Shifting into gear, Allard steps on the gas. We lurch forward, winding our way into the Sequoias. Beyond the whir of the tires, all is silent except for my sniffles.
“You need to forget Ella Karman ever existed,” she says before my thoughts can return to all that is lost. Meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror, she hands a piece of paper over her shoulder. “Your name is Elisha DeWitt, now.”
Savoring the rarity of real pages, I run my fingers over the smooth surface, resisting the urge to tear the perforated row of holes running down each side of the page in case it serves some purpose known only to Allard.
“I’m not sure she existed in the first place,” I whisper, examining my pretty face printed at the top of the article, amber eyes flashing bright and full of life under the headline:
ELLA KARMAN, DEAD:
NOT-SO-SWEET SEVENTEEN KILLS DOZENS
Every detail of Ella Karman’s seventeenth birthday was planned, down to the custom driverless BMW X-pro18, a gift from her Super-Influencer parents Noah Karman and Tiana Santos. It was scheduled to arrive in the driveway of the Lake Tahoe mansion they’d rented for the occasion at precisely 10:47 p.m., honoring the exact moment Ella was born. But Ella never showed up. Instead, she seduced her closest friends into joining her on a yacht anchored offshore for a private, champagne-fueled fiesta. Little did she know, she was leading them to their death. Or did she? In what is being called an act of terror, the yacht was riddled with explosives.
“How did you get this?” I ask. “So soon…”
“Lil’s Life Stream was on. Millions watched tonight’s events play out in real time. It’s hardly news anymore, though her feed went dark the moment the yacht exploded.”
Gravity descends, its weight pinning me to my seat, and it’s like I’m at the bottom of the lake, unable to catch my breath. The words twist, and I scan the rest of the article through a cascade of tears.
Our brightest stars, the biggest up-and-coming Influencers, snuffed out so quickly when the bomb went off. Their families are devastated. How will they ever recover?
Biting my lip, I imagine the horrific images being played out in cinematic detail for the world’s entertainment, and anger flares in my belly. “It’s all lies.” I wad the article into a ball so I don’t have to see my wavy black hair and poreless olive skin, so eerily like my mom’s. “My parents wanted us dead. ‘Nothing like a little misfortune to bring the eyeballs to you,’ it should say. They’re totally going to profit off this.”
“Do you really think your parents are behind this?” Allard asks.
“They have to be. They had everything to lose. Their secret was going to come out.” I wince, familiar anxiety I’ll be overheard closing my throat. But, whatever, it’s not my secret anymore. “The only reason I was born was so Mom could post her baby-bump pics. It was good for their image—the perfect Hollywood power couple needed the perfect Hollywood baby—but I wasn’t theirs. They used a donor embryo and grew me on a surrogate farm. She faked everything. Her whole get-your-pre-baby-body-back magical fitness empire is built on a lie.” I expect Allard’s eyes in the rearview mirror to register surprise, but they remain flat.
“Don’t you think it was them?” I ask.
“I’m not sure,” she says.
“Who do you think it was, then?” My stomach clenches as a wave a sickness pummels me, and I press my forehead to the seat.
“I don’t know, but you have to stay strong,” she says. “I understand it’s hard.”
We whip around another curve, and, bracing myself, I catch her smiling.
“This is fun for you?” I ask, swallowing the metallic taste in my mouth.
“What’s not to love? Being out on the open road, having complete control of your own destiny… Tell me, have you ever felt more alive?”
“I’ve never felt more terrified.”
She laughs. “I thrive on risk—the adrenaline rush the moment you take what isn’t yours, slip it in your pocket, hide it away. I miss my days in the field, but I get to keep you for a while—you’re my fix.” Her smile softens. “The fear will pass. Soon you’ll understand your potential. Yes, things didn’t go as planned, but you’re safe now.”
The car slows, and we turn into the forest, bumping along an unpaved path. Out the window, high above the giant sequoia trunks, pink light peeks through the leaves. I can’t believe it’s morning. A lifetime has passed since last night.
“We’re here,” Allard says several minutes later, shutting off the car.
“Where are we?” The majestic trees surrounding us all look the same.
After getting out of the car, she opens the back door for me. “Welcome to Keystone, Elisha Dewitt. Are you ready?”
I stare at the crumpled article, knowing the girl on its pages is dead. My old life is over. I won’t miss me, but I’ll miss him… Picturing Adam sitting next to me on the dock the last time we talked, our toes making tiny ripples in the lake—remembering the foolish hope that I could keep a little piece of home—I want to curl into a ball and die. All I wanted was a friend to come with me, for something in my life to be real so I wouldn’t have to be alone… I press my burning eyes shut, trying to get a grip.
Hugging myself, I rock back and forth, memorizing his face—his longish blond hair, his broad, tan shoulders with the slight spray of freckles spreading over them—his lips… Why can’t I remember his lips? I’m appalled the details are already fuzzy.
Outside, Allard shifts her weight. Leaves rustle beneath her feet, reminding me I need to answer her—need to move on.
Before he said he’d come with me, I was willing to go alone. I chose this with or without him. I take a deep breath. No more looking back. From now on, I only move forward.
Before I lose my nerve, I step out of the car and fold my arms against the chilly morning air. “I’m ready. This is what I want.”
“Nobody can know who you were—and nobody will care who you are. Those are the rules.”
“It’s a dream come true.”
Smiling, she nods. “Then follow me.”
Chapter Two
June 20X5, Keystone
Allard leads me down a lightly worn trail, our feet crunching over brittle leaves. It’s eerily still this deep in the woods, and we walk in silence for several minutes until she asks, “How did you escape the explosion?”
My heart stalls. She’s going to think I’m nuts. “I heard a voice…not with my ears, but from…within me,” I say, sucking in my breath. “This is going to sound weird, but it said ‘jump,’ and it was almost like this hurricane wind pushed me over. I mean, I threw myself overboard, but it all happened so fast…”