He lets go and I spin around, arching my shoulder where he wrenched it. He smiles, reminding me of my brother after the dozens of times he beat me in wrestling matches, never wanting to leave lasting marks that my parents would see, but inflicting enough pain to make sure I got his message. “We need to get back,” he says. “We’ve had some unexpected good luck. We got you entry to a mixer at the Somerset Club tonight. Your meeting date with Raine has been bumped up. Showtime, pretty boy.”

The Meeting

Livvy, Carver, and Xavier trying to dress me is far worse than Miesha choosing clothes for me to wear. They fuss and cluck over every detail. Buttoning my coat, unbuttoning my coat. Smoothing my hair until it looks like a bowl on my head. Changing shirts three times because none of them can agree. It becomes a nervous frenzy that rapidly spirals downward. This meeting has come too soon. Xavier may have portrayed it as good luck because he’s eager to get it under way, but they’re not ready, or maybe it’s just that playing stylist is simply not in their repertoire. Every grooming decision is blown out of proportion and spawns squabbles among them. Black silk pants. No, the brown with cuffs. No, the old-style tunic with billowing pants. Livvy takes a comb to my hair again.

“Stop!” I stand, ducking out of her reach. “Out! All of you, out! I’ll dress myself! I don’t need you!”

They stare at me like I’m a raving lunatic about to destroy their plans.

Livvy steps forward. “We—”

“Out!”

We’re all stuck in a silent showdown. Carver’s eyes narrow like he’s weighing this new development. “Maybe he’s right,” he finally says. “Let’s step out for a moment and see what he comes up with. He needs to feel real to be believable, not a complete creation of ours.”

At last. Someone who trusts me. But when I look at him to acknowledge this concession, the look in his eyes doesn’t seem like trust. More like a gauntlet thrown at my feet. Don’t screw up.

They leave and I immediately begin tearing off layers of clothes. I shove my head under the faucet to wash away whatever it was that Livvy put in my hair to make it as smooth as porcelain. I shake the drips away and run my fingers through it, leaving spiked clumps in their wake. I put on the pants I was wearing when I arrived, frayed at the hems and split at both knees. I slip on my scuffed black boots. The only thing I choose from their wardrobe is a plain, perfectly pressed white long-sleeved shirt that I roll up to my elbows.

I walk out, water still dripping from my hair. “Ready,” I tell them.

“He’s lost his mind,” Livvy blurts out instantly.

“If he ever had one,” Xavier adds and flops back in a chair like the whole mission has been aborted.

Livvy groans. “This is the Somerset Club we’re talking about. They have dress codes. Especially this crowd. You’re meeting Raine, for God’s sake.”

“Have you ever met her?” I ask, knowing none of them have, and no one replies.

“Have any of you ever been to the Somerset Club?”

More silence.

Carver hasn’t expressed his opinion yet, examining me, starting at my shoes and stopping at my wet hair. He finally shrugs. “It might work. She’ll notice him and that’s what we want.”

“That’s if they even let him through the door.”

* * *

The walk from Louisburg Square to the Somerset Club is short. Only a few blocks. It’s on Beacon Street just half a block from the Secretary’s home, both buildings facing the Commons. I’m sure Xavier, Livvy, and Carver are all following me in the shadows, but they don’t accompany me. From here on out, I’m on my own. Except for Livvy on occasion as needed to play my mother, they won’t even be coming to the apartment anymore. It’s too risky. Once I meet the Secretary’s daughter and her friends, I will be under the Secretary’s scrutiny.

The sun is down, but twilight still illuminates the sky. I think of Jenna. It’s her favorite time of day. It’s the time the world whispers, she says. Even the winds quiet, ready to change their course. Twilight is a gift, a brief quiet hour in the day to slow down and think, to be grateful for what the day has brought. That’s how we spent our twilights together, slowing down, enjoying the quiet and each other. I miss that time. What’s she doing right now? Does she think of me at all during her twilights in California?

I turn the corner and see the bowed facade of the Somerset Club half a block away. Carver, through a series of mysterious “Favors,” was able to get me a coveted spot in the Beacon Hill Virtual Collective. Apparently the state has face-to-face socialization requirements for the Virtual Collective, so members must meet for various occasions on a regular basis. Tonight’s event is one of the required whole group meetings. Approximately 130 students ranging in age from sixteen to nineteen will be there. My job is to secure a spot in Raine’s smaller group so I can participate in the more intimate meetings at the members’ homes. Raine’s home is used for most of her group’s meetings, either because of its size or because the Secretary wants to watch Raine’s every move. The catch is, you have to be invited into the smaller groups. Just as I left the apartment, Xavier reminded me, “Crank up the charm, kid. This is your one and only chance.”

Nothing like a little pressure. I’m wondering which Raine I’ll be meeting tonight—the bored, restrained one, or the risky one who sits on rooftop edges. Either way, I know I’ll be meeting the Raine who has secrets. As I get closer, I see others arriving and walking up the front steps. Two of the guys wear tunics with loose, billowing trousers—reds, blues, purples, and brilliant greens—very showy and as colorful as strutting peacocks. Another guy has on a black suit resembling a skintight tuxedo. His shirt is black too. The only color is a bright red rose attached at his lapel. Do they always dress this way for these meetings or is this some special event—like prom? Livvy’s words come back at me like a bad lunch. If they even let him through the door. I look down at my frayed pants and back at the last flash of color disappearing through the front door of the Somerset Club. Here goes.