I observed my dream version, watching how my forehead crinkled and I turned back to Dad, whispering, ‘She seemed really nice to me.’
Dad smiled softly. ‘It’s all because of the M-Chip, Margaret. We’re a lost cause now,’ he said, ignoring my brief scowl at the mention of my name.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
He rubbed his eyes, watching the waitress closely even as he responded. ‘People have left their fates in the hands of corporations. The individual desire to be in the know, connected, included, to possess the latest technologies … It’s a disease.’
The alarm on my M-Band sounded and the dream slipped away from me. I swung my legs over the edge of my bed and dropped my face into my trembling hands. I missed him so much. That was the first night Dad had taken me to Mitchell’s Diner.
Securing a place in America’s most selective private school, Kingly Academy, had not been easy, especially given that I couldn’t afford to buy my way in. But I had viewed it as a test of my dedication. I knew if I wasn’t willing to put in the time and effort to ace the entry exam, then I wasn’t going to be strong enough to do any of the things that would follow.
I jumped off the bus – wishing I’d managed more than a couple hours of sleep – and headed towards the front doors, lingering on the entrance steps.
It was game day.
It had taken eighteen months of studying and six months of my savings – savings Mom believed were going into a college fund – for credible cheat sheets. But it was worth it when I received the full scholarship. I might’ve made the cut anyway; my GPA was now well over the 3.0 required. But I’ll never know. Didn’t matter anyway. I hadn’t busted my ass for the academic satisfaction. I was there for one reason.
Quentin Mercer.
He probably never had to sit an entrance exam in his life. His name alone opened every door he’d ever need. His older brothers, Sebastian and Zachery, had both been head boy and valedictorian of Kingly. Judging from what I’d seen of them, their cheat sheets had been the best money could buy.
Quentin, on the other hand, coasted. He did well at everything, but didn’t particularly excel. Yet even his cruising level was in the top fifteen per cent of some of the most promising minds and sporting potential in the country. I figured he just couldn’t be bothered to read his cheat sheets all the way through, which made him even lazier than his amoral brothers.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw his black SUV, equipped with the latest bulletproofing, pull up at the corner. I never understood why he didn’t have his driver drop him right at the front doors. Possibly it was an attempt to fit in with his peers. Clearly he hadn’t noticed that most of them were delivered to the front doors in chauffeur-driven cars themselves.
I watched him walk up the entrance steps. He was the picture of ease; with himself, his surroundings, with what he projected to others. Quentin Mercer knew who he was and felt no need to fit anyone’s expectations. His shirt hung half untucked. His tie was perfectly knotted, but hanging on an angle. His shoes were polished to a high-gloss shine, with one lace untied. He was a walking contradiction and that seemed to be exactly what made him comfortable.
I studied his face. Soft features with hard eyes that he wasn’t afraid to unleash on others. He was handsome, sure, but the addition of a scar down the edge of his hairline tilted everything from just right to not quite. He could’ve easily grown his hair long enough to cover the mark. He’d certainly look prettier for it. But instead he kept his hair buzz-short, as if refusing to hide it. It was the one thing I liked about him. The one thing I hoped meant he would have enough backbone to get through this day.
I stood in his path on the steps. One of us was going to have to move, and I knew full well that Quentin expected the world to move for him. I mean, why wouldn’t he? He was an heir to M-Corp after all.
Just the thought strengthened my determination and my jaw clenched.
Head down, earphones in, he didn’t even raise his eyes to look at me. He just stopped when he saw my feet blocking his path.
I almost laughed. Did he really think he didn’t even have to look at me to get me to scamper out of his way? I leaned back against the wall and crossed one ankle over the other, settling in.
I could just about feel the shock bounce off him. Slowly, he lifted a hand to take out an earpiece while simultaneously lifting hard blue eyes to mine. More steel than ocean.
Oh, I felt it – the sting of his stare – but I didn’t flinch. He raised an eyebrow.
I stared right back at him, bored.
