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CHAPTER 43
I WAS JUST finishing up my final bench-press routine when I saw Meed’s door open. My arms still ached from the pool torture that morning, but I knew I’d catch hell if I didn’t stick with the program. There was no time off. Even though Meed had been in and out of her room all day long, I could always feel her eyes on me.
When she stepped down into the kitchen, I wasn’t even sure it was her. For one thing, the curls were gone. Now she had wavy black hair, parted in the middle. She was wearing a tight dress and a blue velvet jacket. And high heels. That was a first. I’d never seen her in anything but crew socks and sneakers. But the biggest change was her face. It looked like the face of aVoguemodel. Her eyelids were blue and her lips were bright pink. Her cheeks and forehead sparkled with some kind of glitter. She looked spectacular, in a whole new way.
“Wow!” I said. “Is it prom night??”
Meed unlocked one of the kitchen drawers and put a small container in her purse.
“Something like that,” she said. “And sorry, I already have a date.”
“You look… like somebody else,” I said.
“How do you know this isn’t the real me?” she replied.
She had a point. Every time I thought I had something figured out in Meed World, something else happened to turn it upside down. I already knew her name was made up. Maybe the copper curls were fake, too. I wondered what else she wasn’t telling me—or just plain lying about?
“I’ll be out for a few hours,” she said.
I suddenly got a sting in my gut. For a second, I was afraid she was going to chain me up again. Instead, she opened a cabinet and pulled out a bunch of audio discs. She put them in a little stack on the counter. Then she tapped them with her fingernail.
“Learn something new while I’m gone,” she said.
“Like what?” I asked.
She walked to the elevator and pressed the button.
“Your choice,” she said. “Surprise me.”
CHAPTER 44
THE CROWD ON the sidewalk outside the gallery was a mix of rich patrons and local bohemians, heavy on the under-thirty side. More vapers than smokers. Several sleek town cars idled at the curb. The exterior of the gallery was laced with thousands of tiny white lights. A well-curated music mix flowed out from the open door, along with the clink of glassware and the hum of lively conversation.
It had been a while since Meed had worn heels this tall or a dress this fitted.
But after a quick scan of the other guests, she saw that she’d blend right in. There was a small bottleneck at the entrance as a young hostess took entry donations with her iPhone card reader. When it was Meed’s turn, she reached into her small evening purse and pulled out ten crisp hundred-dollar bills.
“I hope you don’t mind a donation in cash,” she said with a smile.
The hostess blinked as if she’d been handed wampum. But she recovered graciously and slid the money into a drawer under her hostess podium. “Would you like a name tag?” she asked.
“I think I’ll stay anonymous,” said Meed. She added a charming wink.
The main hall of the gallery was broken up by curved white partitions. The floor was some kind of exotic hardwood. The paintings and sculptures were illuminated with pin spotlights, while the rest of the space was bathed in amber light, the kind of glow that made everybody look their best. Beautiful people, beautifully lit.
The first person Meed recognized was Amy-Anne Roberts, the peppy arts reporter from TV. She was stick-thin, wearing a shimmery silver dress and a quirky tiara. She looked even younger than she did on TV, and her eyes looked even bigger. Meed turned to the right and saw another woman heading her way. She was carrying a neat stack of paper at waist level.
“Welcome to Armis,” she said. “Would you like a guide sheet?”
She was a tall blonde in an elegant blue suit, as formal as a uniform. Meed looked up, started to smile, and instantly froze.
It was Annika.
Meed hadn’t seen her school instructor for almost twenty years. One day, Annika had been leading the class—the next day she was gone. No explanation. And now, here she was.
“Descriptions and prices,” said Annika, holding out an elegantly printed sheet. “Let me know what interests you, and I’ll introduce you to the artist.”
Meed held her breath and looked down as she took the cream-colored paper. She nodded, but said nothing. Annika moved on casually to the next guest. Meed turned and walked off in the opposite direction, trying not to flinch. Work the wardrobe, she told herself. Trust the illusion. Be the new you.
