Chapter Twenty-Seven

September 20X6, Stanford

“This place has the best burgers on campus.” Grinning, Eric/Nash places his hand on the small of my back and shows me inside a crowded restaurant made to look like an old-school diner. We pass a chrome bar lit with garish neon lights and lined with metal stools before he pulls me down into a glittery turquoise booth. The table screen instantly lights up with a menu tailored just for me—or rather, Kerri—highlighting the corned beef hash and potato special as a “taste of home.”

Eric/Nash sits across from me. “Let me order for us. I know what’s good.” He swipes his finger across the table, flipping through the menu.

“Thanks.” Not caring what we eat, I sit back and watch him tap out our order, wondering how long I’m going to be stuck with him. It’s not lost on me that the old me would have loved this moment. Being here with “Adam” would have been a dream come true. Folding my arms over my midsection, I absently twirl one of Kerri’s rosy waves around my finger. Life should be that uncomplicated. Staying out too late with a boy I like and coming home to worried parents should be the only thing I have to worry about. If only it were that simple. A hollow void expands in my belly that no burger could ever fill.

“Maybe life will be better in the Simulation,” I think out loud in Kerri’s lilt. “Safe. Simple. We won’t have to worry about anything. It will just be fun.” For a second, I let myself buy into the idea of playing games all day, of someone else doing the thinking for me. It’s tempting. As soon as I consider it, though, acid rises in my throat, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth, and I shut the idea down. I can’t let this place get to me. I have to stay conscious. Whatever that means.

“It’ll be much better,” Nash responds as Eric, tapping out the last part of our order. “Our brains can’t even process how much cooler it will be than this reality.”

A drone appears, delivering two milkshakes: one a creamy pale green concoction, the other frothy white, and both in tall glasses piled with fluffy whipped cream and topped with a cherry.

“Mint chocolate double fudge.” Nash slides the green one to me. “And classic vanilla bean.” He pulls the white glass toward him. “The best this reality has to offer. We can share.”

Doubting anything could purge the sourness from my mouth, I take a micro-sip of the mint milkshake and almost die. It’s so good. I close my eyes, savoring the cold sweetness, and when I open them, Beau/Garrett and Nicki are entering the restaurant.

I sit up straight.

Eric/Nash peers over his shoulder. “Ah. The dynamic duo. At it again.”

“They’ve been seeing a lot of each other?” I concentrate on sucking down more milkshake.

“She’s got it bad. She’s obsessed. He has that effect. You know, you’ve spent a lot of time with him.”

I roll my eyes. “Does he?”

Behind Eric/Nash, Beau/Garrett tugs Nicki into a booth. She sits so close to him, she’s practically on his lap. They swipe through the menu, their heads bowed close, taking zero notice of us. I peer at the back of Garrett’s head, imagining where the chip resides—if it’s there at all.

Eric/Nash laughs. “Even you’re not immune. I actually wouldn’t mind seeing his brain scans. Maybe they prove what’s so special about him that girls can’t help falling at his feet.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I switch milkshakes with him and sample the vanilla. It’s just as good as the mint, rich and velvety. “And should we be talking about this?” I whisper, glancing at the FR cameras in the ceiling.

He lowers his voice. “This place is cool. It’s always crowded so it’s hard to hear.” As he talks, he flips through songs on the vintage jukebox attached to our table that also doubles as the microphone to record our vocals should we want to livestream to the Networks, which we aren’t doing right now. Stewart can see everything I’m seeing through my AMPs, but he can’t hear. He and Rayelle are probably dying to know what we’re talking about.

“Especially when the music is on.” He chooses “Out There” by Berkeley & the Brightside and presses play. The song’s opening drums blare to life, drowning out Nash’s voice, and I strain to hear him. “Most Laborers don’t have much use for the Networks, so they don’t really keep up the tech around here. It’s pretty safe to talk.”

The drone arrives with our burgers—a plant-based double-decker masterpiece piled with onion rings and dripping with barbeque sauce for him, and a parmesan sourdough avocado mashup for me, both sitting on nests of shoestring fries.

Over Eric/Nash’s shoulder Beau/Garrett and Nicki are sharing a Cherry Coke, a typical Beau move. Searching for signs of Garrett, I pick at my fries.

“It’s kind of like old times, isn’t it?” Eric/Nash whispers, following my gaze. “Us two happy couples, together again.” He takes a big bite of his burger.

I turn my attention to him, watching him happily chewing, and it strikes me that I don’t know Nash at all. He’s not Adam and he’s not Eric. He’s a stranger.

My skin prickles. “Except none of us are couples.” I swirl a fry around in ketchup, shifting my focus to my plate. “And now we’re on the same side.”

