, everything—my head, feet, arms, legs—is humming with an intoxicating vibration. His fingers trail up my arm, and staring directly into my eyes, he leans toward me, tilting his head ever so slightly to the left, and I know what he’s about to do. But then we hear a chirping sound and a flash of light spews from my wristband, temporarily blinding me.
It’s all gone.
I’m back in my room, lying on top of my grandmother’s quilt. My head hurts and my limbs feel heavy and numb, as if they’re encased in lead. My eyelids are twitching, but that’s the only part of me that’s moving. I count backward in my head from one hundred, trying to relax as the Aftershock symptoms wear off. Within a minute, I can feel my legs coming back to life, each muscle spasm a bit less crippling than the last. Soon, I’m aware of a sharp, prickly sensation in my arms—it feels as though I’ve fallen into a small patch of thorns.
In the distance I can hear the slow drip of the broken motion-sensor bathroom sink—every drop of water a marker of a second I’m trapped inside myself.
Thankfully, the pain and paralysis fade after a few more minutes. I manage to pull off my visor and press my fingers to my temples, rubbing them in circles until my ears stop ringing. I push myself up on the bed, but fall over on my side. The dizziness makes the room pitch and revolve, so I curl my knees up to my chest and wait until I regain my equilibrium.
I distract myself by staring at the digital clock that’s displayed on my InstaComm wall. I’m surprised to realize that we were in Elusion for nearly an hour. It seemed like Patrick and I were only there for a few minutes.
Oh God. Patrick.
I touch the spot on my wrist where he brushed his lips only moments earlier.
No one compares to you. . . .
My thoughts begin to topple over one another. What did he mean by that? Was he really leaning in for a kiss, or did I completely misread him? But if I wasn’t mistaken, does he want to be more than just friends?
I hug my knees even more tightly and close my eyes. I try to clear my mind, but when I do, the sound of the dripping faucet becomes louder and louder. Dad promised me yesterday that he’d fix it. Obviously, it slipped his mind, which is no surprise anymore, given how preoccupied he’s been. I sit up on my bed, my legs dangling over the side, and call out to him.
“Dad! The sink is still broken!”
When there’s no response, I get up and cross the room, my gait a little wobbly. I think about asking Dad about Patrick, and if he’s noticed any strange behavior lately too. But I stop dead in my tracks when I see my reflection in the mirrored closet doors.
I’m wearing an evening gown.
I was at a party at the Simmons estate.
I was mad at Patrick for taking credit for Elusion.
My father is dead.
I cover my mouth with my hand so I can’t hear my own sob. I place another hand on my stomach, because it is clenching so hard that I can’t even stand up straight.
This happened to me before, and I know I shouldn’t be surprised. But the shock is so intense I have to kneel down on the floor. The bottom of my dress spills out around me, creating a wavy circle of shimmering moss. My shoulders hunch forward as I rock myself back and forth in a vain attempt to dispel this devastating feeling I’ve been trying to avoid for months.
A long series of beeps comes from my InstaComm. I glance up with glistening eyes and see the screen morph from the digital clock to a caller ID notice.
My trip to Elusion must have sucked all the battery life out of my tab, because Patrick doesn’t use my IC number very often. My body feels just as drained, my throat so raw it’s hard to speak. And yet I’m surprised by how quickly I’m able to say the word.
“Deny.”
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
FIVE
EVERYTHING ABOUT REALITY SEEMS SO much dimmer and flatter the morning after. It’s like someone hammered a spigot into the sky and drained the last remaining specks of tint out of it. I think I slept a total of two hours last night, so I have this intense anesthetized feeling that I can’t seem to shake—not even with two caffè macchiatos ravaging my bloodstream.
And being at school on a Sunday (thanks to the Department of Education’s newly adopted semi-Standard 7 schedule) is only making it worse. I forgot to do my math homework and was late to tech ed, which allowed Mr. Herbert the opportunity to give me another twenty demerits. Now I’m only one away from detention.
