The room is pitch-black. Half expecting to get a face full of spiderweb, I hold my breath as I duck through the doorway. Luckily, the coast is clear. Flashing light over wood-paneled walls and a brick fireplace, I straighten my spine under the vaulted ceiling, exhaling relief. I spotlight a floor lamp and switch it on, casting the small space in a warm, yellow glow. The only other furnishings are a cushy gray chaise longue next to an end table and a built-in bookshelf on which the book spines all face in, their aging pages turned out in variating lines of brown and cream. So cool. The fireplace is filled with candles, and, happy with my hideaway, I kneel to light them before curling up on the chaise with the journal on my lap.
Me and my past, alone at last.
A candle pops as I lift the cover, and I jump, my chest tight with anxiety. The blank, vanilla first page stares at me, impatiently awaiting the life only I can create for it. But I don’t want to go there. Not back, only forward… My lower lip quivers, and I want to slam the book shut, to run screaming to the surface, but I take a deep breath. And another. And another, until my racing heart slows. But back is the only way forward. You promised you’d try. Do it. Now. Write the first thing that comes to your mind. How did you get here?
Before I lose my nerve, I roll up the tip of the gold-plated pen Allard gave me and begin.
…
August 23, 20X4
It started with Adam.
We met my first day at Intersection, the Hollywood high school all the top Influencer kids attended. I didn’t know anyone except Deena. She’d been my best—and only—friend since we were five, when our moms launched a line of workout clothes together. We’d been dreaming of coming here—what we’d wear—who our first boyfriends would be—for years, but I hadn’t seen her in person since her sixteenth birthday in February, when she debuted on the Social Stock Exchange. Since then, I’d devoured her Network feeds, and it was clear she’d been accepted to the “in” crowd. Deena was my only connection to what the outside world was really like, and I felt lucky she was my ambassador.
“Hey babe.” Deena kissed my cheek, wrapping a spindly arm around me in a quick hug. Everything about Deena was skinny. Her limbs were knotted together at the joints, jutting knees and elbows. I wasn’t sure how the ocean breeze didn’t carry her away. “This is it. Welcome to the big time.”
She gestured to an iridescent beach, where kids lounged on cushy pillows at long driftwood tables decorated with sea glass, white dahlias, and flickering votive candles like they were at some glamorous seaside resort instead of hanging at school. The salty air even smelled like coconut. The augmented reality probably sparkled with rainbows, but I hated wearing AMPs—contacts that exposed virtual overlays and made it possible to control the Networks with your eyes—because the excess imagery gave me a headache, so I’d never know.
“This place is so fancy,” I said, hugging her back.
“It’s all for the Networks. It will look totally different next week. Gotta keep the setting interesting for everyone’s feed,” she said. “Do you have Self-Awareness first?”
Flipping my wrist over, I swiped the screen sticker I wore instead of AMPs and studied my schedule. “Yep.”
“Me, too. Good. I’ll introduce you to Kylie and Lily,” she said as we started walking toward class. “You’re lucky. I’ve got them thinking they’re better off having you as an ally. I wish someone had done that for me.”
My stomach dropped. Having never been in a social situation with kids my own age, I was already in knots and didn’t need added pressure. I’d naively thought I would get to make my own first impression. “Why? They’ve never met me—how could they have already made up their minds about me?”
“You’re new. You’re pretty. And you had the highest debut price ever.” Eyelashes fluttering, she rolled her eyes. “They don’t have to know you to hate you.”
I frowned, dread seeping through me.
“Relax. You’re still going to be an actress, right?”
“The DNA scans all say so.” I shrugged. My parents were actors, so it made sense to follow in their footsteps. I’d never considered anything else.
“That’s good. None of us are actresses, so you won’t be competition.” Grabbing my hand, she pulled me to a stop. “It’s going to be okay. Just follow the rules and you’ll be fine.” She adjusted the strap on my romper so it tucked away the skin bulging near my armpit, wrinkling her nose like the sight of the tiny lump disgusted her.
