Most of my dress is bunched up around my thighs, but part of the hem is trailing above the back wheel like an emerald-colored plume. My hands are placed on either side of Josh’s waist, and my chest is pressed up against his back. I can’t help but feel what life at the academy has done to his body, and suddenly I’m able to forget how the harsh chill of the wind is practically leaving a coat of frost on my skin.
But then the motorcycle veers off an exit ramp, and after a mile or two it screeches to a halt. Josh cuts the engine and parallel parks in between two Florapetro-powered econocars. I rub my arms to bring some heat back to them and look up at the silver tower looming above us. With space in Detroit at a premium and air quality levels unpredictable, this type of building has been springing up all over recently. In fact, almost all the historic landmarks on Jefferson have been replaced by these identical, narrow pillars with panoramic windows hidden by decorative Florapetro covers that only open when air quality levels allow a view worth seeing. The tower we’re sitting in front of has a flashing two-story MealFreeze sign on it.
Josh twists around to give me a soft smile. “Hungry? I know we had appetizers but—”
“Sure,” I say through the helmet mic, before he even has time to finish his sentence.
As nice as the ride was, it would feel good to get both feet on the ground.
He grins and steps off the chopper, holding it steady for me. I gather my skirt and awkwardly slide off. Before I know it, Josh is shooting me a look, and I’m not sure what to make of it. He seems annoyed or frustrated for some reason, and then he starts unbuttoning and pulling off his military jacket, revealing a plain white crew-neck tee underneath. Josh puts the jacket around my shoulders without saying a word.
I smile, thinking that he might be mad at himself for not having offered his jacket to me earlier, like before we took off on his motorbike.
“What is this place?” I ask, pulling the lapels across my chest as we begin to poke our way across the crowded sidewalk.
Josh gestures at a passerby who is holding an extra-large red plastic cup with a yellow straw in it. “You’ve never had a MealFreeze?”
“Nope,” I say.
“It’s the food of the future,” he replies, his amber eyes widening with excitement. “One six-ounce drink gives you all the protein, carbs, and vitamins of an entire meal. We have them a lot at the academy.”
The doors of the MealFreeze open automatically, and we’re treated to a blast of icy refined air as soon we take off our helmets. I inhale deeply, trying to ignore the way my heart is banging against my rib cage, which I reassure myself is just a residual postmotorcycle reaction.
A few minutes later, I sit across from Josh in a tiny metallic booth surrounded by neon-blue antigraffiti-lacquered tiles, so close our knees are almost touching. The smell of lavender, piped in through the vents, wafts around us like a cloud of incense. I run my fingers over the velvety-soft textile seats and stare at the red thermal cup. On Josh’s advice, I ordered the standard freeze, a vanilla-flavored substance that is supposed to contain twelve grams of protein and a whopping six hundred calories. But it looks a little . . . gray. I hope that the color is due to the dim lighting in this place.
I glance at Josh, who gives me an encouraging nod, and take a sip. It’s cold and creamy, and the taste is quite delicious, like it came from a real vanilla bean. But the consistency is a little too thick, like a big glob of Greek yogurt, so I have a hard time getting the first gulp down my throat.
Josh grins. “That bad, huh?”
I give him the okay sign with my right hand, and finally the MealFreeze makes it beyond my tonsils.
He picks up his drink and takes a long sip, then wipes his mouth with his napkin. “I guess this stuff is an acquired taste.”
“No, it’s really good,” I insist. “After you finally swallow.”
Josh laughs. It’s deep and hearty and contagious, and soon I’m giggling right along with him. Once our laughter dies, I smile and look down at the half dozen colored badges neatly pinned on the breast of his academy jacket, which is still wrapped tightly around me.
“So what did you have to do for the black one?” I ask.
“That’s for combat skills.”
“Really?”
“Everyone at the academy has to apply for that badge. No exceptions, no excuses.” His eyes suddenly cloud over, like he’s remembering something he’d rather not. It’s a look I’m sure I’ve perfected by now.
“Wow, it’s hard to imagine being required to physically fight someone at school.”
Josh doesn’t say anything. He just mindlessly runs one of his hands over the top of his head, like he’s expecting to find some hair there.
“What about the others?” I motion toward the orange and blue badges below the black one.
“Orange is for survival skills.”
“What did they do for that? Drop you on a desert island or something?”
“No,” he says with a chuckle. “It was a written exam. There aren’t many remote spots in the world left for them to take us, I guess.”
“I know,” I say, my voice faltering a bit at the thought of how much my dad did to find a way back to the wilderness.
Josh leans over the table and points to the left side of his jacket. “The light green one. That’s my favorite.”
“Which skill is it for?”
“Computer science,” he says proudly. “I officially reached master level.”
“Sounds like Patrick has some competition, then,” I say, raising my eyebrows.
Josh bows his head for a second, biting his lip, and I realize how suggestive that may have sounded. He glances back up at me and there’s a beat of silence as we look at each other. I want to say something else, but I’m not sure what. Thankfully, he speaks up and saves me from gawking at him.
“So how did you meet Patrick?” he asks.
