Zep was fun, handsome, and her best friends boyfriend. He wasnt an option. And she didnt know what was worsethe cliché or the strain of holding two equal and opposite feelings at once.
Nothing had changed since the kiss, of course. He had played typically hard to get ever since, and it didnt look like anything had changed between him and Libby.
But now this, and this only, made things worse. If Libby did break up with Zep, and if Clair and he did hook up, what would Libby think then? That Clair had been the other woman all the time?
As if, Clair told herself, unable to hold Libbys hot gaze any longer. Zep probably had girls mobbing him everywhere he went. Take that very night, the crashlander ball. Who knew where he was right then? He wasnt with Libby, and he wasnt with Clair, either, and that spoke volumes.
Sorry, guys. Libbys voice was barely audible over the racket of the party. I think Im going to go home. My head is pounding, and Im not really up to this now.
Clair and her friends tried to talk Libby out of leaving, but she was adamant. Migraines were migraines, and the party bubble had popped, she said. It simply wasnt fun now that Zep was here; he was stressing her out too much. Yes, Libby would confront him about it, but not now. Tomorrow, maybe.
Clair trailed with Libby back to the booth, just the two of them, as the night had started.
One of the doors was open, its mirrored interior empty and waiting.
You sure youll be okay? Clair asked.
Libby nodded, downcast. Clair impulsively took her hand and held her there for a moment. I love you, she wanted to say. Ive known you nearly all my life, and you understand me better than anyone. Youve fixed everything from grazed knees to panic attacks. I would never do anything to hurt you. When this stupid crush passes and you and Zep get married, Ill be your maid of honor, and no one will remember but me.
But the words wouldnt come. Clair could only hope that her eyes said everything she needed to express.
Libby let go and went into the booth.
Stay beautiful, she said.
Yeah . . . you too.
The door slid behind her, and the old booth whirred.
3
CLAIR SAGGED, EXHAUSTED suddenly by conflicted emotions. She told herself to concentrate on the party. It was going well. People were enjoying themselves, so why shouldnt she? She would get herself another drink. She would find Tash and Ronnie and have another dance. She would
There you are, Clair-bear. Whereve you been hiding?
Zep was standing right behind her.
Hey, she said, turning away from the door through which Libby had vanished. She couldnt just ignore him, could she? Are you having a good time?
Spot-on. These guys are the coolest. Was that Libby I saw a second ago?
Clair nodded. She left. A headache.
Her loss. A bunch of us cracked the lock on the old telescope hatchwhatever you call it. Come see. The views amazing!
She hesitated. Reason told her that he was only inviting her because Libby wasnt around and he wanted someone to show off to.
All right, she heard herself saying. Just let me get a coat.
They found a pile of parkas at the base of the ladder leading up to the walkway circling the base of the dome. The wide slit the telescope would once have peered through was indeed open, but the telescope itself was gone. Clair shrugged into a thick mountaineering jacket and zipped it up to her chin. The hood dampened some of the partys incessant racket. She put on gloves and followed Zep up the ladder and onto a narrow maintenance platform that circled
the outside of the observatory. There was a rail, but it looked insubstantial against the black, mountainous space below. One misplaced step would lead to a sudden, stony death. Luckily, there were other things to think about.
Amazing, isnt it? said Zep from behind her. His face was barely visible inside his own hood. He had to stand close so she could hear him. Head that way. Theres another ladder around the bend that goes right to the top.
Clair followed his directions deeper into the night, everything bombarding her in sharp-edged focus. She no longer felt cramped and crowded as without realizing it she had inside. On the roof of the Sphinx Observatory, the night seemed almost mythic in its intensity.
When she reached the ladder, Zep said, Here, let me give you a hand.
No, Ive got it. She hoisted herself onto the first rung and climbed carefully but surely upward. The first few steps were perfectly vertical, but slowly the angle lessened as she came over the bulge of the dome. When she was halfway, the circular observation platform at the very top came into view. It was ringed with another low metal rail and was full of people, some of them standing on the rail and pretending to fly.
One boy shouted, Im going to jump! No, really, I am. . . . Judging by the way people ignored him, he had been saying it for a while.
Five yards from the top, there was a ledge protruding from the dome where some kind of rusted antenna installation jutted out into the night. The ladder went right past it.
Lets stop at that ledge rather than go to the top. Clair didnt want to have to fight for a view, and the scenery was fantastic enough where she was.
Sure. Thats cool.