“Rule number one: always hide your armpit flab?” I smiled, hoping for a glimpse of my old friend, the one I used to giggle over the Networks with at sleepovers, but her eyes remained flat.
“Be serious, Ella.” She flicked her hair over her bony shoulder. “Are you live right now?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I haven’t gone ‘live’ yet. I’m nervous about being ‘on’ all the time, and I’m afraid there’s going to be a major sell-off if my investors see how boring my life really is.” I double-checked the Life Stream icon on my wrist. Sure enough, it was set to private, promising the hundreds of cameras positioned around Intersection weren’t recording me straight to the Networks. “But my parents are on my case. I’ll be the star of my own Network movie soon enough.”
“That’s why you need Kylie and Lil.” Seeming satisfied with my strap placement, she started walking again. “They live for drama. They make creating content easy.”
“I can’t believe I’m going to be friends with them,” I practically squealed, my heart pounding in anticipation. Kylie and Lil were my celebrities. I’d obsessed over their Network feeds for years. Lily became famous when she was an adorable toddler, cheering her dad on at his football games. Now she was an Olympics-bound gymnast. And Kylie was a tastemaker with a hot body and her own swimsuit line that she loved to model.
They were everything I wanted—and needed—to be. Killing it, trading at Ä56, which was less than my debut price but more than anyone else on the exchange. Besides, my price was fake. My dad had a deal with some of his corporate buddies, who promised to buy into me to drive up my price—which was totally illegal—but I wasn’t supposed to know that. I’d overheard my parents discussing it when I was hiding under the dining room table during one of their famous dinners. They partied with everyone—Influencers, rock stars, politicians, priests, corporate big shots—and I was never invited.
But that didn’t stop me from attending in secret anyway. Eavesdropping was my favorite pastime—I craved the rush that came with being on the brink of discovery—and I recorded everything I overheard in my Book of Secrets.
“You’re not friends yet,” Deena said with a sideways glance that said chill out. “But I think you’ll be okay as long as you do what I say. Here’s how it is. We promote one another. That means reposting, commenting, and complimenting the squad on your Network feeds—talk about how lucky you are to have such great besties. And keep everything positive. A win for one of us is a win for us all. It’s our job to build one another up.”
“I can do that.” I nodded.
We arrived at the Self-Awareness classroom, and she lowered her voice as we entered. “And most importantly, stay away from Adam. He’s Lil’s. And trust me. You want to stay on her good side.”
I flinched at the bitterness in her voice, but she didn’t give me time to ask for more info.
The classroom was furnished with bohemian knitted rugs, tufted floor cushions, and dozens of throw pillows. On the far side of the space, long reclaimed wood tables were arranged in a square, so the seats faced one another. Bypassing the lounge, Deena led me to the back of the room, where two girls watched us approach, eyes snaking over my body.
They were so flawless I wondered if I was looking through a filter. Bronzer sparkled on Kylie’s high cheekbones, highlighting her tawny skin, and her luxe brown hair perfectly framed her face, while Lily’s cloud of curly black hair contrasted with her wi
de, sky-blue eyes, making them pop. Or maybe it was the judgment in them that pierced me.
“Hey babes, this is Ella, who I was telling you about,” Deena said, dragging me to a stop. “Ella, this is Kylie and Lily.”
I smoothed my sweaty palms over my silk romper, standing so my thighs didn’t touch.
“You look just like your mom,” Lily said, standing. When she reached her full height, the top of her head barely reached my ear—and I’m not tall. Despite the genetic fiddling that took place at my conception, my parents kept me short like my dad. But Lily might as well have been a giant the way I wanted to cower at her feet.
“Did you really debut at Ä89 a share?” Kylie asked, squinting up at me.
“Yes.” Holding my head high, I acted on a hunch that I was worthless to them if I was weak, affecting a haughty-actress vibe though my stomach was doing flip-flops. “It was no big deal.” I shrugged.
