“Everyone will miss it! I don’t care about rankings, and I don’t want a party.” I was practically screaming, and still she refused to hear me.
“—Framboise has agreed to sponsor your cake—”
“Too bad,” Dad hissed, a vein popping in his forehead. “Your rankings are in the toilet, and we’re not going to let you drag us down with you. You will have a party, and you will make it look like you love it.”
“You can’t make me go.” I stood, my limbs rigid with adrenaline. “If I’m poison, if I’m no longer useful to you, write me out of your lives like you would a bad guy in a script. Stop building me up to be someone I’m not. We’d all be better off if I’d never been born—or if I was dead. Maybe you’ll miss me when I’m gone.” Having said more than I’d intended, I turned on my heel and ran upstairs to my bedroom. I slammed the door behind me and threw myself on my bed, the tears coming hot and fast.
Mom knocked on the door a minute later. “Can I come in?”
“Can I stop you?” I said into my pillow.
“No.” Entering the room, she softly shut the door and sat on the edge of the bed next to me. “I know you’re going through a tough time. But we love you.”
She was trying a different tack. I wasn’t falling for it.
“We want you to be happy, like you were when you first started at Intersection, when you were surrounded by your friends. Don’t you want to make up with them?”
“No.” I rolled onto my side with my back to her, hugging my knees to my chest. “Maybe I need to make new friends. My old ones are fake.”
“That’s not true, sweetheart.” She stroked my hair. “I saw that Deena and Adam are together now—maybe they’ll forget about your little hiccup and take you back.”
Hot shards of disgust exploded in my brain at the realization that she had so little faith in me she thought I needed to grovel at their feet.
“They’re convenient. For you,” I replied, watching the old olive tree beyond my balcony sway, tears pooling under my chin. “And you need me to control them, to protect your secret.”
She snatched her hand back as though I’d scalded her. “What made you so mean?”
“You.”
Her tiny intake of breath sounded like I’d punched her, and I was glad.
“That hurts my feelings, honey.”
“I’m sorry. But it’s the truth. Sometimes the truth hurts.”
“You’re upset.” She sighed. “I understand. I really think a party will make you feel better. Are you willing to try?”
Her hand returned to my hair, but I jerked my head away and looked up at her. My face—if I kept up the injections—stared back at me, a stranger. If she didn’t want me to be her daughter, I didn’t want her to be my mother. I was going through with it. And actually, a birthday party might be the perfect way to go…
I shrugged. “You know what? Sure. Fine. Throw the party. I’ll show up, I’ll put on a show, if that’s what you want.”
“What I want is for you to be happy. And I think you will be if you do it my way. Trust me. I’ve been there. I know this will work. You’ll be so happy after you make up with your friends. You’ll see. You’ll go?”
Rolling back over, I rested my chin on my knees. “I’ll go,” I said to the balcony. “Just tell me where to be and when.”
“Oh! I’m so excited. We’re renting the most fabulous house on Lake Tahoe near Carnelian Bay. We’ll have a yacht on the lake augmented to look like you’re in a crater on the moon, and clambakes, DJs—the celebration will go on for days, but people will talk about it for months. We’ll keep the first night small, exclusive…”
“You know, Mom? That does sound fun.” I injected all the brightness I could muster into my voice. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe some time away together is what I need to reconnect with Deena and the girls.”
“That’s my Ella.” She kissed my forehead. “Your father will be pleased.”
I nodded. “Can we talk about this tomorrow? I’m exhausted.”
“Of course.” Rising, she crossed the room. “Get your beauty rest, my love. We’re going to have them eating out of your hand.” With a grin, she closed the door behind her.
As soon as she was gone, I jumped out of bed. Scouring my closet for Mom’s old piggy bank, I found it tucked in a long-forgotten corner. Change secured, I grabbed a lipstick and drew a haphazard zigzag across my face, hoping it was enough to disguise me, before creeping onto my balcony, umbrella in hand. My room was on the second story, but it wasn’t a long way down. I swung my legs over the railing and leaped before I could think, grasping the branches of the olive tree. Shimmying to the trunk, I climbed down. Once I reached the ground, I put up my umbrella and walked through the canyon, grateful to the moon for lighting my way.
I headed to the corner of Santa Monica Boulevard and Van Ness. Augmented, it was a Tuscan courtyard. Without AMPs, it was an abandoned strip mall. When I arrived, as I suspected, there it was—a gleaming beacon of hope—a pay phone.
Allard answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
“According to the 1870 Old Farmer’s Almanac, it means ‘I’ll never tell. A secret between friends.’ Is it true? Can I trust you? Because I don’t think I can trust anybody,” I said without introduction.
“Are you on a safe phone?”
“Yes.”
“Ella.” I could hear a smile in her voice. “We follow the Moscow Rules at Keystone, and the gist is ‘trust no one.’ But yes. If you have it in you to believe that some people are more good than evil, you can trust me.”
“What are the Moscow Rules?” I asked.
“If you’re calling for the reason I think, you’ll learn.”
“You’re right. You know why I’m calling,” I said. “So how do I do this?” I wanted her to hurry. I wanted a plan. Now. Before I lost my nerve, before the adrenaline abandoned my veins.
