Elusion(15)

I back up a couple of steps. “No way—I’m still limping from the country-club thing we did last year.”

“Come on, we have so much to celebrate,” he pleads.

I smile for a moment, because in his world, Patrick’s right. Life is pretty much all wine and roses.

“Please. It’ll be fun,” he urges.

I’m about to give in, when the music dies down and a hush falls over the crowd. Patrick tips his head toward the stage, and when I look in that direction, I see that the shirtless male models have left so Cathryn Simmons can own it herself. She’s wearing a black empire-waist chiffon dress and a small microphone headset, which she adjusts a bit before addressing the room.

“I hate to interrupt a good party, but I just wanted to thank everyone for coming here tonight.” She pauses for a moment to allow her guests to applaud and puts her hand over her heart. “I have such amazing friends and colleagues, and I swear, you make fifty feel like thirty!”

God, she’s so incredibly poised, no matter what the situation. After my dad’s accident, she just stepped in for my mom and took over all the planning for the memorial service.

“But as you all know, there are more important things happening right now than my birthday,” Cathryn says with a gigantic grin. “Yesterday, my little company had its most cutting-edge property, Elusion, approved by the Center for Interface Technologies. Soon, Equips will be in homes across America, and I just have to thank the person who made it all possible. My son, Patrick!”

The person who made it all possible?

I love Patrick, but he’s not the person who conceived of Elusion and spent years creating the trypnosis technology within the Equip. My father was, and everyone in this room knows that.

“Patrick, could you come up here and say a few words?”


As another round of clapping stabs at my ears, Patrick kisses me on the cheek, his smile easy and light. He walks away from me without a word of regret or a hint of awkwardness, waving to all the people who are cheering for him, including Zoe, who returned from the bathroom just in time to pump a celebratory fist in the air.

But I can’t stay here.

Not for another minute.


I’ve retreated to the main veranda—my favorite part of Patrick’s house. When he and I were kids, sometimes we would come out here at night with his precious pocket telescope so we could lose ourselves in the glow of the moon and constellations. We could never do that at my house—the oil clouds always cling to the sky in the Historic Sector, making any kind of stargazing pretty impossible.

Now here I am, looking up at the billion little flecks of light scattered above me and wishing I were anywhere but here.

Last night, Mom said she didn’t want to come to this party because there might be too many people who’d talk to her about Dad, but how wrong was she? From the crowd’s reaction to Cathryn’s thank-you speech, it’s like everyone inside that ballroom has suddenly forgotten my father altogether. Seeing that self-satisfied smile on Patrick’s face when his mom acknowledged him, watching him accept her invitation to come onstage to be recognized . . . it felt as though they were betraying not only my dad, but me as well.

I know I’m probably overreacting, but I can’t stamp out the feeling of hurt that’s gripping me so tightly it aches to breathe.

I clutch at my sides with my hands and bow my head, hoping to hide my flushed cheeks. There are a few guests and Lycra-clad waitstaff milling around on the veranda, and I don’t want them to see me all worked up. Then again, does it really matter if anyone catches me like this? If my dad isn’t alive and well in the Orexis family’s collective memory, then I’m probably not either.

“Garlic bread?” a soft but commanding voice says from behind me.

I turn around, expecting to see a man holding a serving tray, but instead I’m met with a pair of devastatingly beautiful amber-colored eyes.

Patrick’s long-lost friend Josh is standing next to me, straight as an arrow. His broad shoulders are pulled back so his chest sticks out a little.

Instead of being embarrassed that he might have seen me trying to collect myself, I have the exact same stunned yet overstimulated feeling I had after the demonstration at Orexis yesterday. My fingers are hot and tingling, like I just burned them on a stove. I’m standing here, staring at him again, wondering why I find it so hard to say something, or even move.

But then he holds up his plate and gives me a serious look.

“Before you say no, it has melted cheese on it,” he says, pointing to the last remaining slice.

When I laugh, it’s like someone has taken a pin out of me, and my entire body loosens.

“Oh really? Well, that changes everything.”

I pluck the piece of bread off the square white dish and pop it in my mouth.

“Wow,” I say, even though I’m not done chewing. “That’s good.”

Josh nods, his lips curving into a full smile. He doesn’t have perfect teeth—there’s a slight gap in between the front two—but I find that kind of endearing.

“Feel any better?” he asks.

The sincerity in his voice surprises me, and it makes me look away. I guess he did notice something was wrong with me.

“Sorry. I just saw you walk out here a minute ago. You seemed sort of upset,” he says.