Gifted (29 page)

I shake my head, appalled by how conniving he is.

The camera pans right and there is Elston next to Rajesh at the table. “I couldn't believe when I saw Orphie in the footage I'd found today. I knew I had to make it public. You can view the whole video and others like it at the Niachis Gallery through next Friday.” A link appears on screen for Elston's new exhibit.

“Even Chanson's newest star, Arabella Lovecraft, had something to say,” Ike adds.

The camera sweeps right again. Arabella, at the table with Rajesh and Elston, pushes up her gem-encrusted sunglasses then dabs at her bright and blinking eyes until a single tear rolls down her perfect cheek. “I just hope he's okay,” she says. “My heart goes out to his family, especially his father, Mr. Chanson, who is such a generous and giving patron to be releasing my debut song, ‘Nobody from Nowhere,' next week.”

Before I can react to my supposed friends' performances, the vid switches and my mother comes on the screen.

“Libellule! Libellule!” voices shout as she scampers down the steps outside of her apartment building in a flowing shirt with wing-like sleeves. At first she appears shocked to find 'razzi on her doorstep, but I can see the calculation in her face.

“What do you think of your son?” Ike asks her through a drone.

She stops and blinks her giant eyes at the camera. “I'm just thrilled that he is safe and alive!”

“Do you think he's been kidnapped and brainwashed?” Isolde asks.

My mother laughs this off as ridiculous. “Orpheus is a young man of the people. He understands the price Plute children pay for sparking false genius with Acquired Savant Ability surgeries. Just as Calliope Bontempi has brought the issue to the surface by suing my ex-husband. Orpheus is working a real job like a real man and I am proud of him! Like every mother, I just hope my son has found his bliss because in the end, that's what each of us deserves.”

Zimri turns slowly in her chair to stare at me, but I can't look away from the screen because there's my mother's skeevy boyfriend, Chester, jogging down the steps behind my mother wearing a patchwork blazer that looks as if it's made of ten different drapery fabrics.

“And have you found your bliss?” Ike asks my mother, a preplanned question if ever there was one.

My mother cozies up to Chester who slings his arm around her shoulder as she tosses her hair back and lifts her chin to laugh, an old trick to hide the lines around her eyes from the cameras.

“Yes,” she says. “I have. I've started a clothing line.” She opens her arms and both she and Chester twirl as if they've been practicing this routine for hours. She stops abruptly mid-spin, whips her head toward the camera, sultry and inviting, then purrs, “Dragonfly Designs.”

Ike comes back on screen in front of the freeze-frame image of my twisted face from the Black Friday vid. “Could this really be Orpheus Chanson shopping like a Plebe?” he asks Isolde.

She flips her hair. “Guess some people will do anything for a discount?” she says, then a laugh track kicks in as if her snide remark is the funniest thing ever uttered, and they move on to the next story.

I feel like I'm in a slow-motion Elston Tunick video then. It seems to take hours to get out of my chair. Forever to locate an exit for my escape. All eyes have turned to us. “Quick,” I say to Zimri. “We have to get out of here.”

Despite the shock she's suffered, Zimri takes my hand and pulls me out the door while Brie puts her body in between us and the crowd. Outside, I look up and down the street, sure that at any moment, 'razzi drones will be on my tail.

“We have to get away.”

“In here.” Zim hops into a dark alcove between the buildings just as the door to the Strip opens and a deluge of people come outside.

“Where is he?” Veronica shouts above the noise of the crowd. “We have to get pix with him!” Swarms of people hustle by the alleyway but Zimri and I stay pressed against the wall, holding hands until they're gone.

When the street is quiet again, Zimri lets her breath go. “I can't believe it,” she says, shaking her head. “I just can't believe it. How'd they do it so fast?”

“I'm so sorry, Zimri. I'm so so so sorry. I knew they were bad, but I didn't know they were this horrible. I would have never let Piper hear you sing if I had known this is what she would do!”

“What about all of those awful people using your situation to get attention for themselves?” Zimri says. “Your friends! Your father! Your mother! After we just saw her.”