They stared at me.
Lily took a step closer, and the muscles in her shoulder twitched. My instinct was to recoil, to regain my personal space, but I held steady. “How’d you do it? You came out of nowhere,” she said. Her breath was warm on my cheek.
“Everyone knew your parents had a daughter,” Kylie said. “But no one ever talked about you. Personally, I forgot you existed.”
“I got lucky, I guess.” I wound a curl around my finger, mimicking my mother’s signature move. “My parents’ publicist leaked an ugly-duckling makeover story about me, and it caught on. Everyone loves a makeover.”
“Interesting.” Lily’s eyes flitted back and forth like I was a book she couldn’t wait to get to the end of, and I held my breath.
She studied me for a full minute until, finally, she smiled, revealing gleaming white teeth fitted together in a perfect line. “You can call me Lil. Everyone does, on account of the fact I’m so tall.” She laughed, a tinny, joyless laugh.
Inwardly, I cringed. “Nice to meet you, Lily.” Shifting my weight, I glanced at Deena, and she nodded. “Lil.”
“Deena’s told us great things. Sit with us,” Lil said, moving a slouchy leather bag off a chair. “We have room for one more.”
“Thanks.” I sank into the offered seat. Deena squeezed my arm in celebration, taking her place between me and Kylie while Lil retook her seat on Kylie’s other side.
“We have to make sure we can trust you, of course,” Kylie said, leaning forward to see past Deena. “You’ll have to pass our test.”
My heart stalled. “What kind of test?”
“I haven’t decided,” Lil said, cocking her head to the side. “But we’ll talk at lunch.”
Behind her, kids filed in, setting up their tablets and chatting. The room was equipped with VR sensors in the lights so AMPs weren’t required to see the few avatars present, but most everyone showed up in person. I’d expected them all to be A-list celebrity-avatar gorgeous and was disappointed at how average everyone was compared to Kylie and Lil.
Then he arrived—six feet of bleach-blond sun-kissed glory, complete with ocean-blue eyes—and my expectations were met. It might have been my imagination, but it seemed like a hush fell over the room when he crossed it.
This must be Adam.
Ambivalent to the hair flips and improved posture of the other girls, he casually slid into the empty seat next to me, even though the spot next to Lil was available, too.
Deena audibly gasped, and Lil’s stare could have burned a hole in my romper. My chest tightened, but I scrolled through a Network feed on my wrist screen, pretending nothing happened while secretly checking him out in my periphery. A line of salt crust clung to his golden right cheek, and he was wearing board shorts. Maybe he came from the beach?
“Hi Adam,” Lil said, her voice so sweet my teeth ached.
“Hey,” he replied, taking a leather-bound virtual notebook out of a Quiksilver—probably one of his sponsors—backpack.
Australian? I immediately placed the accent, having practiced it as part of my acting studies.
“How were the waves?” she asked.
“Decent. Had to cut it short, though. Couldn’t miss Self-Awareness.” He rolled his eyes.
“No, you couldn’t. It’s the only class we have together.” She was practically purring.
“Good Morning.” A youngish teacher walked in and stood in the center of the room. He wore a ratty T-shirt with a stretched-out collar that showed off the slight slope to his shoulders, and his feet shuffled as he walked. He seemed anything but self-aware.
“A human?” I muttered under my breath.
“Yeah. Intersection keeps a mix of humans and robots on staff. They think it makes us more well-rounded,” Deena whispered back. “It’s really sad. He was a college football player on the fast track to becoming an Influencer, but he got injured and ended up here as a Laborer.”
“We have no secrets in Self-Awareness, Ms. Karman.” The teacher’s voice boomed across the room, shutting Deena up. “Care to share yours?”
Everyone faced me. Under the pressure of eyeballs, heat rose in my cheeks, and I forced a smile.