His brow furrowed. He gestured to my booted feet. ‘Those aren’t regulation,’ he said. They were the first words Quentin had ever deemed me worthy of.
I glanced at my black army boots – laces untied, my grey skinny jeans jammed into them – then back at him, still bored, still not moving.
His eyes narrowed, but I thought for a second the corner of his mouth might have twitched.
He leaned towards me. I think it was supposed to unnerve me, but the more this dance went on, the more comfortable I became. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know your name, but if this is some attempt to …’ His lips definitely twitched. ‘I have a girlfriend.’
My own amusement came to an abrupt halt. Did he really think I was hitting on him? Today of all days? Seriously? And did he really think I cared that he didn’t know my name? I’d made it my business to never be noticed by him before today.
Holding back a snort, I kept his gaze, lowering my voice to mirror his. ‘And I have a spot that I’m happy standing in. There are three other entry doors that no one’s using.’
‘I’m sorry?’ He actually didn’t know what to do.
‘Apology accepted.’
He blinked, anger now starting to show. ‘I wasn’t … apologising. Do you mind? I need to pass.’
‘Well then, I suggest you walk down the stairs and take the next door. That, or you could try to move me yourself.’
I was sure in that moment that no student or teacher at Kingly had ever spoken to Mr Mercer that way. And the fact that it was over such a small thing made it even better.
I kept my breathing even and maintained the same expression, even when I heard the satisfying sound of his M-Band beeping twice, registering his increased blood pressure levels. Yep, I was pissing him off.
Finally, Quentin Mercer turned tail and moved to the other side of the railing before re-climbing the steps to access a door I wasn’t blocking. His steely eyes stayed on me the entire time.
‘That went well,’ I whispered to myself as I watched him walk down the school hall. His girlfriend, Ivy Knight, wrapped her tall, annoyingly busty body around him as soon as she saw him.
I hitched my bag onto my shoulder and made my way to the day’s first class, my hand unconsciously caressing the small vial in my jacket pocket.
By the end of today, Quentin would never need to ask my name again.
Four
It was a day of building blocks. Very carefully placed blocks that I’d spent the past two years collecting. If one thing slipped off kilter, everything would come crashing down. And that simply wasn’t an option. I’d never get another shot at this.
After a mind-numbing hour of American history, I spotted Thomas Mayer heading for the library. He wasn’t an overly popular guy, but he was one of the most outspoken at Kingly. He was the head of the debating team and had already received an early offer of full scholarship at Harvard Law. He was also, like most people now, a health freak.
I followed him to the library, noting that on top of his books he balanced a bottle of SwitzWater. I couldn’t contain the eye roll. As if rainwater collected from peaks of the Swiss Alps was going to provide the miracle ‘pheromone cleansing’ it advertised.
The school librarian, Ms Cooper, was tapping away on the computer at her desk. I bit back a smirk when I saw her flinch at the sight of me. My trip to the library had just become dual purpose.
Eighteen months ago I’d begun shadow
ing a number of Kingly’s teachers. It was a lucky day when I’d spied Ms Cooper attempting to negotiate her way out of some heavy gambling debts with one of Arlington’s less forgiving loan sharks. Unlike many of the older generations, Ms Cooper had taken to the new world of M-Chips and their many uses like a duck to water. In particular, gambling. Seeing my opportunity, I’d stepped in and made her an offer she literally couldn’t refuse – unless she was okay with seeing her dog’s throat slit that night.
Tough choice. She really loved her dog.
‘Hello, Ms Cooper,’ I said, smiling.
‘Ms Stevens,’ she said curtly, straightening her frumpy dress at the waist, avoiding my eyes. I might have paid off her debts, but she – like many others – definitely didn’t appreciate the repayment schedule.
‘Everything arranged?’ I asked, resting my elbow on the high bench and keeping an eye on Thomas.
She pursed her pencil-lined lips unhappily. ‘You’re an intelligent girl. If you spent as much time studying as you do … God knows what, you wouldn’t need to cheat,’ she hissed.