She sucked in her breath, then let it out in a rush. “We’ll fake your death. Nobody comes back from the dead.”
I let the words settle, let the finality sink in, and all I felt was alive, like I was breathing pure oxygen. It was all so clear. I have to end me. It’s the only way to live. “When? I’m having a birthday party at an estate near Carnelian Bay in five days. Is that enough time?”
The line went silent for a moment before she came back to me.
“We can make that work.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
March 20X6, Keystone
“Big day tomorrow.” Allard leans back in her chair, drinking her tea. “San Francisco here you come. Are you and Garrett prepared?”
“We’re as ready as we can be.” After spending every waking minute together for the last three months, we can practically finish each other’s sentences. We’ve built Beau and Betsy’s lives for the Networks, photographing fake parties and vacations, trying to one-up each other with weird memories from our “childhood.”
“Do you remember that time Mom and Dad took us fishing and I caught a sixty-pound mahi-mahi that knocked you overboard?” he asks.
“You seem to have a selective memory,” I say. “The way I remember it, it was ten pounds, and you fell overboard trying to reel it in. But speaking of fishing, I definitely remember the time your prom date catfished you—did you really believe that Miss Teen World was going to fly down to the Cayman Islands to go out with some skinny coder? How embarrassing that you had to take your kid sister instead.” I slide the prom picture I’ve been working on toward him. I’ve placed his head onto a wiry, tuxedoed body standing next to a version of me that Ella Karman would have been jealous of. “For your approval. I’ll add it to your Network this afternoon.”
He examines the picture and smiles. “I’ve filled out nicely since then, don’t you think?”
No comment.
Despite the increased time together, we
’ve never dipped back into the conversation we had at his parents’ house. I guess he was warning me he was going to keep me at arm’s length, which is best for both of us. There’s too much that could go wrong with the heist to risk any shenanigans. At least that’s what I tell myself.
“We definitely fight like brother and sister,” I say to Allard, sipping my tea.
She smiles. “And how are you feeling?”
My heart thumps. “Honestly? It’s like Christmas Eve. I can’t sleep… I keep waiting to hear footsteps on the rooftop.”
“Soon you’ll be the footsteps on the rooftop.”
I let out a whoosh of air. “I know. Is it weird that I can’t wait?”
“No. It just means you’ve found your calling.”
I close my eyes, calming the butterflies stirring in my belly. “But I’m also terrified. I keep running through disaster scenarios, like what if someone recognizes me as Ella?” I open my eyes. “If it came out that I faked my death, it would be a scandal—it would probably put me back on the Index. My reunion with my parents would make us more famous—they’d spin it as foul play or say I had amnesia from the explosion. Either that or they’d pin the explosion on me and I’d go to jail. After all, they couldn’t make me Unrankable. I already am…”
“Nobody will recognize you. You look totally different. If anything, you may seem familiar, but I believe in your abilities.” She places her hand over mine. “You’re a thief, and you can make people believe anything you want. You’re meant for this.”
“I hope you’re right…” Sinking into the couch, I swirl the tea in the bottom of my cup. “Garrett wants me to play a major role in this heist—and I want to do it—but my biggest fear is exposing him and Keystone. That would be unforgivable.”
“Whitney and Jeff wouldn’t send you if they thought it was risky.” She refills my tea. “Besides, you have something nobody else has—your instincts. Trust them.”
“I’m trying to, but sometimes I still don’t think they’re right. Garrett throws me off. I can’t read him.” I shake my head.
“People change. Sometimes a first impression deserves a second chance.”
“But he changes every five minutes. It’s like he’s purposely trying to scramble my brain.”
She laughs. “Garrett is a challenge. But it’s good he keeps you on your toes. It keeps you sharp.”
Standing, she crosses the room and rummages through a closet. “Now for the real reason I asked you over. I have a gift for you.”
Sitting next to me, she hands me a box wrapped in yellow paper, tied with twine that secures a white daisy. “It’s your first heist—you’re officially a thief—and Crystal and I thought you should look the part.”
I slide an envelope out from underneath the daisy, running my fingers over the buttery stock. Turning the envelope over, I find it’s stamped closed with the wax impression of an upside-down umbrella. Breaking the seal, I pull out a square note card.
Hi friend!
Look how far you’ve come! I’m so proud of you. You’re about to embark on an exciting adventure, and you’re totally going to own it, but please know that I’m here for you no matter what. It gets intense out there sometimes, and you’re always welcome at my door. My home is yours. You can find me if you need me. Just follow the signs.
Now, knock ’em dead!
Sugar kisses,
Crystal
I smile. “Thank you for this.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Open it,” Allard says.
I lift the lid. Laying on top of shimmery white tissue paper is a black asymmetrical mask made from thin strips of twisted leather. As I slip the mask over my head, it molds perfectly to my face, covering one eye and swirling in a delicate filigree over my forehead and down one cheek.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, catching a glimpse of myself in a mirror. Pushing aside the rest of the tissue paper, I pull out a slender black catsuit with mesh cutouts sliced through the bodice and down one leg. “Wow.” I exhale. “I’ve worn a lot of things, but never anything like this.”