She climbed the rest of the way and stepped carefully onto the ledge. There was no rail, just the antenna to hang on to, and once they were off the ladder, the slope of the dome beneath them felt five times steeper. The metal looked slippery too, rimed with clear ice. She wondered if shed done the right thing. Then she felt something pressing into her side and heard a distinct click. Zep had used a carabiner to attach her to a rope that looped around his waist. Another click and they were both safely attached to the antenna.
He grinned at her with something like relief, and she laughed at the nervous moment shed unknowingly shared with him.
They squatted down, then sat so their legs dangled off the ledge. Clair could feel the cold seeping into her backside, but for the moment it wasnt making her uncomfortable. The view seemed to go forever.
Itll be light soon, Zep said.
She didnt check the clock in her lenses. Global time wouldnt tell her whether it was midnight or five minutes to sunrise in Switzerland, since it was the same time everywhere. Her eyes told her that the sky did look faintly lighter to the east. The highest peaks were dusted with faint haloes, like giant angels.
She pulled an oxygen bottle from her pocket and took a hit. The compressed gas actually felt warmer than the air biting at her cheeks.
This is such an amazing place, Zep said.
I know. We really did get lucky.
Everyones saying Libby found it, but you should get at least half the credit, I reckon. I bet she didnt like it at first, and you talked her into it.
She tilted her head and stared at him through narrowed eyes. How do you know that?
Because youre Libbys finisher.
Her what?
You finish what she starts, clean up her messes, right her wrongs, that kind of thing. You are, right?
I dont do that, she said, glancing out at the icy vista. Not always.
Yes, always, he said. Sheesh. I know you two better than you know yourselves.
Ha! You wish.
Just try me.
All right. Whats my favorite kind of chocolate?
Dark.
Yes . . . but I already knew that.
He grinned. So give me something harder.
Clair thought for a second. Whats my least favorite city in the world?
Hmmm. Omsk.
Is that a real place?
Of course it is. Youd never hate somewhere imaginary.
But Ive never been there.
Doesnt matter. Youll go there one day, and youll hate it. Take my word for it.
Have you been there?
No.
So how do you know?
I just know you, see? Want to go check it out? We can be there in thirty seconds.
No thanks.
Frightened Ill be right?
She laughed and punched him on the arm. It was as solid as a rock, even through the parkas. He snatched the oxygen bottle from her and took a hit.
I was beginning to wonder if you were avoiding me.
What? No. Just you-and-Libby, she wanted to say.
Good.
Why?
He sucked on the canister a second time, then gave it back to her. She resisted the urge to bring it immediately to her lips.
Maybe its the oh-two, he said, inching closer so they were pressed tightly against each other on the narrow ledge, maybe its this place . . . I dont know. But Ive been wanting to get you alone all night. . . .
Zep raised his right arm and put it around her shoulders while his other hand came across him to tip her hood back slightly. Her head tilted with it.
Every nerve cell in Clairs body came alive, and at the same time every neuron in her brain froze in shock. This wasnt happening, surely.
But it was. He leaned into her. She didnt pull away. His lips were parted. She could see his teeth. When he breathed out, the air misted between them, only there was hardly any between at all now. If he came any closer . . . all she had to do was . . .
Wait, stop, she said, raising her left arm and pushing firmly against his chest with fingers splayed. What are you doing?
He blinked at her. What am I what?
Libby, remember?
This isnt about Libby.
But it has to be about Libby. You cant fool around with me while youre seeing her. You cant. I cant. She was talking to herself as much as him, and she didnt think she was doing a very convincing job. Besides, she already thinks youre cheating on her with someone else. Thats a clique Im not eager to join.
Theres no clique, he said with a frown. Theres no one else. Is that who you think I am?
Before Clair could answer, a boom of flesh on metal came from above and behind them, heavy enough to make their perch vibrate. Clair whipped around and saw someone skating down the slippery slope of the dome. It was the boy who had been threatening to jump earlier. He was waving his hands above his head to keep himself upright. His expression was one of shock, as though he couldnt believe what gravity was doing to him.
He tried to backpedal and fell with his legs in the air. It might have been funny except for his cry of absolute terror. He knew and everyone watching knew that if nothing arrested his fall, he would slide unchecked faster and faster to the edge of the dome. From there, there was nothing but down. To the icy rocks below.
People were shouting. Zep was moving. The ledge complained as he leaped to his feet and stepped over Clair. Two more steps gave him a short running jump off the ledge. Clair didnt have time even to think as he launched himself into space. Then the rope connecting him to the antenna snapped taut, and she clutched at it with both hands, fearing the carabiner giving way and him being swept off the dome.