I shrugged. ‘Probably true, Ms Cooper. But those other things I have to do keep me awfully busy. When will the papers be ready?’
I liked Ms Cooper. She had fight in her eyes and I respected that. But she and I both knew we were already in way too deep together.
‘Tomorrow,’ she said, looking back at her computer. She was finished with me. I nodded, making a mental note to return for the copy of my midterm questions tomorrow. She might not like helping me keep my place at Kingly Academy, but like Gus, she always delivered.
Thomas had set up his books and laptop at one of the deserted communal desks, placing his water bottle on the edge. He obviously had a free period and was settling in. It was almost too easy. After about five minutes, he disappeared into the boys’ bathroom. As soon as he was gone, I whipped by his table and cracked the lid on Switzerland’s finest.
Pheromones don’t begin to register in human bodies until after puberty. When scientists first discovered how to access and decipher pheromone data, it was quickly decided that children would not be given access to Phera-tech until the age of eighteen. This would allow teenagers to complete puberty before relying on the new technology to make positive and negative matches.
Once you turned eighteen, you were fitted with a new M-Band containing the Phera-tech zip. In activation mode, the new M-Band would take a pheromone reading off people within a two-metre radius, rating them according to their chemical signature. Ratings were given as percentages and included everything from friendship to lust potentials and long-term relationships – as well as the rare one hundred per cent true match.
It remained a person’s right to choose whether or not to leave the Phera-tech on – some turned it off when they found their long-term match, or in the golden cases their true match – but it was compulsory for every adult to be fitted with the Phera-tech zip and to register a minimum of four ratings per calendar month.
Why?
So that negs could be detected.
Along with four other students, I’d celebrated my eighteenth birthday this month. Which meant we were all required by law to have M-Bands with Phera-tech. And today was the day M-Corp was sending in one of its technicians to upgrade our M-Bands.
Walking through the halls during lunch, I sensed people’s excitement. An upgrade day always created a thrill, and today wasn’t just an ordinary upgrade day. Ratings ruled futures and preparation had become key. Gone were the days of the rave parties. Underage sex was scarce and no one smoked or did drugs. These days, the biggest trend was gambling. Predicting other people’s ratings was big business and Kingly was no exception.
Today was a major payday for the school’s punters – in just over an hour, everyone would know whether Quentin and Ivy were the ideal match they appeared to be.
I’d placed a hefty bet myself.
I had every intention of turning my Phera-tech off the moment I could. But aside from long-term – usually married – couples, deactivating was seen as a Pre-Evo statement. My choice would put me in a highly judged minority of the population. Not a problem as far as I was concerned.
Preference Evolution supporters were still fighting against M-Chipping and pheromone technology. They were the only ones left who stood by the idea of the God-particle – claiming that each person should have the chance to bend against science and explore love for themselves.
I agreed. But I wasn’t one of them. Their methods were too slow, too righteous and result lacking.
I sat in the back corner of the lunchroom, watching the ‘in’ table. Quentin and Ivy were the focal point, flanked by some of Kingly’s highest and mightiest. It was surprising there wasn’t a green aura surrounding the table given the amount of money wafting off them.
Ivy and Quentin had been together for the last year and were the couple everyone drooled over. They appeared to have it all: great looks, intelligence, high-flying families, connections, money-money-money. And the list went on …
Ivy was stunning, of course. No one snags the high-school hottie without being equally as attractive – at least, not without Phera-tech on her side. Ivy somehow managed to portray a demure image, and I had to give it to her, she knew how to put herself together without looking overdone. In fact, with her slender frame, naturally golden hair and restrained makeup, which showcased her smattering of freckles, she really did paint the picture of a natural beauty. There were not many guys at the school who did not covet her. And more than a few made passes at her, despite the fact she was clearly Mercer territory.