“I know it’s daring, but it’s good to be streamlined. It’s functional—there are secret compartments for your tools—but it never hurts to look fabulous, too. Don’t be afraid to use all of your assets,” she says.
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes people underestimate a pretty face. Look at Chloe. She comes off as a decoy, but she also competed in the Quest. She knows what she’s doing.”
I frown. “You’re right. I do underestimate her… I guess it doesn’t seem fair that she has it all.”
“You can have it all, too. You play your looks down—and I understand that, given your history—but you can be the smartest person in the room and the most attractive. They aren’t mutually exclusive. Don’t let anyone shame you into thinking a pretty face can’t be hiding a world-class mind. It’s okay to like lip gloss and heels and science. You know who you are, and you hold the power.”
“I don’t think there’s any danger of me being the most attractive girl in the room. Even when I looked like my mom, I never was. And that was with a lot of help.”
“But you have something now that you didn’t have then. You know what you stand for, and you’re motivated. If you let the real you shine through, nobody will be able to look away.”
Chapter Thirty
March 20X6, San Francisco
We arrive in San Francisco truly Unrankable. I check to make sure the hot pink fabric mask that covers my nose and mouth is in place before lowering my heart-shaped goggles. While navigating the city streets, we’re going to extra lengths to ensure we won’t be recognized. Disconnect makeup has influenced recent fashion trends, which in some ways makes it easier for us to blend in, but it also has caused facial-recognition cameras to become more efficient, so it’s a double-edged sword. Tugging at the hem of my simple black shift dress, I inhale to settle my nerves.
Raising his charcoal hoodie over his head, Garrett puts his aviator-style goggles in place and heads to the Bubble Car depot. I hurry to keep up with him, certain everyone is staring. He quickly opens a car door and gestures me inside. Our first order of business is to connect with our contact.
“Tell me what to expect when I meet Faye,” I say once we’re safely tucked away and he’s entered our destination in the Marina. “You don’t have to tell me what happened last year, just tell me what she’s like.”
He thinks as the car merges with the traffic flowing through Union Square. “She’s smart,” he says. “A chameleon. She’ll change her personality to fit in anywhere, so in some ways I don’t know the real her. She keeps her truth close to her chest. But I do know this: she’ll do anything to get what she wants. She’s not afraid to make a fool of herself to make you smile—or to manipulate a situation—but mostly, she’s just trying to make you smile.”
Pondering his description, I gaze out the window at the crowds walking past glittering screens that line the buildings, displaying content curated specifically for them. Many of their faces are bare, freely exposed to the recognition cameras, though some wear artfully applied makeup and beads, in keeping with the current fashion. Those who wear masks like mine are few and far between. They walk with their heads lowered in isolation, the crowd giving them a wide berth. Silently, I brace myself for the stares we’ll receive when we exit our car.
“Do you still talk to her?” I ask.
“Not really. She’s in the field, so she isn’t supposed to have contact with anyone at Keystone. It’s too risky. But even though we haven’t talked, I know we’re still close. Partners tend to have lasting relationships.”
Returning my attention to him, I frown. “Does that mean I’m stuck with you forever?”
He grins. “Yep.”
“Lucky me.” My stomach twists, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m oddly relieved to kn
ow he’ll be in my life beyond the heist or if I’m terrified of arriving at our destination. Resisting the urge to rub my eyes—they’re already aching from the AMPs—I blink. The car turns down a side street, and I’m blindsided by a row of screens outside, all displaying shirtless guys swiveling their hips. I snap to Garrett.
He can barely contain his smile.
“You.” I point a finger at him. “What did you put in my bio? Why am I seeing this?”
“Seeing what?” His eyes widen, feigning innocence.
“These guys! What are you seeing?” I swipe at the air, navigating my AMP screen, hunting for the “preferences” tab.
“I’m an animal lover, so the streets are lined with puppies and kittens. They’re adorable.”
“I hate you,” I mutter. “Thunder from Down Under? Really?”
“Hey, I’ve heard good things. They must be doing something right. They’ve been around forever.”
“No.” I shake my head. “This is all wrong.”
He laughs as we arrive at the Marina and the Bubble Car parks itself at a charging station.
Sobering, Garrett pulls me out of the car before I can finish changing my settings. Clowns? Puppets? Ugh. He consults his map. “This way.”
We walk along the boardwalk. Colorful boats bump against the dock under threatening gray skies. I’m glad I have Crystal’s umbrella, for more reasons than one. The fact the screens were picking up my preferences means I’m on the grid, and even though my costume should keep my face from being scanned, I’m grateful for the extra layer of protection.
Garrett glances over his shoulder. “We’re being followed,” he whispers.
“Are you sure you’re not being paranoid?” I peek back at a man wearing a black hooded sweatshirt with zippers zig-zagging across the sleeves. His head is down, so I can’t make out his features. A gull squawks overhead, and I jump, nearly tripping over the uneven planks underfoot.
Garrett grabs my arm to steady me. “Calm down, Bets. This isn’t code red. Keep it yellow.”
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