“We were always on the same side,” he says, his mouth full.

“It didn’t feel like it.” My gaze flickers up to his.

“But we were.” He wrinkles his nose. “And I wouldn’t be too sure they’re not a couple.”

I frown, hoping he’s just trying to get to me.

“He really likes her,” he persists. “It’s his weakness. There’s always some girl he’s trying to protect. It’ll be his downfall if he’s not careful.”

“I thought protecting Nicki was your job.”

“It is, among other things. We can’t forget about you.” A smile stretches across his chiseled face and popping a fry into his mouth, he chomps on it.

My mouth goes dry and I grab the vanilla milkshake. Wanting to find out as much as I can about the real Nash, I change my tactic, hoping flattery will help me catch a glimpse of him.

“You seem to have Simon wrapped around your finger. How did you manage that?”

“It wasn’t that hard.” He leans back against the booth and puts his foot up on the seat next to me. “Simon’s not so bad once you get to know him.”

My jaw drops and flattery goes out the window. “He wants to brainwash the world. That’s pretty bad.”

Motioning for me to keep it down—even though I wasn’t that loud—he leans in.

I push my food aside and rest my elbows on the table, meeting him halfway. The tangy scent of barbeque sauce and grease from his plate envelops us.

“Did you know Simon attended Keystone when he was a kid?” he whispers.

“What?” My elbow almost slips off the table. “He did?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “I’ve gotten to know him, and his alliances aren’t black and white. Everyone has shadows.”

I squint, trying to comprehend why he’s telling me this.

“Hey you two.” Nicki’s sweet, musical voice sounds above us, interrupting my train of thought.

I jump away from Nash.

“Eric, you made a friend.” She grins.

I peek at Beau/Garrett. His expression is friendly, if vacant, and if he’s bothered by the intimate conversation it looks like I’m having with Nash, he doesn’t show it. But then he wouldn’t. He’s a pro. And if he’s in there, he’s going to be hard to find. I tune in my spidey-senses, my nerve endings feeling out the ether for any vibration that reads as Garrett. Unfortunately, all I get is Beau. Which doesn’t mean he uploaded his brain, that the doctors have erased everything that makes him Garrett and are controlling him. Does it?

Now, being this close to him, my instinct is he would never let them take his mind. But Nash saw the chip get implanted. And I believe that to be true. Pressure builds in my temples and I can’t get a clear picture of what’s going on. The puzzle pieces refuse to fall into place and my irritation at Garrett for stealing the Warhol tape evaporates. I’d give anything to know he was here.

“Dr. Nasif asked me to look out for Kerri.” Eric/Nash puffs out his chest, snapping into character and dropping any indication he’s truly Nash. “She’s pretty special.”

Folding my hands in my lap, I flush at the compliment and make myself small, pretending to be the demure Kerri.

“I heard you’re going to be on Eric’s team.” Beau/Garrett smiles that placid smile of Beau’s. “My loss, but lucky them.”

“You get my sister on your team, though.” Looking up, I emphasize sister, my pulse pounding as I search Beau’s face for a glint in his eye—something—that indicates Garrett is in there and gets the irony of Chloe and me pretending to be sisters. He’s got to be there. I refuse to give up on him.

But Beau simply nods. “True. I’m sure she’s just as special. I never thought twins with such similar brains could be so different.”

“Outside of our looks, we’re complete opposites,” I assure him, giving it one more shot. “Our dad always said she was the decoy, and I was the trap.” I laugh, hoping for his mouth to twitch or for him to lick his lips—some reaction to the jab at Chloe—but he politely feigns a laugh, remaining solidly Beau, and my heart plummets.

“It’s some sort of old Irish saying.” I swat at the air as if that could wipe the Beau-ness from his face. He’s a machine. My stomach roils, making me regret the milkshake, and I push the thought from my mind, hating that it could be true.

“That’s funny,” Nicki says, her pretty eyes twinkling. “Hey. We were going to head back to the lawn at West Flo to play some games. Do you two want to come? It could be a double date.” She winks at Eric/Nash.

“Sounds fun. Let’s do it.” Eric/Nash shoves the last bite of his burger in his mouth and doesn’t ask for my opinion. “You gonna eat that?” He points at my untouched dinner.

I shake my head no. “I’m not that hungry.”

“We’ll take it to go then.” He motions for a drone to pack it up and swipes his wrist screen over the table to pay for our food.

Will I ever get rid of him? Inwardly I grimace. Prisoner much? But outwardly, I plaster a smile on Kerri’s face. At least I’ll have more time to find Garrett. If he still exists.