by D. K. Dailey
A short man who looks stuffed into his fancy suit looks us up and down. Saya and I gaze at our disguises in the elevator’s mirrored doors. A short, tanned, blond girl and a tall, big-eyed, beak-nosed guy. We’re not quite used to the way the masks react to our normal facial expressions. Like being numb at the dentist, when you can’t feel your face but try smiling anyway.
“You two don’t look like you belong,” the short man says in a British accent.
I watch as the digital monitor above shows how many floors we’ve ascended. “Why would you say that?”
“You have trainers on.” The man looks down at my kicks.
They’re new to match the suit. And the truth is, I would have worn street kicks if I was an invited Golden guest or not.
“And she,” he looks down his nose at Saya, “has grease in her hair.” Raising his chin, he returns his gaze to the elevator door.
The couple behind us giggles, while the other man examines us with more scrutiny.
“So you judge the way we look?” I ask rhetorically. “I think they should screen the quality of people they invite. A lot of people might not make the list.”
Everyone laughs, and the man’s face pinches in mortification.
Finally, the elevator pings, the doors open, and the rude man storms out. Saya and I step into the foyer, where a waiter greets guests with champagne. We take a glass before walking into the ballroom.
I’ve never been to this floor before. I’ve only been to the labs, the cafeteria, and Dad’s office, so I am impressed by the opulence. Saya looks around with wide eyes. She probably hasn’t seen much of the extravagant Golden life beyond what she experienced in my parents’ house.
The lighting’s dim, romantic. A professional band plays a jazz tune, setting the mood. The room has two tiers, including a mezzanine and balconies. Frosted crystal-rock chandeliers drop from a gold-leaf cathedral ceiling. The old-world European elegance is evident in each colossal ridged column and every curved staircase. Modern touches of class come alive through the textured white walls and ambient lighting from well-placed sconces. Chest- and waist-high black, glossy tables decorate the room, and detailed burgundy and gold carpet adds a classy appeal.
Guards in black suits are spread throughout the ballroom, standing militant with feet shoulder-width apart and hands at their sides. They look important with their eyes focused straight ahead.
I search for the two guards we planted and spot Carson by the stairs and Ping by the elevators. Then, centering my attention back on the ballroom, I purse my lips on the edge of my wine glass, seeking a little relief from the tension. Saya puts a hand over my glass and pushes up on her toes to whisper. “We need a clear head. Hold it in your mouth and dump it periodically. Only sip if you have to.”
She leans back down, and I plant a kiss on her face and caress her cheek, taking advantage of the situation. I’m going to enjoy every moment. My payback for all those kisses I lost out on during our sparring lessons.
Smirking, she gives me a toned-down version of the evil eye girls often throw to other girls. “Try that again and…”
“And you’ll what?”
Turning away, she almost bumps into another couple: Mom and Dad dressed in their best cocktail clothes.
“Oh, excuse me, young lady.”
“No, excuse me. So clumsy,” Saya says before looking up. Her voice catches when she recognizes my parents. She grips her glass tighter, and I pull her into me.
My mother smiles. “I love to see young supporters. This is Dr. Shaw, and I’m Mrs. Shaw.”
Saya’s smile tightens. “A pleasure to meet you both.”
“An honor.” I smile. “We are a part of the lab technician program for this summer.”
“What did you say?” My Mom leans forward. “You sound like my son.”
I clear my throat.
“Your voice.” Her eyes glisten. “And that smile.”
“We’ve lost our son recently,” my father says apologetically.
Is that what he tells people nowadays?
Mom fumbles with her champagne, and I reach to steady her glass hand with mine. My suit sleeve rises, and her eyes flick to my c-chip wrist. Oops.
She blinks back tears, gripping her glass stem.
“Thank you. I wish you both well in the program.”
Pulling my hand back, I smile.
My father nods politely. “Good luck in your careers.” They turn to leave, but Mom’s gaze lingers as Dad’s hand finds the small of her back and leads her away.
