Julia Karr - Truth

“Much as I’d love to know the answer to that,” Paulette said, “call me when you have it figured out. I’ve got to go help my mother with this party.” She clicked off.

“I’ve got to go, too,” Brie said. “Don’t worry, Nina. We’ll figure it out. Your friend deserves to be safe.” She clicked off.

“Sorry, Nina. But I know we’ll think of something.” Mag’s image disappeared.

Dorrie just said, “Bye.”

Wei and I stared at the blank wall for several seconds. Then she said, “I’m going to talk to Mom about Japan. And don’t worry. She won’t tell Dad. She doesn’t agree with him about keeping girls out of the fray. Your mother and mine were taking on the government as far back as when they were passing notes written in invisible ink in grade school. She understands.”

Half an hour later, Mag sent a message to the rest of us: “Brie, Dorrie, and I were talking. We came up with an idea.”

Iwas busy cataloging a shipment of early twenty-second-century performance-art chips when Martin joined me. “Are you all ready for New Year’s Eve? Have you found a dress? Percy has been pestering me mercilessly, don’t you know? He’s so excited about your being there.”

“Uh-huh.” I didn’t want to tell him how uncomfortable I felt about spending the evening in the same space as Paulette. And I also didn’t want to disappoint Percy and him. Besides, there was all the trouble that Mrs. Jenkins was going to to make me presentable.

“I know it can be a little overwhelming, your first top-tier event, but with you working at the Institute, I promise it won’t be your last.”

I smiled, a whole lot more enthusiastically than I felt.

“Don’t stay too late. Sleep in tomorrow morning and nap in the afternoon. Well rested is the best makeup. Oh, by the way, we’re sending a stretch trannie for you. I promised Mrs. Gold I’d come early to bless the decorations. And”—he leaned forward, conspiratorially—“to rearrange them if need be. She is, after all, from New York, where people still labor under the illusion that they live in the center of all things fashionable.” He rolled his eyes and sniff-snorted before straightening up. “I sound like such a snobbitch. I’m not, really. And I do like Mrs. Gold, she’s—” He was interrupted by an insistent beep from his chronos. “Oh, dear. If I don’t hurry, I’ll be late. Remember, home early, lots of sleep.” He patted my cheek. “I know you’ll be the belle of the ball.”

As soon as he was gone, I took my receiver out of my bag and uploaded a message from Dorrie. Transferring the digi to a piece of paper, I had in front of me a map of all the hidden passages in the Art Institute. Turning on my PAV’s GPS recorder, I stepped through one of the doors and into the corridors behind the exhibit halls.

Having no idea who, besides Martin and myself, used the passageways, I left my LED off and navigated by the dimly lit wall sconces that flanked the doors to each exhibit space. In between those I was on my own.

I was recording the route, making excellent time, when one of the doors in front of me swung open. Plastering myself against the wall, I sucked in my breath, possible excuses for my presence racing through my brain.

“Can’t you read?” a man’s voice asked. “Employees only.”

“Sorry, I was looking for the men’s room,” another voice said.

“I’ll have to run a scan on you first. Security procedure when a door is breached. If you’ll just stand over—” Something banged up against the wall, and I heard a shout. “Stop that man!

That was the last thing I heard before the door slammed shut. My heart was still racing and my knees trembled, but I eventually got myself together and pressed on. With no further scares, it took me maybe an additional two minutes to get to the roof. I knew the door code from the list Martin had given me. All the codes needed to be memorized in case of fire or other disaster. I held my breath as I keyed it in. Success. I walked out onto the roof. A few yards in front of me was a helipad, more than big enough to land a tiny veljet.

Back inside, I locked the door and retraced my steps via the recorded route. It took three minutes and fifteen seconds to get from the roof to the storeroom. I stepped into the office foyer and quickly sent the route information to Dorrie, then erased it from my receiver. The last thing I needed was to be stopped on the way out and have my PAV checked. Security occasionally ran random searches on employees, and after that incident with the guy earlier, I wasn’t taking any chances.

When I got home, the house smelled like cookies. Following my nose into the kitchen, Dee and Chris were busy whipping up a batch of something delicious.

“Macaroons,” Dee said. “You want one?”

“Sure!” I reached for the baking sheet.

“Be careful,” Dee said. “I just now took them out of the cook center.”

“The ones on the back row are cooled,” Chris said.

I selected one that was exactly the right side of warm. “Yum!”

“Chris knows everything about cooking.” Dee gazed up at him.

“I know just enough.” He tousled her hair. “You’re a good student. Listen, I’d better get upstairs. I promised Mom I’d cook dinner tonight.” From the doorway, he turned and said, “Don’t forget, Dee. We’ve got a date tomorrow night. Dinner and vids—your choice. See ya.”

“Date? I thought you were going to Maddie’s?” I snuck another macaroon.

“I was, but she’s sick. Her mom thought it would be better if I didn’t come over. I might catch what she’s got. Anyway, Chris is staying home and wondered if I wanted to watch movies with him. It’s okay, isn’t it?”

“Of course.” Staying home with Dee would’ve been a perfect excuse for me to get out of going to the party. Gah. I was still thinking of backing out. I had to stop that. The wheels were in motion, and I couldn’t get off the express if I wanted to.

Tomorrow night. I wrapped my arms around myself. The only thing keeping me from being absolutely abysmal was knowing that Mrs. Jenkins would make me look good. Small consolation. I trudged down the hall into my room, where I took out my art supplies and spent the next hour sketching what I planned on being the start of my next vid interruption.

Between Wei, her mother, and Dee, I didn’t have much of a say in how I spent New Year’s Eve day. Their excitement was contagious, and I didn’t even have to fake a smile when Wei took the digis of me.

“Ultragorgeruso,” Dee exclaimed. “You look like a vid star. Can I have your autograph, Miss Oberon?” She held out an imaginary rapido and paper.

I was afraid I would stab myself with the Kanzashi sticks in my hair, or that I’d topple over in the heels I was wearing. I did have to admit, as I surveyed the final product of Mrs. Jenkins’s ministrations—I looked hot. Not like myself, but ultrahot. Or maybe it was a part of me I was afraid to explore. That part that wanted to be attractive and sexy. There was no time to think about that further, because the stretch arrived.

“Have fun!” Dee carefully hugged me.

“Happy New Year!” Wei gave me air kisses on either cheek.

“Be careful,” Mrs. Jenkins said.

Even behind the dark windows of the trannie, I felt exposed. Which I most surely would be when I walked into Paulette’s. The dress, the hairstyle, the shoes—none of it mattered if my brain kept calling me an impostor.

“Are you ready, miss?” the driver asked.

I tore my eyes away from the steady stream of top-tiers being admitted to the building. “Uh… I, um… give me a nanosec. Please?” Was I being a snob, asking him to wait? I opened my borrowed clutch and took out a mirror, pretending to adjust my hair—which I dared not touch for fear of messing it up.