They leave and I immediately begin tearing off layers of clothes. I shove my head under the faucet to wash away whatever it was that Livvy put in my hair to make it as smooth as porcelain. I shake the drips away and run my fingers through it, leaving spiked clumps in their wake. I put on the pants I was wearing when I arrived, frayed at the hems and split at both knees. I slip on my scuffed black boots. The only thing I choose from their wardrobe is a plain, perfectly pressed white long-sleeved shirt that I roll up to my elbows.
I walk out, water still dripping from my hair. “Ready,” I tell them.
“He’s lost his mind,” Livvy blurts out instantly.
“If he ever had one,” Xavier adds and flops back in a chair like the whole mission has been aborted.
Livvy groans. “This is the Somerset Club we’re talking about. They have dress codes. Especially this crowd. You’re meeting Raine, for God’s sake.”
“Have you ever met her?” I ask, knowing none of them have, and no one replies.
“Have any of you ever been to the Somerset Club?”
More silence.
Carver hasn’t expressed his opinion yet, examining me, starting at my shoes and stopping at my wet hair. He finally shrugs. “It might work. She’ll notice him and that’s what we want.”
“That’s if they even let him through the door.”
* * *
The walk from Louisburg Square to the Somerset Club is short. Only a few blocks. It’s on Beacon Street just half a block from the Secretary’s home, both buildings facing the Commons. I’m sure Xavier, Livvy, and Carver are all following me in the shadows, but they don’t accompany me. From here on out, I’m on my own. Except for Livvy on occasion as needed to play my mother, they won’t even be coming to the apartment anymore. It’s too risky. Once I meet the Secretary’s daughter and her friends, I will be under the Secretary’s scrutiny.
The sun is down, but twilight still illuminates the sky. I think of Jenna. It’s her favorite time of day. It’s the time the world whispers, she says. Even the winds quiet, ready to change their course. Twilight is a gift, a brief quiet hour in the day to slow down and think, to be grateful for what the day has brought. That’s how we spent our twilights together, slowing down, enjoying the quiet and each other. I miss that time. What’s she doing right now? Does she think of me at all during her twilights in California?
I turn the corner and see the bowed facade of the Somerset Club half a block away. Carver, through a series of mysterious “Favors,” was able to get me a coveted spot in the Beacon Hill Virtual Collective. Apparently the state has face-to-face socialization requirements for the Virtual Collective, so members must meet for various occasions on a regular basis. Tonight’s event is one of the required whole group meetings. Approximately 130 students ranging in age from sixteen to nineteen will be there. My job is to secure a spot in Raine’s smaller group so I can participate in the more intimate meetings at the members’ homes. Raine’s home is used for most of her group’s meetings, either because of its size or because the Secretary wants to watch Raine’s every move. The catch is, you have to be invited into the smaller groups. Just as I left the apartment, Xavier reminded me, “Crank up the charm, kid. This is your one and only chance.”
Nothing like a little pressure. I’m wondering which Raine I’ll be meeting tonight—the bored, restrained one, or the risky one who sits on rooftop edges. Either way, I know I’ll be meeting the Raine who has secrets. As I get closer, I see others arriving and walking up the front steps. Two of the guys wear tunics with loose, billowing trousers—reds, blues, purples, and brilliant greens—very showy and as colorful as strutting peacocks. Another guy has on a black suit resembling a skintight tuxedo. His shirt is black too. The only color is a bright red rose attached at his lapel. Do they always dress this way for these meetings or is this some special event—like prom? Livvy’s words come back at me like a bad lunch. If they even let him through the door. I look down at my frayed pants and back at the last flash of color disappearing through the front door of the Somerset Club. Here goes.
I pull myself up another inch and walk up the steps. The door opens before I can ring, and a Bot greets me. He doesn’t seem to be bothered by my clothes, only asking for my name. Apparently I’ve been added to his memory database and he welcomes me into the foyer. So far, so good. I haven’t set off any alarms, real or imagined, which is always a cause of concern for me because of my BioPerfect. Gatsbro made it so I could pass through standard micro-scans without detection, but I always worry what kinds of other “nonstandard” scanners might be out there and how deeply they might see what’s beneath my skin.