I twist a strand of hair around my finger until it turns a dark shade of pink. This question could lead us into touchy territory, but I don’t want seem evasive.
“Our parents worked together at Orexis for years, so we’ve known each other since we were kids.”
“Right. He used to talk about your dad a lot when we were at camp. David, was it?”
“Yeah, they were pretty close.”
“I had no idea he had anything to do with Elusion. I thought it was Patrick’s invention.”
I glance away and look across the aisle at the twentysomething couple sitting a few feet from us. They’re nestled on the same side of the booth, their hands touching as their heads slump backward, eyes closed, Equips on. There’s a moment where I wish we could trade places with them, so we wouldn’t have to talk about uncomfortable things, so we could be free from all our feelings, good or bad, and just . . . be.
When I shift my eyes back to Josh, he’s staring at his drink, a shadow of remorse passing over his face. “I was eavesdropping. When you and Patrick were talking at his house. I’m sorry.”
“I suppose there is a badge for that?” I joke.
He tries not to laugh, but he can’t contain himself. “No, I don’t think so.”
“What a shame.” I smirk a little.
“I just want you to know that”—he hesitates—“I think it was nice of you to come tonight, considering your dad and everything.”
I instinctively reach for the ring on my finger, a white gold heirloom given to my mother by her grandmother, a golden topaz surrounded by tiny diamonds. I’m not used to wearing jewelry, and it feels kind of heavy, so I tug it off and slip it on my other hand, as if that might help.
“I couldn’t miss Cathryn’s birthday,” I reply.
“It was her birthday?” Josh squints with confusion. “I thought we were celebrating Elusion’s world domination.”
“World domination?” I push aside my cup and lean forward a bit. “That sounds like one of Avery Leavenworth’s lines.”
“Avery,” he says plainly.
At fi
rst I roll my eyes, wondering how he couldn’t know Avery and her loud, obnoxious mouth, but then I realize that he might not have much access to the media inside the academy.
“She’s this girl at my school who’s famous for her ridiculous, indignant, so-called activist vlog.” I shake my head and say, “She’s obsessed with discrediting Orexis and saying Elusion is addictive. She even attacked Patrick personally at his press conference yesterday.”
Josh straightens in his chair. “Why?”
“Maybe she is just trying to get more followers or viewers; maybe she just wants more exposure and to promote her agenda. Honestly, I don’t really care. I just want her to leave Patrick and Elusion alone.”
The muscles in his jaws seem to tighten. Did I say something wrong?
“Look around. We’re the only people who aren’t zoned out in Elusion. Don’t you think she might have a point?”
I do a quick scan of the room and notice he’s right. It’s not like the “restaurant” is packed, but out of the handful of Meal-Freeze customers here, Josh and I are the only two who are awake. Still, that doesn’t mean that Avery has a leg to stand on.
“Okay, if what she said was true, why am I not addicted? Why isn’t Patrick? We’ve gone to Elusion more than anyone in the test market and we’re just fine. How do you explain that?”
Josh flicks his straw across the room and directly into the open recycling chute built into the wall. “I don’t know.”
I could let this drop right here. Talk about something else, like I wanted to do a few minutes ago. But I feel so protective right now. My father isn’t around to defend himself or the project that was his life’s passion. Don’t I owe it to him to face down anyone who doubts him and his work?
So I press on.
“Elusion was my dad’s dream. He worked so hard on it . . . for years, he’d go in early and come home late. He worked through holidays and birthdays and . . .” I lock eyes with Josh and notice how the tension in his jaw has now spread to his forehead and cheeks. “He wanted to make people happy, bring them some joy,” I continue. “He wanted to preserve the beauty of the natural world and give people a chance to experience nature. All this excitement for Elusion just means he was successful. Most people can see that. This is a good thing.”
“So you go to Elusion all the time, then?” he asks. “For the joy, obviously.”
I try to ignore the sour tone of his voice. “I haven’t been in a while. But like I said, I used to. A lot, in fact.”
“How long has it been since you last Escaped?”
“I can’t remember.”
He searches my face for any trace of nervousness, like he doesn’t believe me.
I let out a defeated sigh. “I’ve only been once since my dad died.”
“Why? Are you afraid?”
“No!” I protest. “Nothing like that.”
I blow out a frustrated breath as Josh crosses his arms in front of his chest.
“I don’t mean to butt in,” he says quietly. “But my uncle has this saying: ‘Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.’”
Our eyes meet, and for a moment neither of us moves. We just sit there, staring each other down.
“I should get you home,” he says finally, standing up as he glances away.
Even though I don’t know him at all, I suddenly realize I can read the expression in his eyes. It’s disappointment.
I have to admit, the feeling is mutual.
A half hour later, Josh and I are standing on the steps of my brick townhome. When I checked the air quality meter on Josh’s bike a moment ago, it read a negative eight, so I wore Josh’s extra helmet to the door. I can actually feel particles of residue sprinkling down from the sky and settling on the back of my neck, which is unbearably gross.