“I’m Peter.” He crossed the room and came to a stop in front of me with a curt nod. “Those debut numbers were almost too good to be true. Want to explain?”
Sweat trickled down the inside of my arm. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”
“Then you’re in the right place.” His eyes bored into me, and I expected him to demand an answer, but he blessedly changed the subject. “Let me catch you up to speed. Diary entries are due tomorrow. They’re an ongoing assignment. Part of being self-aware is listening to your inner monologue, and you’re required to record your stream of consciousness once a day. If you’re confused as to what an inner monologue is, these are thoughts that your Life Stream would have no knowledge of because they are only in your head.” He tapped his forehead with his middle finger for emphasis.
“I know what stream of consciousness is,” I said, anger flaring in my chest.
“Then you’ve already exceeded my expectations. But don’t think that because you had the highest debut in history you’re above doing the work. We can always work on mastering our thoughts.”
I recoiled. Nobody had ever doubted me—my parents praised everything I did—and I wanted to stand up for myself, but I couldn’t think of a comeback to save my life.
Dismissing me with a flick of his wrist, he faced the class with a superior smile. “Today we’re going to work on speaking our inner monologue.”
There was a collective groan, but I slowly exhaled relief at being out of the spotlight.
“The ability to speak your thoughts out loud is crucial in social situations,” he continued. “When a group falls silent, you can keep the conversation going by voicing your inner monologue—what it’s noticing, thinking. Chances are, others are thinking the same thing, they just aren’t brave enough to say it out loud. By mastering this technique, you are mastering other people. They’ll feel a connection to you—will open up to you—and this is the key to wielding your influence.” He paused, taking a seat on the arm of an overstuffed chair in the lounge. “It takes coming out of your shell, though. You’ve got to have confidence. I’m going to pair you up.”
The groaning intensified.
“Adam.” Peter waved his finger in our direction. “You and Ella are partners. Go make yourselves comfortable.”
My eyes widened.
“All right. Come on, Ella.” Standing, Adam offered his hand. I could feel Lil shooting daggers into my back.
My tongue was wood, so I remained silent and allowed him to lead me to a floor cushion.
Once everyone was paired off, Peter continued his instructions.
“This is a trick stand-up comedians have mastered—you don’t have to be as funny as them, though—anyone can do it. Speak your mind. What is your inner monologue noticing ab
out the other person? What are your innermost thoughts?”
I sat facing Adam, my legs crisscrossed. The outline of his pecs was visible through his T-shirt, and his arms were big, but not too big. Lean. Strong. But there was no way I was saying that out loud. My clammy hands gripped the crochet cushion, my gaze frozen on his chest. Staring.
“I don’t hear you talking!” Peter strolled around the room, pausing next to us. “Adam. You start. Show her how it’s done.”
Adam remained silent, and I snuck a glance at his face. He was smiling.
“Ä89. Impressive,” he said.
“It’s a start,” Peter said, walking away.
I searched for lenses outlining Adam’s irises, for a telltale sign he was doing an internet image search for my face. Getting lost in his blue eyes, I felt warmth spread over my skin, and in a flash, I had a vision of us huddled under an umbrella, laughing. Somehow, I knew—knew it in the center of my core—he was going to be important in my life. Taking a deep breath, I spoke what I was thinking. “Are you wearing AMPs? What app are you using? It’s rude to spy on people, you know.”
“No. I don’t use those things—I like letting mysteries unfold naturally.” His lips stretched farther, revealing a dimple in his left cheek. “Everyone knows your price. Tell me something no one knows.”
“There’s not much to tell. I’m not that interesting,”
“Not true. I think you’re very interesting.” His eyes lowered to my collarbone.
Butterflies flapped to life in my stomach, and I changed the subject. “I like your journal. Is that the new AS410?”
“It is. Thanks. It feels as close to real paper as you can get while still being digital. I like things that are tactile. Touch is my favorite sense.” He inched his cushion closer to me, and my heart quivered. “Do you write?”
Keystone Page 6