Quentin seemed unbothered by the male attention Ivy received. He appeared to be more than content to sit beside her, earplugs in, while everyone chatted around him. He was that arrogant. The odds were high in favour of a Quentin / Ivy seventy per cent plus match – which would put them in the ‘happily ever after’ category.
If today went my way, not only would I hook Quentin, I’d bankroll Gus’s attempts to secure our new contact.
The final bell rang and students began meandering towards their classes. All except for Ivy, Quentin, Nathan Bennett and me.
Despite my best efforts, I was nervous. But then I looked over at Nathan Bennett, who was sporting his usual angry-at-the-world expression, and I couldn’t help feeling a little smug. He was the perfect person to round out our little group.
Feeling eyes on me, I turned back to the centre table and caught Quentin staring at me with – what? Morbid curiosity? I wondered briefly if I’d made the right decision that morning, challenging him that way. But then he turned his gaze away – not embarrassed, he’d simply finished looking. I rolled my eyes. Yes, it had been the right decision. He had to know I was strong, that I could stand up to intimidation and power. It was the only way he was going to trust me.
The cafeteria door swung open and in strolled Headmaster Edwards, followed by a familiar face.
‘Right.’ Mr Edwards nodded, taking in our presence. ‘We’re all here, good. You’ll note Mr Mayer is not present. He appears to have become quite unwell and was taken home. Therefore …’ The principal cleared his throat uncomfortably and I forced a neutral expression. No one else needed to know I was giving myself a mental high-five. ‘We will be continuing without him.’
Without a fifth person to attend the upgrade, Principal Edwards was walking a fine line. Many people would consider a postponement. But today was no ordinary upgrade day and, like Ms Cooper, Mr Edwards enjoyed a side wager. I’d had no doubt he would’ve bet big on the Quentin / Ivy match. I had counted on it.
‘This is Mr Reynolds. He will be fitting you with your upgraded M-Bands today.’ Mr Edwards cast his gaze over all of us, settling disapprovingly on Nathan. It may have had something to do with his black skinny jeans teamed with a formal suit jacket. He almost pulled it off too, in that kinda rocker, kinda emo way. Almost.
‘For the sake of clarification,’ Mr Edwards continued. ‘Let me reiterate what I am sure you already kno
w. Included in your new upgrade will be pheromone technology. It will be your choice whether this accessory remains active or not. However, everyone is required to register a minimum of four pheromone readings per calendar month. As I am sure you are aware, if you register more than three negative ratings in any one-month period, you will be liable to further inquiry. Now, before I leave you in the capable hands of Mr Reynolds, does anyone have any questions?’
Faced with our silence, he went on, ‘Very well. Lastly, please remember, teachers keep their Phera-tech inactive during school hours. We ask that you respect their privacy if you should see them outside of school hours and not attempt to take a reading.’ His eyes narrowed in warning, as we nodded awkwardly. Pheromone ratings had caused some inappropriate relations between students and teachers in the past. Satisfied with our response, he spun around and disappeared through the swinging doors.
Everyone stared at Mr Reynolds.
Or as I knew him, Gus.
At the age of twenty-two, Gus was young to be in the position he was. He clicked the top of his pen, uncomfortable with the attention, and concentrated on the folder in his hand. ‘I’ve um … I’ve set up in room 212 just down the hall.’ He glanced at me and I stared back impassively. Damn it, he was not normally nervous. I narrowed my eyes in the hope of aggravating him. Anything would be an improvement.
‘All your preliminary data has already been uploaded. It will only take about five minutes to link up your new bands. You can come in at five-minute intervals.’
Was he sweating?
‘Upon entering the room, you will be required to use cleansing inhalers to clear your system before testing. Please ensure you inhale these fully.’ Gus cleared his throat, but was finally warming up. ‘I’ll see you in reverse alphabetic order. Maggie Stevens first, then Quentin Mercer, Ivy Knight and Nathan Bennett. Any questions?’
Ivy leaned forwards in her seat and smiled. ‘Will you have your Phera-tech on active?’
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