“Oh please,” I say, waving away her disdain. “Doesn't surprise me for a minute. I guarantee, hits are going through the roof for my father's company, Rajesh's book, Elston's exhibit, orders for my mom's clothing line. Even Arabella's stolen song.”

Zimri's face goes dark. “My song,” she mutters.

“Yes,” I say. “Your song.”

She shakes her head. “This is terrible.”

“You think that's bad? Just wait a few hours until the 'razzi swarms the Complex. Then you'll see how bad it can get. I have to hide before they find me.”

As I pull her out of the alleyway, Dorian steps out of the Strip. Zimri stops in her tracks. They lock eyes. Then he stands in front of us, blocking our path, fists clenched and chest heaving.

“You're a Chanson?” he demands.

“Dorian,” she says and steps between us.

“No, it's okay,” I tell her. “No reason to deny it.”

“And you're still with him?” he asks Zim.

People walking by slow down to watch.

“Yes,” she says simply and relief floods my body.

Dorian scowls, as if the situation makes no sense. “But Chanson, his father … he's the one who prosecuted your mom! He's the one who filed the suit against her for stealing his company's music! He's the one who demanded that she pay back the damages times two and when she couldn't, he was going to force her into jail to work off her restitution, which is why she took off.”

“Is that true?” I ask Zimri.

She blinks and blinks as if trying to process what he's saying.

“Yes it's true!” Dorian stomps toward us, pointing at my chest and the small circle of people around us stirs. “This guy's family is the reason your family fell apart!”

“Zimri, I…” I start to say.

“Stop it!” she yells at Dorian. “Just stop it!”

“How can you stand beside him after what his father did to your mother?” Dorian yells.

“What about what your father did to my mother?” Zimri screams back at him.

Dorian staggers. “What are you talking about? She's the one who broke his heart.”

“He threw her under the bus!” Zimri yells. “She took the blame for everything. She never named him. Or Tati. Or Calliope Bontempi. Or anybody who came to her concerts or paid her for the downloads. She protected them all. I was there. I was at the trial. I remember. When the Arbiter asked her who else made music with her, she said she was the only one. When they asked her who hacked the HandHelds, she said she did it on her own. My father begged her to out Marley and Tati and Calliope so her sentence would be lightened, but she wouldn't do it. It's time everyone knows that!”

The people around us murmur in surprise, but Dorian's face collapses.

“We are not our parents!” Zimri says. “I am not my mother. And he is not his father. And we can't right their wrongs. So please, Dorian, please,” she cries. “Stop telling me who I can be with and what I can do with my life because so far you've gotten all of it wrong. The only thing you've gotten right is that I am like my mother. And I'm going to do what I want—just like she did.”

Someone in the crowd says, “Right on, girl!” But Dorian refuses to make eye contact with her.

“Then you're on your own, Zimri,” he tells her and she nods as if she's known that all along.

*   *   *

The next morning in my new POD, I get up early and ready myself for the 'razzi. I kept my Exo off all night because I didn't want to answer any questions or see any more coverage of my disappearance and Elston's miraculous discovery. I think back over our meeting with Piper, trying to put the pieces together. Zimri made a joke about shopping at Black Friday. I wonder how long it took Piper's minions to find the video and leak it to Elston? I wonder what my father promised her if she released it to look like she'd stumbled across it on her own? And my mother? How much did she know in advance? Most likely producers were calling her for a comment and she jumped on the bandwagon like Rajesh and Ara, hustling and scraping for whatever attention they could get.

By now news-stream producers probably know where I work, where I live, and all my usual routines, but for a second or two on my way down the stairs, part of me worries that the 'razzi won't be waiting. What if I step outside, ready to be swarmed, and there's nothing there? I told Zimri I wouldn't wish that kind of media scrutiny on my worst enemy, but the truth is, for a Plute, being irrelevant is far worse than choosing to remove yourself from the limelight. It was one thing for me to run away, it's another for nobody to follow, ever again.