Zep hit the dome spread-eagled and belly first, causing another hollow boom, louder than the first. He skidded down the icy slope and reached for the falling guy. They clutched at each other with graceless urgency, scrabbling for a grip on slippery parkas and gloves, and clung tight. The extra weight made the ledge under her groan alarmingly. Clair held on to the rope and leaned back as far as she dared.
The rope wrenched Zep and the guy along an arc, tumbling down over the bulge of the dome and out of sight. When the rope was pointing straight down over the dome, Clair felt some of the weight ease, as the falling guy was helped down from below, she hoped. She braced her feet against the antennas base and kept pulling on the rope. Her breath came fast, rasping in her ears.
People were thundering down the ladder. Some of them shouted at her, but she couldnt make out what they were saying. The rope moved under hands again, and she leaned back as Zep rappelled up to the ledge. Her heart thudded extra hard on seeing him, and inside her gloves, her hands felt tremulous and sweaty. The world had narrowed down to just the two of them. She no longer saw the perilous view at all.
Zep looked like he might be feeling the same. His eyes were a bright, shining blue, and he was blinking a lot. Two red spots burned in his cheeks.
When hed reached the ledge and had a good grip on the antenna, she let go and said, Next time, just throw the rope, you idiot.
Oh yeah, he said, his breath steaming, I shouldve thought of that.
She grabbed his head with both hands and brought their lips together, hard. Not for long; he was breathing heavily, and it still wasnt right. But if the rope or antenna hadnt held, he would have fallen and Clair would have missed her one and only chance to do it properly. She had to make up for that now, while she could.
Jesus, he said when she pulled away, is this what I have to do get you to kiss me?
She lowered her head so her face was buried in his chest. They both laughed, almost hysterical on adrenaline, and she clutched him as though she were the one falling.
4
THE ACCIDENT DIDNT kill the party, but it did have a decidedly sobering effect. Dawn did the rest. Within half an hour it all was over, and Clair was standing in line for the booth with Zep and Xandra Nantakarn and fifty other people, all shivering and awaiting their turns to go home. There was some disgruntled muttering about the delay. Clair hadnt considered that downside of the d-mat bottleneck.
Dont feel bad, Xandra told Clair when her chance to leave came. No one died, and the crashlander legend lives on. See you tomorrow night?
Uh . . . maybe. Clair wasnt thinking that far ahead. The electric bubble she had occupied earlier had popped. Now she just felt tired.
Dont wait too long. One day we really will run out of venues.
Xandra winked as the door shut on her, leaving Clair and Zep alone in the restless crowd.
Now what? he asked her.
Now what what?
The night doesnt have to end here. I have some scotch back at my dorm, and we could both use some warming up Hey!
She had kicked him. Dont do that, Zep.
Yeah, sorry. He retreated into himself a little. I guess I should talk to her.
Clair hated pushing him away, but she knew it was the right thing to do.
We were buzzing on adrenaline and too much beer. Thats all.
The booth opened in front of them. Neither of them made a move.
If I say after you, will you kick me again?
No, because Im tired and want to get home.
She stretched up to kiss him on the cheek and quickly slipped away.
The door slid shut. Clair was surrounded by reflections of herself. She looked completely washed out, something the bright, white light coming at her from all corners didnt help at all. She closed her eyes and wondered what she was feeling underneath that shades pallid facade.
Zep liked her. What did that say about him? What did it say about her that she had really kissed him now, even if it was in a moment of weakness, just once? Where did that leave Libby? He clearly wasnt over her if he only guessed he should talk to her. Clair was an idiot for getting involved.
She felt as though her insides were being torn apart by invisible hands, which was a thousand times worse than how she had felt before.
It cant happen again, she told herself. Clair Larhonda Hill doesnt do things like this.
It would best for everyone, she decided, if Zep just got over whatever it was he felt for her and made things good with Libby. Clair could live with rejection if it meant keeping her best friend. There would be other boys. There would never be another Libby.
When she woke the next morning, there were over five hundred bumps in her infield. It was like on her birthday, only that was months ago, and there were no important holidays listed that she might have forgotten. She rolled onto her back with a groan, thinking, Who died?
The bumps appeared to float in the darkness above her, names in a soft Helvetica font against a minimalist, blocky background in burned oranges and yellows. The colors of sunrise, automatically selected by her lenses, probably by some algorithm that thought this would ease her into wakefulness rather than dump it on her like a bucket of cold water. If so, it wasnt working.
The alarm that had woken her came again. It was time to get ready for school. Why was she so tired? The party, right. The crashlanders. The kiss . . .
