Elusion(17)

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 In fact, almost all the historic landmarks on Jefferson have been replaced by these identical, narrow pillars with panoramic windows hidden by decorative Florapetro covers that only open when air quality levels allow a view worth seeing.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 and grins. “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 motorcycle.

“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 as 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 forty 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.