The bar is a riot of laughter and stories battling the music for dominance. Neon lights and signs soak into the packed tight people, where elbows and shoulders kiss those of strangers without care. Dazzling pinks, acidic greens, and icy blues glint off hair in all shades of the rainbow. Clothing follows suit, daring the beer signs to diminish their brilliance. And slipping through the lights, the noise, and the bodies, is the scent of desperation.

  The emotion mixes with the sloshes of beer and drops of wine. It feeds the interactions that spring from the social bracelets everyone wears to tell others how they want to be interacted with. Green for chatting, yellow for let me approach you, and red for do not pass go, leave me the hell alone. Soon it will all fall to silence for the trivia questions, but for now, the rowdiness of the crowd fills the space. Mel wiggles onto the barstool next to me and passes over the beer. Our bracelets are set to yellow. Gen and Dom have set theirs to red.

  “Thanks, I didn’t want to get elbowed at the bar,” I all but yell. Today is a bad pain day. A headache pounds through my temples, and my shoulder has locked up in agonizing burn. The one reason I didn’t back out was that Dom had tagged along. Her first time, ever. I had to be here.

  “No problem, doll,” Mel replies with a wink. Her southern accent has gotten pretty good. I hide a snicker in a drink of beer. The minor part she auditioned for hadn’t worked out, but she had another lined up for next week and was practicing. And there was no sight of Robert.

  “How do you do that?” Dom asks. She had opted for a couple fingers of whiskey. None of us saw the label. I had a bet with Gen that we wouldn’t have recognized what it was.

  “Do what? Talk?” Mel asks, voice back to normal.

  “Yes, the accents. Do you listen to the same people over and over to pick up the inflections?”

  “Pretty much,” Mel says with a shrug. “I watch a lot of movies. Ingest your craft and all that.”

  Gen grimaces. “I’d rather not eat computer parts.”

  Mel rolls her eyes. “Did you grow up in ‘Cuse, Dom?”

  Dom nods. “Been here my whole life besides a stint away for college.”

  “Why on earth did you move back?” Gen asks.

  I kick her under the table.

  Gen hates ‘Cuse due to her parents and because she never left in order to take care of her siblings, but that’s not everyone. And, for people like me, ‘Cuse represents opportunity. Away from a small town that exists to work corp-owned mega farms and towards something that promises bigger and better things. It was one of the reasons Mel and I became friends. We both wanted out of our small town. We longed for something bigger than ourselves.

  “I like ‘Cuse. The scrapers, the nightlife, and the tech here,” Dom continues with a smile to Gen. “‘Cuse allows for a lot of different cultures to co-mingle, and diversity is good for invention.”

  “Ignore Gen’s grumpy remarks. She means well.” Mel says.

  Gen flips her off.

  Mel sends a kiss back.

  “Good evening, everyone! I’m Jan. If you have to refer to me by a pronoun, I’ll accept goddess, or she, or her,” A chipper voice booms from the speaker near the bar. It belongs to the trivia runner, a curvy woman with bright purple hair in a hot pink dress. The bar quiets. “We’re going to start our weekly trivia, so please quiet down. If you checked in on socials, then you get an extra point!”

  “Did you—” I start.

  “Yes,” Mel hisses, body tense in determination. There aren’t many things Mel is competitive about, but trivia is one of them.

  “If you checked in, you got the clue for our final round. Don’t go checking those holos now, it’s too late. We’re going to get started. Our first category is food.”

  “Oh, good,” Dom says. “This shouldn’t be too hard.”

  “First question, what is the common name for dried plums?” The announcer hits the music to obscure talking, but it doesn’t matter. Mel writes the answer on the tablet while we’re still forming the words on our lips. She hunkers over the answers, hands folded on top of the screen, a mischievous glint in her eye.

  “We’re going to win,” she says, leering over the tablet.

  “You say that every week, and it’s not always true,” I point out.

  “We have an extra person tonight. We will win,” Mel says.

  Gen turns to Dom. “No pressure or anything.”

  “I will do my best,” Dom says and takes a sip of whiskey.

  “Where were you last night?” I ask Gen, tipping my beer towards her. “You never texted me back.”

  Gen blushes, matching her hair. “I went on a date last night with a guy I’m going to see again.”

  “Oh? How did you meet him?” I respond.

  “Online, like the rest. But he doesn’t want a fling. Wants something more serious, same as me, so we’ll see how it goes.”