Her eyes flickered open. She felt faintly sick, and not just from the beers she had drunk. The list of bumps remained in her field of vision, as though demons had scribbled across the ceiling while she slept. The text slid from ceiling to drapes as she sat up with a jerk.
Zeps name was on the list of bumpsnot as a recipient, but as a subject.
People were talking about him in the Air. And she was part of the conversation. Anxiously, she winked on one of the bumps and skimmed through a short vlog covering what had happened the previous night.
At first she was relieved. It was just a brief account of the ball, with emphasis on the incident of the boy who had almost died. There were interviews with people either praising Zep for his bravery or damning the entire clique. Xandra Nantakarn was unflustered in a brief clip doing the rounds. The Lucky Jump wasnt to blame, said a representative of VIA, the Virtual-transport Infrastructure Authority, whose job it was to make the rules about how d-mat was used. A peacekeeper spokesperson wasnt so sure.
It was news of a fairly minor sort. Clair supposed that she must have been mentioned somewhere in one of the posts, leading to the general topics prominence in her infield. And it was pleasing in a way. Popularity in social media wasnt something she went out of her way to seek, like Libby did. She had never popped this way before.
Then she saw the phrase, Zeppelin Barker and his girlfriend, crashlander Clair Hill . . .
Oh no, she said, skipping to the next bump and following its link.
This one came with a snapshot of her pulling on the rope, taken through the lenses of someone at the top of the dome. This time, they got the name of Zeps girlfriend right, but they had attached it to the wrong face. The caption on the picture of Clair read, Liberty Zeist, discoverer of the latest crashlander ball that almost cost her boyfriends life . . .
No, no, no!
The mixed-up name wasnt going to save her. Clairs face was still there, recognized by the Air and sent to her as it would be to anyone interested in Clair Hill, crashlanders, or Zeppelin Barker. Among a multitude of correctly labeled pictures of Libby were enough of Clair to be certain that Libby would see them and ask the question: What had Clair done last night to make people think she was Zeps girlfriend?
Maybe Libby had already seen them.
Clair scrolled through the long list of bumps, looking for Libbys name. It wasnt there, but Tash and Ronnies were.
Thought you went home with Libby, Tash had sent earlier that morning. Didnt know you were still there, being a hero!
Ronnies was more guarded. Anything to this, or is it just another Airhead false positive?
Clair didnt know how to respond. She hugged her knees and wished she could erase the bumps not just from her infield but from the Air itself. But the vast web of wireless connectivity covering the Earth tangled everyone in information. There was no escaping it or the myriad algorithms that guided data to its destination. It didnt matter if two or two hundred thousand people were following the story, Libby was absolutely, positively certain to notice.
How much worse would it look if Clair didnt say something to her right away?
When Clair checked Libbys public profile, she found a caption of an old woman on a swing with a shotgun on her lap and the words Disturb at own risk. Not encouraging.
Clair got out of bed, threw her clothes in the fabber for recycling, and dialed a set for school. While she was in the shower, she sent a message to Libby.
Its not what it seems. Really truly honestly. Can we talk?
She deleted everything from her infield so thered be no mistaking a reply when it came.
Libby hadnt said anything by the time Clair got out of the shower and dressed in her freshly made clothes. The apartment was empty and tomb quiet around her. Clairs mother regularly started work in the middle of the night. Her stepfather lived in Munich most weekdays. Clair was an only child and heartily glad of it.
For breakfast she had perfectly scrambled eggs with freshly toasted bread, low-salt butter at room temperature, and the best black coffee a fabber could find. The coffee was the only thing she truly tasted.
Libby, she sent, and was unable to stop once she had started this time, did you get my message? Are you up yet? Are you feeling all right? Please call me back as soon as you can.
She desperately wished she could stay home with her head under the covers, but skipping school wouldnt solve anything. Being smart had gotten her parents parents through the Water Wars, Allison Hill, Clairs mother, liked to say. That and never giving up. Allison claimed that Clair had inherited her maternal grandmothers stubbornness, and that even when they argued, it was something to be grateful for.
5
WOODWARD AND MAIN, Manteca, she told the booth, avoiding the accusing stare of the reflection directly in front of her.
My nose is too big, she thought for the thousandth time.
A sneaky new voice internally riposted, You could fix that.
She scowled. That wasnt cool. Improvement couldnt be real, no matter what Libby thought, and even if it was, beauty was only skin-deep.
sssssss-pop
The door opened onto bright morning sunlight shining through dappled leaves, fresh sea air, and the sound of people arguing. Her booth was one of twenty in a line under the familiar d-mat sign of two overlapping circles
in a chunky Venn diagram. There was a man in a green suit directly in front of her. She stepped out, and he stepped inside without acknowledging her. Woodward and Main was one of several hub stations servicing not just the Manteca New Campus High School but downtown tourism as well. Sacramento Bay was busy with amateur sailors day-tripping north to Yuba City or east to Rio Vista and the Joice Islands. The fishing was good, and so were the mangroves.