But the 'razzi do not disappoint. Outside, dragonfly drones have settled like a thick mechanical carpet on the walkway. Other workers skirt around them, peering close, trying to understand what they're seeing. Since my ExoScreen glove is in the POD, they can't locate me via GPS, but surely they've sent scanners to recognize my face in a crowd. I put my head down and join a stream of people walking toward the warehouse trams until one of the drones makes a beeline for me. I don't try to outrun it or pretend I'm someone that I'm not. Instead, I stop and turn to face it.

“Hello,” I say when it zooms up and hovers in front of me. “How thoughtful of you to come.”

“Oh my god!” a guy yells and ducks as all the other drones lift up, almost in unison.

“What the hell are they?” a woman shouts, swatting and swerving around the automated cloud.

I move off the walkway and cross the Y.A.R.D. I chose this place on purpose last night. I knew the drones would follow me, silver wings whirring in the early morning light as I position myself in front of the wall with the words
Nobody from Nowhere
clearly scrawled behind me.

For ten minutes, I answer questions piped through the drone's audio feeds from producers back in the City. I evade all the questions about why I left. I deny being a Juse addict or having any ties to Project Calliope. Over and over, I reiterate the story the way I want it to be told. If there's anything I learned from watching Piper McLeo all these years it's this: Control Your Narrative.

“Working in the warehouse has given me a greater appreciation for the luxuries I've grown up with,” I tell the drones. “It would be good for every Plute to work in a Complex for a week or two. After my time here, I'm more appreciative of what people like me have and I'm more aware of what working folks are up against.”

But of course, I know it won't really matter what I say. It only matters how the Buzz will spin my words into the story they want to tell. Plus, I'm only killing time until I spot Zimri emerge from her PODPlex building, then I take off with the 'razzi in pursuit, as I knew they would. She sees what's coming and she freezes by the door. When I reach her on her stoop, I grab her and hold her tight against my side. She stands stiff and frozen in my arms as the 'razzi descend.

“The reason I came here was to discover new talent that's been overlooked by Chanson Industries,” I announce. “And I'm pleased to say that my search has been a success! This is Zimri Robinson, the next self-made musical superstar of the century!” I proclaim. Then, after ten seconds of flashing pix, the door behind us opens and someone drags us inside.

 

ZIMRI

“Come on.” Brie
hauls us in the POD building by the backs of our shirts then slams the door, making sure it's locked. “Get away from the windows so they can't see you,” she tells Orpheus and me. “Let's go up to my POD. We can watch from the screen there.”

My heart pounds wildly. I can't believe the army of drones that has descended on this place, or that Orpheus just dragged me into that maelstrom. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why did you do that?” I yell at him as the three of us charge up the stairs.

“I had an epiphany last night,” he tells me, huffing and puffing through the flights. “The Buzz is only stupid because people talk about stupid things on it. So, I decided to say something interesting. Stand up for something I believe in. I decided to use the Buzz as a platform for something good!”

I stop on Brie's landing, spin around, and shove him in the chest. “And that's what you chose? You could have talked about something truly important! You could have told the world about the injustices in the warehouse. About how they're always threatening to replace us with A.N.T.s if we don't produce superhuman times.”

“Oh, you so do not understand the Buzz,” Orpheus says. “The more I talk about something of substance, the quicker the 'razzi will buzz off. People would tune out if one of the richest kids in the world took a stand on Plebe worker rights. Nobody would care. If you want to fight the powers that be, Zimri,
you
have to make everybody see what's going on here. If you step into the limelight and sing about this life, people will listen.”

“You totally overestimate people,” I say.

“And you underestimate yourself,” he says.

“Enough!” Brie shouts. “Get inside.” She opens the door to her POD and shoves us both in.

But Orpheus and I don't stop fighting even as Brie runs around commanding all the blinds to close. Her wallscreen silently plays the scene unfolding outside as hundreds of 'razzi drones swarm the building.

“You sound just like a Plute!” I shout at him.