“She knew it was you,” Saya says in a hushed tone.
“I know. She saw my scar.”
“Do you think we’ve blown our cover?”
“If there’s anyone I trust, it’s my mom.”
“I’m not positive—”
“Let’s put these down.” With one hand on my glass and the other holding her hand, we glide through the crowd.
I find a high table with a plethora of empties and add our glasses. Then I grab her in my arms and rock back and forth to the music.
“I don’t want to dance.”
“You have no choice. Blending in is part of it.”
I let the moments when we’re dancing and she’s laughing at my quips carry me into a pretend world where I’m still a Golden, Saya’s promised to me as my wife, and I’m starting my career at Shaw Technologies. My parents would be proud. Ems would like her new sister. She would eagerly await my return to tell her the story of the gala.
My fantasy shatters when I spot Isa in her waitress disguise, serving hors d’oeuvres. We’re on a mission to retrieve lab work from Shaw Tech. I redirect my focus, disappointed.
For a moment, I was so lost in my fantasy and my Golden clothes with Saya in my arms. At peace for the first time in four months. But it was a dream, one I had about a boy I used to be. About a girl I would never have met, let alone been allowed to marry, if I hadn’t become Dreg. That last thought alone is enough to keep me focused on the mission.
Chapter Forty
Saya presses her body into mine and we twirl in time to the music. With our arms held high, we waltz. I hold her upper back, and we box step around the floor. Forward left, side, feet together, forward right, side, feet together. The basic steps come back with ease from gym class.
“How do you know this waltz?” I ask.
“We are capable of learning. The waltz isn’t hard. And for a white boy, you surprise me. You actually have rhythm.” She giggles.
I chuckle, too. “That’s not all I have.”
“Whatever.” She scowls. “My feet are starting to hurt. I hate heels. These are true torture devices. How do women wear them every day? This shucky is work.”
“You make it look easy.” And you look beautiful.
I consider my intentions toward Saya. I’ve had many conversations with Mom about love, but what I remember is asking how love could possibly make someone feel cuckoo. Mom shrugged and her ponytail swung. “You just feel it. Love’s unbalancing, throws you off guard. But when you feel it, promise me you’ll go with it.”
So here I am, going with it. I’ve been letting my feelings silently consume me, bubble up inside me since the day we met. This night, although it has a higher purpose, is mine to let loose. I’m taking the little bit of time we have here to live a little. I respect the mission, but until the premier makes his speech, this is my time.
“I want to tell you something,” I whisper into her ear.
“What could you possibly tell me at a time like this?” Despite her words, her face fills with expectation.
“I wish you looked like you and I looked like me because this isn’t how I imagined it, at least not when I played it in my head.”
“You are aware we are on a mission?”
I gaze into her fake green eyes. “I need you to know that I love you.”
She falters, and I nearly step on her foot. I turn the misstep into a twirl, and we manage to rescue our dance.
She shakes
her head, and I study her face. “I’m sorry, but I can’t say it back.” Her emotions remain inscrutable. She’s guarding them. Tension struts through her jaw, creasing her forehead, painting it with brittle lines.
“Does that mean you don’t feel it…between us?” I stare into her eyes.
“Every person I really loved died.” Her shoulders tense. For this dance, having strong shoulders and angled arms is key. But when she stiffens, it alters the move I normally perform with precision. One hand is supposed to be at eye level, her other hand clasped in mine. But she lowers her hand as if she’s tired of the control.
With my other hand in the proper placement, I caress her shoulder blade. “So you stop loving? You still don’t believe in love?”
Crushing the top of my shoulder with a tighter grip, she stares into my eyes. Her weight shifts, tensing her body like a rolling hurricane. “You’re a great guy…”
I know that sentence well. Not because I’ve heard it before, but because it’s the type that has a “but” that alters the meaning.
“If you stop loving people, you’ve given up.”
