Elusion(19)

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 his 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.

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.

I kneel on the floor beside my bed and reach underneath, 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.”