The Bot seems to know all the information Carver supplied in my application to the Collective. He’s aware that this is my first visit to the Somerset Club, telling me where various rooms are that I might need, and also telling me some history on the Somerset Club itself including its many uses and renovations over the centuries. He reminds me of Dot in that respect, always part tour guide. I watch politely as he points out Venetian tapestries, carved rosewood balustrades, and elaborately framed oil paintings of old, long-dead members on nearby walls. The place smells of aged wood, polish, and plenty of money.
“The gathering is in the room at the top of the stairs to the left at the end of the hallway. If I can be of any further assistance, sir, please let me know.”
“Thanks.”
He makes a slight bow and steps back into an alcove to await the next arrival.
I walk up the stairs, already hearing murmurs and music and an occasional excited shout. Or were those screams? Halfway down the hallway, I stop, examining all possible exit routes—the way I came, another hallway that leads to unknown parts, and a third-floor stained-glass window—only a desperate exit option. I take a step toward the unknown hallway.
“Can I help you?”
I turn slowly, making an effort not to jump at the unexpected voice, and see a tall thin man with protruding cheekbones looking like he’s more skeleton than skin. It’s LeGru. I recognize him from the file photos. He’s the Secretary’s right-hand man who Livvy warned me about. He slithered up on me as quietly as a snake, seemingly out of nowhere. What’s he doing here at a student gathering? Or maybe the club is used for other purposes as well? I mask my recognition with a confused smile. “Actually you can. It’s my first time here, and I just want to make sure I’m going to the right place—the Virtual Co—”
He cuts me off, pointing back to the end of the hallway with a long, bony finger. “Over there. You were headed in the right direction.” He smiles, a pasty tight-lipped smile. “You should trust your first instincts.”
I nod. “I usually do.” I look at him, forcing a more genuine smile than he offered me. “Thank you.” Livvy was right. This guy is trouble and I don’t need to study his face to figure that out. He wears it like a badge of honor. I turn and walk to the end of the hall, feeling his gaze on my back. I resist the urge to turn around again to see if he’s still watching as I walk through the doors.
The blast of noise masks my entry. I’m surprised to see that the room resembles a modern nightclub, a stark contrast to the revered antiquity of the rest. Music blares and the large dark cavern has colored accent lighting to highlight perimeter areas. Groups of students crowd the edges, either standing in tight circles or sitting together on tufted benches that bend in half circles. There’s a large dance floor in the middle of the room with only four people on it doing something that doesn’t appear to be dancing at all—rigid tight movements that look more like spasms than a dance. None of this is exactly what I expected for a student gathering. Steps lead to another level at one end of the room that overlooks the dance floor and has more students sitting at tables and drinking. Even though there are
several groups standing at arm’s length from me, none move to acknowledge my presence. If I ever felt like an outsider, it’s now, but somehow I must find a way to fit in—and fast. I spot a refreshment table over against the far wall and head for it. I’m halfway across the room when a boy stumbles out of a group and into me. He falls to the floor, nearly taking me with him.
He rolls over and looks up. “Sorry, friend, I…” His eyes spin and he forgets what he was saying. I reach out a hand to help him up, deciding it will be wise to choose my refreshments carefully.
“No problem,” I tell him. “It’s dark in here and I probably got in your way.” He laughs, apparently cognizant enough to find humor in the bending of facts in his favor. I pull him to his feet and turn him back in the direction he came from, but as I walk away I notice the music has stopped, the dance floor has cleared, and every face has turned my way, following me as I walk to the refreshment table. I try to pretend I don’t notice. I’m not sure if they’re staring because of the kid who stumbled into me or because I’m a stranger who doesn’t look like the rest of them. Maybe I’m standing out too much.
Thankfully, when I reach the table the disturbance is forgotten and the music and rumble of conversations resume. I sniff a sweet white liquid that smells safe enough, but I don’t take a chance and pour myself a glass of water instead. Who knows what kinds of banned substances these students have snuck in. I don’t want to end up flat on the floor like the kid I just helped up. I lean against the wall, observing the crowd, and try to casually scour the room for Raine. At first I think she isn’t here, but I finally look up and see her standing on the opposite end of the second level with a small group of friends—and she’s looking straight down at me. It’s the restrained Raine who’s here tonight, her black hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, her clothing a dull gray from head to toe. But as hard as she tries, she’s not expressionless. I see the bare hint of a condescending gaze. Charm her? Good luck. I smile at her, giving it my best shot. She looks away.