It was an uncomfortable ride home, at least for me. I couldn’t stop thinking about my confrontation with Josh. I suppose I ruined the light mood at our table by bringing Avery up in the first place, but what could I do after he seemed to be taking her side? Pretend like it didn’t bother me?
But as he helps me slip out of his military jacket and I feel his fingers quickly graze my elbows, I wish that I’d just kept my mouth shut. We were getting along so well. I was having fun. He was easy to be around.
Now there’s an awkwardness. And so we stand in front of my house, both shifting our feet as we avoid looking at the other, trying to figure out what to say and do.
“Thanks for the MealFreeze,” I say, and push the Eject button on the helmet. As I yank it off my head and shake my hair extensions out, I realize that we’ll only have a couple of seconds to say good-bye. It also occurs to me that I might not ever see him again, and something inside twinges a little at the thought, strange as that sounds.
Josh reaches out and takes the helmet from me. “Take care,” he says simply.
All I can do is nod. If I open my mouth, I’ll ingest all the garbage floating around in the air, and I’ll be coughing up synthetic oil debris throughout the night. I yank my passcard out of my purse and swipe it in front of the lockpad. The door pops open, and I’m about to step inside when I feel a hand wrap around my wrist.
I turn around and see Josh grinning at me. He doesn’t say anything, but he gives my hand a gentle squeeze and then bounds down the steps to his bike. Thankfully, I manage to hold my breath as I watch him drive away.
I close the front door behind me and exhale. The house is silent. I wheeze a little bit when I glance toward the stairs, and for a split second, like a habit I just can’t break, I wonder if my dad is home from work yet. It must be the lemon-scented candle that is placed on the entranceway table. My mom used to love turning on the battery-operated candles in the evening, right before she left for the hospital, thinking the ambience would soothe my dad after a long day at Orexis. She still puts them on, every night at 6:20 p.m., and I wish that she wouldn’t.
As I make my way toward the stairs, the track lights turn on automatically, thanks to the built-in motion detectors. I walk up to the second floor, pausing outside my mom’s room. I press the manual control switch for the lights on the wall and dim them just in case she’s sleeping.
But when I take a peek inside, I see that she’s dressed in her ankle-length cotton nightgown, lying on top of the yellow velvet duvet with a slight, peaceful smile on her face. Her visor is still in her left hand, but her earbuds, wristband, and tablet are on the bed.
My hand snaps up and presses against a sharp ache in my chest.
I can hear Josh’s voice in my head.
Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.
My mind starts ripping through random memories of the past few days. While there are hundreds of blank faces that I can’t really place, there are images of Equips everywhere. The Traxx, the depository, the restaurant, here at home . . . one of the only spots where people were not using Elusion was at school, where it’s not allowed.
I think back to Patrick’s press conference and Avery’s outburst. She didn’t offer up any proof to back up her claims, and what I told her about Elusion was true. But there are so many things I don’t know, details I’m unaware of because my father and Patrick aren’t talking about it over our dinner table any more.
As I look at my mother and think about how often she Escapes, I’m flooded with fear that something changed right before my very eyes and I didn’t notice it because I wasn’t looking for the signs. There are aspects of Elusion I haven’t even tried, like the ExSet feature.
Maybe it’s time for me to go back and see for myself.
I tiptoe out of there and down the hall to my room, the door sliding shut behind me. The autolights flicker on, and I see that Mom has folded down my linens and left my father’s book on my bedside table. My eyes tear up at the thought of my mom parting with this, even for just moment. It’s a sweet gesture—she obviously wants me to have a piece of him—but instead of it building me up, it breaks me down.
I kneel on the floor beside my bed and reach undern
eath, pulling out the titanium case with the new Equip that Patrick sent me a week or two before the conference. I sit on the edge of the faded quilt my grandmother made for me when I was born, and place the case beside me. I snap it open. All the components are neatly wrapped in quick-seal, tucked into their own foam slots.
Using my laser pen, I gently open the packages, placing each silver component on the bed beside me: tiny lightweight earbuds, a slim visor with mirrored lenses, and a soft acupuncture wristband with a chrome keypad that is no bigger than the face of a regular watch. Although my original equip contained all the same items, everything here is significantly smaller, sleeker, and lighter. I pick up the acrylic wristband and study the destination codes and time settings. There are some new destinations, but what really catches my eye is the red emergency ejection button on the bottom of the keypad, in case of a “rare equipment malfunction.”
I kick off my platform heels and give my sore feet a quick rub, staring at the Equip components. I try to push away a rush of anxiety that’s needling at my shoulders like bee stings.
I know the return from my Escape will hurt as much as it did a few months ago, but I have to take this risk. After all, how can I defend my father and Elusion if I’m not truly honoring what he created? And how can I say without a shadow of a doubt that it’s not dangerous if I’m not facing this one fear of mine?
My tab vibrates on my steel-top window-ledge desk, signaling that I have an unread text. I practically jump toward it, snatching it up and swiping my finger across the touch screen to wake it out of sleep mode.
There are not one but two messages from Patrick.
Let me know when you get home, okay?
and
Can we pretend tonight didn’t happen?
I close my eyes and laugh. God, it is so hard to stay mad at him.
Elusion Page 6