“Now’s not the time for this.” She bites her lower lip.
“There’s no better time. Your mom just died. We don’t know what’ll happen next.”
Saya’s back stiffens as I spin her around.
From across the room, Isa watches us like she’s listening in on our private conversation. Ping passes her, giving Isa a nod. Isa nods at me. Everything is in place. We only have to wait for the Premier’s speech and then the mission gains legs.
Nodding back, I continue, knowing I’m running out of time. “I’ve seen people taken now. This life has become a wild flutterboard ride. But there’s no other person I would have wanted by my side.” I smile down at her. “Do you consider us buds at least?”
“I like you when my better judgment tells me not to. You’ve grown on me.” She says the words self-consciously, like she’s thought about it, waiting for the moment to tell me. “Before I met you, my missions about you had me very curious.”
“Do you trust me now?”
“I do.” She smiles genuinely. The last time I asked her that question, she responded, “You’re Golden.” Cryptic, but I caught the drift nonetheless. Now, I’ve managed to earn her trust, which feels better than trust given blindly. For Saya, trust is one step closer to love. And I’ll take it.
An hour passes as we dance, converse with people I used to know and no longer care about, and pretend to drink, which is harder than it sounds.
“Can I have your attention?” a familiar voice booms from the grand staircase. Voices lower to a hush as everyone turns to face my father. “As the director of Shaw Technologies, I come from a long line of Shaws who ran this company. We have worked alongside the premier for many years. I am honored to introduce the man himself. Please welcome,” he pauses dramatically, “Premier Lorcan Briley.”
As Dad walks to the bottom of the stairs, everyone else shifts forward, getting closer to the staircase at the front of the room and leaving the back of the room unfilled. Even the band moves forward.
The premier glides down the stairs, smiling and waving to the crowd. Seeing him in his navy-blue suit and slicked-back black-and-gray hair makes me angrier than I’ve ever been. This is the man who tore my life into pieces, who decided to hunt down and execute people systematically. The man who authorized the raids and stole the Taken, the man who was the root cause of Cress, Archer, Saya’s dad, and Mrs. Shelby, and so many other people’s murders. The sea of emotions leaves me barely able to stand up.
His guards surround and escort him down the stairs. Noodle’s dad stands out, taller and bulkier than the others.
“My feet are killing me,” Saya complains as she holds the crook of my arm and daintily stretches her legs out, one after the other, rotating each pretty ankle slightly above the floor.
“Only a little while longer.” I inch a bit closer, grateful for the distraction Saya arouses inside me.
She smiles and plants her foot back on the ground.
The premier reaches the bottom of the staircase and then strides across the gold carpet to shake hands with my dad.
His voice booms, “Lovely treat, Dr. Shaw? I don’t think I’ve ever been described that way before. I’m blushing.”
The room erupts into laughter. The premier rarely makes public appearances. He gives public announcements, but seldom do people see him in person. My buds and I used to quip that he hid out in one of those old bunkers people made when they were afraid of the nuclear wars.
He looks younger than I remember and being in the same room with him is strange. He has small, deep-set eyes, a protruding forehead, and a sharp nose. He’s been in control for thirty years, so he has to be at least sixty since you can’t run for office until age thirty. Is he on a miracle diet? Or is the speculation about him not sharing the secret of the elixir of youth true?
The premier faces the crowd. “I’m proud to be with you for the fortieth annual Shaw Technologies sponsorship gala. I’m also happy that so many new sponsors have joined us in making the world a better place.”
“Bullshucky,” Saya coughs out. I smile but look around cautiously, hoping no one else heard.
“Shaw Technologies has been at the helm of some of our most exciting scientific and technological discoveries to date. One particular project is finally coming to a conclusion.” He claps his hands together in a prayer motion and smiles, his white teeth gleaming in the dim light. “I promise, soon, we will share with you our most exciting discovery of all. It will change the way we Goldens live, improve our quality of life, and usher in a new era of health and prosperity!”
