Mrs. Webster should have screamed or slapped me. I wouldn’t have blamed her. The angry click of her needle-thin, gold-and-black-swirled heels as she crossed the gray tile floor toward me made me brace for both. Instead, she pulled me against her in a fierce hug and when she finally let go and removed her gold-framed sunglasses there were tears glistening in her deep brown, perfectly made-up eyes.
As Rose stepped next to her mother’s side, I hurried to say, “I’m sorry.”
Mrs. Webster held up her hand. “Stop right there. Rose and I have talked. I know the truth about what happened to my son.”
Not the story the police and the mayor gave her about Isaac being kidnapped by a dangerous gang actively working to undermine the city’s security and disrupt everyone’s lives, but the real truth, where Isaac was taken by the Marshals because the security card he was given for his summer job was used to enter a room that held government secrets. The security card I “borrowed” without Isaac’s knowledge.
“Isaac’s gone because of me.” I force myself to look into her eyes.
“You didn’t take my son. You didn’t lie to me about why he is gone,” she snapped.
“My father did that.” Rose stepped beside her mother. “My lying-for-the-government-means-more-to-me-than-my-children father.”
“And now—” Mrs. Webster straightened her shoulders. “I’m going to do whatever I have to in order to get my son back.”
Which is why we have a real plan—a plan that if everything goes right has a real chance of working—and why my design is now on the Gloss door.
“It looks amazing, right?”
I jump at the voice behind me and turn to see Rose standing on the sidewalk, her thick, dark hair framing a face that, despite the stress and lack of sleep, is still beautiful. She smiles from mere feet away—where she is not supposed to be—and I stand still as a stone trying to decide how to remind her that Merriam Adams and Rose Webster aren’t supposed to know each other.
“As of this past Monday that’s the new logo for Gloss. We’re refreshing our whole image,” Rose says to fill the silence between us, then holds out her hand. “Sorry, I’m Rose Webster. I’m a summer intern. I was told another intern was starting today. That’s you, right?” When I still say nothing her smile falters. “Or did I just make a total idiot of myself?”
“No. You surprised me.” I smile now that I finally understand what Rose is doing. “I’m Merriam—new design intern.”
Rose grins. “I think we are going to be great friends, Merriam. To prove it, I’m going to show you around. Ready to take the fashion world by storm?” she asks, her eyes serious as she opens the door to the Gloss offices.
Am I ready?
Two weeks ago, I refused to leave the city. I was determined to stay and continue the mission my mother started before the government had her killed. I wanted to help restore censored words to the country—to find Rose’s brother, Isaac, and all the others the government had caused to disappear. And this was a key piece of the puzzle—using Gloss to bring truth to a country that thinks it already knows what the truth is.
It is the first step. One I’ve been impatient to take, and yet, I hesitate as I look at the open door.
The last time I helped create a plan, it failed.
I failed.
For months, I dreamed of my mother’s death. Her wrapped in her red coat standing on the beige-gray concrete sidewalk. The bright gold headlights of the car shining against the dark of the night. The scream that must have cut through the unseasonable cold. In the last week, new faces have joined that dream. Several members of the Stewards appear in my restless moments of sleep. I see Flap’s pink hair framing a lifeless face as she is dragged along the stone-paved concourse of Navy Pier. I can almost feel each bullet strike Stack’s chest before she falls to the ground—her eyes turning blank and cold. The other four are less clear. I have been told their names, but I can’t pick out their faces. It all happened in the hours before we set off for the mission I convinced everyone would spark a revolution. And so, their memories haunt mine.
I was told the time wasn’t right, yet. By those who were older than me, who had known the truth about what the government had done. They said we should wait.
Perhaps they were right. Perhaps I should have gone with my father, who was secreted out of town by the Stewards to I’m not sure where with nothing from our old lives to bring with him. Our house was packed into a moving van. My school and dad’s work were told that he took a new job in Washington state. From what I can tell, not one person doubted the information they received.
My father was offered a tablet to bring with him. It was loaded with a picture of my mother and me. It could be used to send messages the government wouldn’t track. He left it behind. Unlike Rose’s mother, Dad blamed me for ruining his life. Rose told me it was just the alcohol talking. I couldn’t find the words to tell her it was his way of choosing the alcohol instead of me.
I adjust the backpack that holds the tablet Dad refused. Rose’s dark brown wide-set eyes are filled with a determination that matches mine. Rose and her mother are willing to risk everything to get Isaac back. I have to do the same.
“I’m as ready as I’m ever going to be.”
“Good, because with the new campaign there’s a lot of work to do,” Rose says as she escorts me through the doors toward a mosaic-tiled counter comprised of various shades of pink, cream, and blue glass. The name Gloss is written in gold and silver in the center of the turquoise wall behind it. The other reception walls are filled with cleverly positioned screens displaying past Gloss covers. Silver chairs are clustered in the corner of the perfectly polished white floor. A runner of the exact blue as the walls is unfurled in front of the counter—like a small patch of water in the middle of an otherwise frozen pond.
Anna, the receptionist, turns toward us. Her eyes narrow behind her purple rhinestone-encrusted glasses. The last time she saw me was several months ago. My hair was long and dishwater blond then. Nothing like the short red-and-white-streaked style Rose created for me. Still, I hold my breath as I hand over identification with my new name and picture so I can be signed in.
After studying me for several long seconds, she says, “You’re early, but someone should be in the design department if you want to go back now.”
When I assure her that I do, she adds, “Your eyeliner is wonderful. Blue is definitely your color.”
She issues me a temporary pass, tells me to come back after lunch to exchange it for a permanent one, and loses interest in us as the phone behind the counter begins to ring.
Once we pass through the door that leads into the main section of offices, Rose quietly says, “I understand that I’m not supposed to know you, but Mom needs the new images you worked on last night. She’s shuffled some of our advertising space around and instead of tomorrow, she is going to launch the new campaign this afternoon.”
“But that wasn’t the plan.” My stomach lurches. “Atlas hasn’t returned, yet. We don’t know what he’s learned or whether he’s convinced anyone else to help.”
If we have any hope for success, we will need more Stewards willing to take a risk.