Clair hugged the strap of her backpack and pressed through the crowd. The station was even more congested than usual. Two UFO-like eye-in-the-sky (EITS) drones buzzed softly over the discontented crowd.
D-mat jumps took about two minutes, give or take thirty seconds, and this one had taken her just over two. Something other than unreasonable lag time was responsible for the disturbance, then. A blue peacekeepers helmet stood out above a small knot of people three booths along. Clair rubbernecked to see what was going on but couldnt make out anything untoward, and couldnt justify standing where she was for long. People were pressing forward into the booths, anxious to be on their way, as she was.
School was crowded. A multilingual sea of kids navigated channels that curved organically between buildings four, five, and six stories high. Juniors, like Clair and Libby, were on the other side of the campus, near the gym. Clair leaned toward the practical artswriting, music composition, and editingwith a smattering of history and soft sciences that most of her friends found boring. She didnt know what she would do with the combination, but she figured she had time to decide. It wasnt like money was an issue as it had been in her grandfathers day, when fabbers hadnt existed to make anything anyone wanted, and people had had to have jobs just to eat.
You kids are getting smarter, younger every year, he liked to complain, but you never actually do anything with those smarts of yours.
Thats not true, Clairs mother had responded the last time. What about that kid who solved the Riemann hypothesis a month ago?
There you go, Clair, he had grumbled. Why cant you be more like him?
Her, Grandpa, Clair had corrected him. Anyway, I dont like math.
Finding the right vocation is like finding the right spouse, Allison had said with a smile. Better to have none than the wrong one.
Like friends, Clair thought now. And boyfriends.
Libby wasnt at the classroom when Clair arrived, didnt turn up with everyone else, and remained silent as they took their seats and the teacher started talking about survivor narratives of the Water Wars. When Clair checked Libbys public profile, it listed her location as school, but that was likely to be a fake for her parents sake, the same as it was when she went out partying.
She sent me something last night. Ronnie bumped Clair. It was weird. Hang onIll show you.
A forwarded message appeared in Clairs infield, which had changed to greens and grays to match the New Manteca campus. Bumps kept coming in about the crashlander ball. Another time she might have been pleased by her newfound notoriety, but not today.
Clair fixed on the message from Ronnie and blinked her left eyelid.
It worked was all Libby had said, about two hours after the party. Now Im beautiful!
I think she was talking about Improvement, Ronnie said. Check her transit data.
Like Ronnie and Tash, Clair had close-friend privileges to Libbys profile, which told her where Libby went and who with. Useful when Libby was running late, now it told Clair exactly where she had been the day before. There was a string of seventeen rapid jumps in the evening, when Clair and Libby had been looking for the crashlander ball, but there was also a long series of Lucky Jumps in the afternoon and another after Libby had said good night. Clair quickly tallied them up. Ninety jumps in one day. At two minutes a jump, that totaled around three hours lag.
Tash whistled. No wonder she had a migraine!
What did she mean about being beautiful? Clair asked Ronnie. It cant have worked, right?
Impossible, said Ronnie. Thats why she bumped me, I think.
She wants you to believe because she really wants to believe . . . ?
Maybe she convinced herself the birthmark was actually fading, said Tash. She must have been ultralagged.
So then she crashes, said Clair. And what does she wake up to . . . ?
Bumps about you and Zep, said Ronnie with characteristic bluntness.
And of course the birthmarks still there, which makes her embarrassed as well as angry.
Clair was satisfied that they had her best friends mood mapped out but decidedly unsatisfied by what that left her with. She was unable to do anything until Libby responded, and she found it impossible to concentrate as a result. Her right foot hooked around her left ankle and jiggled restlessly. Not turning up for school wasnt especially unusual; everyone skipped now and again, even Clair. But not like this, without an explanation, a single word . . . that wasnt Libbys style. She was a broadcaster, not a brooder.
Clair? Clair, are you paying attention?
She blinked and refocused. The teacher was talking to her, and the entire class was staring.
Im sorry, she said, gathering up her backpack and avoiding the eyes of her friends. Im not feeling well.
That was a lie, but staying would be a waste of time. There was no faking out a live teacher. That was the whole point of school, Clairs mom said. Anyone could cheat by copying answers from the Air; school was for learning how to cheat people.