After adjusting my O2 shield, I pull up the hood of my sweater to ward off the chill, tucking my hands into the pockets of my skirt. I walk through the long stretch of campus connecting the fifteen-story hexagon-shaped building—where my classmates and I spend most of our days toiling away for eight and a half hours straight—toward the dark, round building that houses the cafeteria.
Along the way, I’m doing all I can to compartmentalize everything that happened yesterday into the tiniest little quadrant in my brain, far away from all the receptors that process memories and pain. I try to concentrate on hopeful stuff, like how I woke up to a fresh-faced Mom making breakfast in the kitchen; how we chatted about Cathryn’s party over a stack of hot pancakes covered in agave syrup; how she tossed in a load of laundry consisting of only her canary-colored scrubs, because she is going back to work at the hospital tonight.
It wasn’t easy skipping the unsettling details: my odd night out with Josh and how awful I felt after coming back from Elusion with Patrick. I just didn’t want to spoil the upbeat mood she was in. If she is getting her life back on track this time, I don’t want anything to get in her way, especially me.
As I reach the cafeteria doors, I quickly take off my O2 shield and shove it in my bag, then swipe my passcard in front of the code reader. Once I’m inside, I’m hit with a remarkably gross stench. My eyes flick over to today’s menu, which is scrolling on a digital blue screen above the chow line.
Miso meatballs with hemp hearts.
Ugh.
I cringe as I peruse the rest of the menu while an ocean of kids rushes into the cafeteria to meet up with friends, unapologetically bumping into me and bouncing me around like an anchorless raft adrift in the Florapetro-polluted waters of Lake Saint Clair. I really don’t feel like dealing with the raucousness of the lunchroom today and would spend the entire period in the library if I could, but our passcards all have GPS encoded, and a monitor would hunt me down in less than five minutes.
I squint in the bright halogen lights, looking for a familiar face. The cafeteria is about half the size of a football field. In fact, it’s so big that when the air quality is in t
he negatives, the track team uses this room for practice. I feel kind of bad that they’re forced to endure the faux-meatball smell and race around not only the perimeter but in between the long translucent concrete tables and benches that line each side of the orange-tiled room. The glass-domed ceiling is lit from behind to give the appearance of sunlight, and although it succeeds in making the room appear even more cavernous than it is, it gives it an otherworldly, unnatural feel.
In the past, each grade used to eat together, but the school has gotten too big to do that, so there are now eight lunch periods, each lasting for exactly a half hour, the first beginning at ten thirty a.m. As a result, most of us go through the day eating really early or really late and almost all of us are always hungry. At lunchtime, we usually don’t fool around with chit-chat—we just eat.
But today, something is different. Hardly anyone is paying attention to their food. Instead, everyone is frantically typing away at their tabs and talking excitedly among themselves.
“Regan!” I hear someone call out from the center of the room.
My eyes shift around, trying to locate the source of the voice, and land on Zoe Morgan, who is waving both her arms at me. Her black hair is pulled back in a tight, side-swept braid and she’s wearing a snug gray cardigan and tiny blue cargo skirt with ruched knee-high black boots—actually, if those heels were any higher, she’d definitely be on the verge of a dress code violation. I look down at my choice of shoes and remember that since I was running late this morning I grabbed the first pair of shoes I could find, which just happened to be my mom’s gray rubber clogs.
Great, just great.
I pull my hair into a low ponytail as I walk over to Zoe’s table, which is occupied by a crew of popular seniors. I take a seat in between her and Jane Gonzales, one of the best-known student-council representatives at Hills Sector High, who manages to squeak out a hello without taking her eyes off her tablet. Zoe doesn’t even bother doing either.
“Have you heard from Patrick today?” she asks.
I hesitate, wondering if Patrick told her what happened between us in Elusion last night. I hope not. I’ve been avoiding all of Patrick’s calls and IMs for a reason. I’m still not sure what to say to him, so how can I explain anything to her?
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