The crowd erupts into applause, and he studies them for a moment, beaming. I follow the direction of his gaze to my mom, standing near the foot of the stairs. She’s staring at me! The look says she wants to blow kisses. I can’t help but grin. I swear, moms love you no matter what.
The premier continues. “I know that wasn’t much of a speech, but my purpose was to thank you all. None of this would be possible without your help.” He pauses to scan the room before moving on. “It would be my pleasure to answer any questions you may have.”
I spot his excitement for what it is: a feigned interest. But the crowd buys it. Some applaud, others laugh delightedly, and some whisper to others behind their hands. I’m flabbergasted by how amazingly humble and charismatic he seems on the surface. But aren’t all twisted people who gain support from the masses likable to some degree? They take advantage of dire situations and make promises they sometimes do or don’t keep. And, when they do keep them, they do so in rash ways. He’s a monster. I can’t afford to think of him in good terms anymore.
“Can you share any new developments?” a person at the front of the crowd asks.
“Glad you asked.” The premier’s smile is lopsided. “We’re close to finding cures and options to prolong our lives.”
Chatter erupts. Many believe he knows the secret to extend Golden lives, but no one dares ask or accuse him of hiding cures from the public.
“Will we have more immunizations?” a woman yells.
The premier tries to locate her in the crowd. She raises her hand, and he focuses on her. “Better than immunizations.”
“You tease!” the woman yells flirtatiously, and chuckles from the crowd follow.
“Next question, please.” The premier laughs.
“How do you justify openly flaunting the fact that Goldens take people from Dreg communities every day?” someone yells. Rigo!
“Questions from the help. How amusing,” the premier scoffs.
The crowd’s babbling rises. Rigo’s question is the trigger to jump-start the next part of our mission. This is evident when the security guards, Carson and Ping included, make their way through the crowd and hem Rigo into a corner. The crowd spreads like they’re watching a dog fight. Rigo surrenders, throwing his hands up.
“I want an answer,” he yells to the
crowd. “Come on, mighty premier. Too scared to answer?” He prods like he’s poking a fire-breathing dragon with a stick for fun. As much as he’s prodded me, he was perfect for this job. His mission is to cause a ruckus, to get thrown out but not get arrested. Kicking and screaming on the way out of the ballroom, he holds everyone’s attention, captivating the audience.
I look around. Saya and I squirm through the distracted crowd to a nearby bar table. Secured to the underside is a weapons case and two sets of gloves, watches, earbuds, gliders, and special glasses.
I look around again. Rigo is almost out the ballroom, and all eyes are on the spectacle he’s making, cursing and spitting. People back away like he has an infectious disease.
Hurrying to the underside of a nearby staircase where a small utility closet is hidden, we quickly enter and pull out the gear Isa secured. We help each other strap gliderpacks on our backs, linking the chest, stomach, and leg straps together. Next, I pocket my weapons, and Saya stuffs hers into the sides of her dress. Holding the one gun—one of Pike’s shiny handguns—she looks at me. She presses it into my hand, and I quickly put it inside my waistband.
I tense with excitement. I finally have a gun. This means they have trust and confidence in me, and this affirmation can’t come at a better time.
“You ready?” She stares up into my eyes.
“Never been more ready in my life.” I smile, and then we leave the safety of the closet.
Chapter Forty-One
I know it’s coming, yet the detonation still surprises and deafens me.
People scream and run toward the elevator. The grenade blast leaves everyone disoriented and a part of the building ruined. A huge portion of the wall near the windows facing the city is blown out. Fragments of plaster, marble, and lighting are splattered about like an earthquake or tornado has ripped through that part of the building.
The staircase to one side of the second-floor mezzanine is crushed into pieces and the thick white column next to it shakes and then crumbles. Band members closest to that side of the room scatter, clutching their instruments and coughing in the dust, while others ditch everything and run.
