Elusion(33)

I pat the chair beside me and laugh. “Those steps are the reason I don’t take bathroom breaks.”

Zoe sighs and scoots past me so she can park herself in the seat to my left. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a kid aiming a stinkball at her and shoot him a death stare that stops him in his tracks. Surprisingly, he responds with a nod of respect and slips the pellet gun back in his pocket.

“Funny, I didn’t know you were a regular here,” she says.

“Yeah, well, I have a pretty impressive tardy record,” I reply.

“And a fight under your belt,” she adds. “Can’t forget that.”

“It wasn’t much of a fight,” I say with a shrug.

“But it was a major infraction, right?” Zoe touches my arm, her lips slowly slipping into a straight line. “Did Caldwell say it was going to show up on your transcript?”

“No. He InstaCommed my mom, though. And gave me a thousand demerits.”


“That’s so unfair.” Zoe’s eyes narrow and she scowls. “Avery deserved every bit of what you gave her and more. I can’t believe all that shit she said about Elusion and the Simmons family. She couldn’t be more off base.”

And just like that, I feel queasy. When I confronted Avery in the cafeteria, I sounded just as confident as Zoe is right now. But that was before I went to Elusion and everything I thought was certain and irrefutable was chipped away in a matter of hours.

“I bet Patrick was glad you stood up for him.”

“I guess,” I say, my thoughts tripping into last night, remembering Patrick’s reaction when I told him about my showdown with Avery.

All he seemed to care about was her video and the possible PR damage it could do. I cared about that, too, obviously, but when visions of my father came back to haunt me, for a moment I actually contemplated the idea that the Elusion app might have some real flaws. Maybe not the one Avery is suggesting, but something that could be just as frightening.

“Do you mind if I ask you something? About Patrick?” Zoe asks.

My attention snaps back to her. “Sure.”

“Does he . . . not like me or something?”

I give her a reassuring smile. “That’s ridiculous. Of course he likes you.”

From the way her forehead wrinkles with worry, I don’t think I’ve convinced her.

“It’s just that . . . Patrick and I were supposed to go out last night, but he canceled on me at the last minute. When he texted me, he didn’t even say why.”

My eyes shift away. Patrick was with me, but he didn’t tell Zoe where he was and why he had to cancel their plans. He also never mentioned to me that he was supposed to see her.

Why is he being secretive about this, too?

“It gets worse. I went to his office.” Zoe slouches in her seat, a shadow of embarrassment floating across her face. “I know. Totally lame stalker move, right? I just thought he was working late and I’d bring him some dinner. Cheer him up.”

“That’s really sweet,” I say.

It was also a move straight out of Patrick’s good-person playbook. I can think of a hundred things like that he has done for me, including a recent trip to the depository. Which begs the question: Why am I so hung up on the five or so minutes he wasn’t acting like himself? Why can’t I let it go?

“It was pathetic, Regan,” she continues. “There I was, holding a bag of curried chicken, standing in the lobby of Orexis, looking like a total . . . groupie.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m sure whatever reason he had for canceling has nothing to do with you,” I say, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. There’s no sense in telling Zoe he was with me instead. Even though it was sort of an emergency situation, it would still hurt.

But it seems like she’s already two steps ahead of me. “Listen, I don’t want to intrude, or interfere. I really like Patrick, and I thought you guys were just friends. But if I’m wrong and you’re more than that and he’d rather be with you, then . . .”

Before she can finish her thought, the recessed lights in the ceiling flicker and the sliding doors begin to open. Mr. Von Ziegelstein stands up and turns on the microphone pinned to his jacket.

“There’s an early dismissal due to American Education Night,” he says, his voice like sandpaper against wood. “Thank God for small miracles.”

The room buzzes with shouts of joy and celebration, everyone excited to get out of detention early.

“Are you going?” Zoe asks.

“To . . . American Education Night?” The only time I ever went to that event was when Patrick, as the valedictorian of his class, was asked to speak. And even then, my parents and I found an excuse to leave shortly after he was done.

She nods.

I hesitate. “Um—I would, if I didn’t already have plans . . .”

“Regan,” she says, smiling. “I’m just joking. No one would be caught dead there.”

I attempt a grin as we grab our bags and begin to file out of the lecture hall with our fellow delinquents. When we start to march down the steps together, she says, “You didn’t answer me.”

I look at her, confused.

“About Patrick,” she says.

“Patrick and I are friends,” I say resolutely.