Chapter 7: Stray Weed

E L L I E

Have you ever had that nightmare where you show up to a party, only to realize you forgot to put on clothes? There you stand, fully naked, surrounded by the laughter and judgment of everyone in the universe who you've ever wanted to impress?

It's a pretty common dream—or so I've heard. I've never had it myself. My version is slightly less dramatic. Slightly more realistic. It involves showing up at a party, dressed in a cotton t-shirt and a pair of denim cut-off shorts, surrounded by twenty other students in skirts and dress pants and fancy, gold-buttoned blazers.

And oh yeah, there's one other key difference. My nightmare doesn't involve being asleep. It's happening to me right now, actually.

At this exact moment.

In real life.

Why do these things happen to me? I squeeze my eyes closed and reopen them, wishing by some miracle to make it all a bad dream. Everyone else in attendance must have psychic powers. I'm the only one here who didn't get the memo that the tonight's Welcome Dinner had a dress code. It definitely wasn't mentioned in the orientation packet that I re-read 75 times.

Maybe I should have realized when I saw the Program Director's residence where the party is being held. Definitely posh. Dr. Carlyle lives at the edge of campus in an ivy-covered brick house with a pair of miniature stone lions flanking the front entryway. It matches the stately grandeur of all the other buildings I've encountered here at Winthrop. Not that I've seen inside any of them. I came here straight from my dorm room, following the sound of chatting voices through a brick archway that led to the walled grounds out back.

The orientation packet described tonight's shindig as "a casual outdoor affair." That's why I'm dressed for a summer backyard barbecue. Instead, I walked into an elegant soirée, set amidst the program director's carefully landscaped grounds – a mix of graceful weeping willow trees, stone terraces, and well-tended flower beds.

And me? I stick out like a stray weed.

My instincts scream to turn and leave. No one here has made eye contact with me yet. I could probably slip back out through the garden gate without drawing too much attention to myself. No one would notice my disappearance. Or if they did, I doubt they'd care.

But no. I give my head a tiny shake. I can't... This is the only officially sanctioned event for the duration of the two-week program, my only chance to introduce myself and get some face time with the faculty.

In any case, it's nearly dusk, and the light is fading fast. No one will look at me too closely once night has fallen. Paper lanterns hang from tree branches, casting the scenery in a soft orange glow. More light emanates from lanterns at the far edge of the lawn, floating in what looks to be the director's private in-ground swimming pool.

Did I mention this place was posh?

Other students stand about in clusters, with plates and glasses balanced in their hands. I avoid all of them and make a beeline for the place I feel safest: the long buffet table, bedecked with silver platters of food.

I pick up a plate and take my time filling it. As long as I keep busy, it won't look weird that I'm not talking to anyone. Unfortunately, there's a limit to how many eggrolls and mini-quiches I can fit on my plate. I reach the end of the long table, but I linger beside the beverages, observing the rest of the partygoers from the fringes.

Everyone is waving. Everyone is hugging. Everyone knows each other. How am I the only outsider here?

Normally, my instinct would be to take out my phone and stare at it the whole time. Nothing like some desperately important fake-text-messages to hide the fact that no one wants to talk to you. But I can't even do that. I left my phone in my room, as commanded by Reese. I have my InSight Visor hanging from the cord around my neck, and I see several other kids here with their own glasses clipped to belt loops or poking out of bags... But nobody else is wearing them.

I stuff an eggroll in my mouth, realizing too late that it's searing hot inside. The filling burns my tongue. My eyes water as I abandon my plate and pour myself a glass of lemonade instead.

As I set down the pitcher, I recognize one of the girls from Reese's room on the other end of the drink table. The tall Asian girl still has her hair French braided, and she fiddles with the rubber hair-band as she chats with a boy I haven't met yet. I look toward her shyly, wondering if she'll acknowledge my existence.

For a moment, it seems to work. She breaks into a bright smile and swings her arm wildly back and forth. If anything she seems a little too enthusiastic. I raise my own hand tentatively to wave back.

"Miranda!" she calls, going up on her tiptoes to see past me. "Hey babe! Over here!"

I quickly turn away, using my raised hand to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

Smooth, Ellie.

I heave a sigh and move away from the drink table, scanning the other faces. There's one in particular that I'm searching for, although I'm embarrassed to admit it. He must be here somewhere...

A throat clears behind me, rumbling low, and I swivel on my heel. Too fast. The lemonade sloshes in my cup, threatening to spill. A hand reaches out to help me steady it. "Careful there!"

I don't know why I expected that voice to belong to Maddox. Of course it isn't him. Instead, I find myself face to face with a middle-aged man in a crisp blue oxford shirt and tie. He looks exactly like his picture on the Winthrop faculty webpage, with close-cropped graying hair and mahogany skin.

"Are you Dr. Carlyle?" I ask, swallowing my mouthful of lemonade with a gulp.

"I am. And you must be Miss Sandberg. Welcome to Winthrop!"

He smiles at me warmly, and relief floods through me. He knows my name. He didn't call security to kick me out of his backyard for trespassing, despite my raggedy cut-off shorts. Instead, he takes a step closer and holds out his hand to shake mine.

"Your project proposal made quite a splash with our scholarship committee. We're expecting big things from you this summer!"

I take a deep breath, feeling both foolish and reassured. Of course he knows who you are, Ellie.

There's a reason I'm here at this program. For all my insecurities, I'm not actually an imposter. I have skills. I have talent. I've always been unusually good at building things, ever since my parents bought me my first set of wooden blocks. And I've been writing code like second nature since I was six years old.

I'm standing here because I earned my slot over thousands of other applicants. I need to remember that.

I grin back at him, and this time it isn't forced. It's amazing how two sentences from another human being can cast everything in a different light. He's expecting big things from me, and that's all I needed to hear. "Thanks," I answer, lifting my chin. "I'm really looking forward to the Maker Fair."

"Excellent! Let me know if you need any help settling in. My door is always open." He gestures vaguely toward the back door of his house, before moving on to mingle elsewhere. I toss back another mouthful of lemonade as he moves away. The liquid cools my mouth, although I can barely taste the sugary tang of lemon. My poor burnt tongue feels thick and furry. Numb.

Maybe I should take the numbness as a sign. Why subject myself to another hour of cringe-y small talk? That three-second conversation with the program director was the whole reason I came here tonight. I don't know why I allowed myself to get sidetracked by other things—cute boys, snotty girls. None of that stuff is going to matter in the long run. I'm here for one reason, and one reason only. Do well in the Maker Program. Impress Dr. Carlyle. Get a college recommendation at the end of it.

I set down my lemonade and eye the garden gate once more, shuffling a few steps closer to the exit. Forget making friends... I'd rather return to the laptop in my room and get to work. Only the weight dangling around my neck makes me hesitate. My fingers rise to the visor, and I fiddle with the frame. I frown as I glance down at the little blue LED light.

It's not true that I only came tonight to meet the Dr. Carlyle. The truth is, I'd been hoping for an excuse to use this thing, and I can't deny the tiny stab of disappoint. Why did I bother bringing it? There are no InstaLove adventures in store for me tonight. Everyone else here is way too busy with their real social life to need an augmented one.

I turn to leave the party, but I stop dead in my tracks. A sudden hush surrounds me. The buzz of conversation dampens into silence, and I sense everyone at the party looking in the same direction.

The garden gate.

Three figures stand framed beneath the archway, glowing in the lantern-light as they make their grand entrance. All three of them wear the VR glasses that no one else here dared to put on. I recognize their faces instantly, even with their eyes concealed.

Reese, Eleanor, and Maddox. Arm-in-arm-in-arm.

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