  Mel coos and asks for details. My mind floods with images of Evangeline, and I lose track of the conversation. The thinness of her lips, half-cocked into a promise fulfilled in the dark. Her bubbling laughter, carefree and so ill-fitting to the mask she presents. The grace of her nose, sloping to a delicate point.

  “Second question!”

  I blink and leave Evangeline behind. There’s no way in hell I can tell the group I went to Prism’s headquarters with her. Even giving a white lie and saying we went out is a no go. Not with how Gen would react. I hope Mel remembers not to bring Evangeline up.

  “What was the first soft drink in space?”

  “Coke,” Dom whispers, leaning in. Mel scribbles it.

  “Which service do you use, Gen?” Dom asks.

  “MatcHer. Why? You looking for a date?”

  Dom shrugs. “I wouldn’t say no. It’s hard, though.”

  Gen and I nod in empathy.

  It’s probably harder for Dom than for us. To always be on guard for someone using you to better their lot. The fear that they don’t care about the relationship and their affections and sweet murmurs were all calculated. Even more so if it had happened before. Judging by the tabloid stories that came out about Dom’s last relationship and how the person profited from selling stories, it had.

  She deserves better than that. I glance at Gen, who is letting Mel in on who Dom is. Mel stares at Dom, mouth wide. They all deserve better than what their hearts have been dealt. Gen and Dom with her guys and Mel with her mom.

  Mel’s laugh rings out, pulling me from my musings. “I’m so sorry, Dom! I had no clue.”

  Dom’s quiet chuckle is a duet to Mel. “It’s all right. It was refreshing, to be honest.”

  “Well, I promise not to treat you any different,” Mel answers.

  “Third question! Which country invented ice cream?”

  “That seems like a French thing to do. Or Italian,” Gen whispers.

  Mel shakes her head. “China.”

  “What, seriously?”

  “Yes,” Mel hisses. “Don’t doubt me, I was doing trivia before you were born.”

  Gen’s beer pauses on the way to her mouth. Her brows crease. “I’m older than you.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  I hide a smile in a drink of beer. It’s moments like these I wish I could pause forever. Add them to the fugue state of the rainy day and standing on the patio. Trap us all in this cocoon of warmth so nothing hurts us.

  Pink flashes by the door. I jolt, sloshing beer onto the table.

  “You all right?” Mel asks.

  “Yeah, someone outside surprised me.” I won’t lie to her. It’s one instance where I wish I had. There’s no need to worry Mel, and judging by the furrow in her brows, I am.

  I’ve been on the lookout for the magenta wig person since my meeting with Blake, but if they’ve been following me, they’re being more careful. I haven’t needed to see them, due to how they haunt my thoughts. Maybe meeting with Blake was what was needed to get the magenta-wigged person to stop following me. I need time to forget it all.

  “Fourth question and final one for this round. What is the name given to Indian food cooked over charcoal in a clay oven?”

  Mel writes the answer and jumps up, rushing to the table to submit our answers at the tablet dock.

  “She’s very serious about this,” Dom remarks.

  I nod. “She once got in a screaming match with a team that was cheating.”

  Mel returns. “The team of college guys? They were in the wrong and needed to be outed.”

  She sits and lays her hand on mine, stilling my drumming fingers.

  “Sorry, my mind is whirling too much.”

  “That’s obvious,” Gen deadpans. “You haven’t tried to answer any of the questions. What’s up?”

  I huff out a breath through a chest bound tight in ropes of guilt. My leg bounces, a staccato needing release with my hand trapped. Gen has provided the key to the lock on the chest of questions I have about Prism, about the person in pink, and—as much as it pains me to admit—Evangeline. I’m still searching for someone to tell me I did the right thing. This is what I wanted. But I’m ready to bolt.

  Because Gen, for some reason, hates Prism, and I signed a contract with them.

  Gen’s brown eyes, always so cool and sharp, are soft and warm. Concern, for me. Asking a few questions will stoke her anger into a wildfire. I need info. This is a dangerous game. But it’s no more dangerous than agreeing to help Blake.

  Possibly an idiotic move on my part, driven by desperation born of the upheaval of my life and a crush on Evangeline. But I can try to get answers. I swipe my eyes around to the full tables around us, but no one is listening. They are focused on the trivia questions and their drinks. I suck in a breath.

  “I want more info about Prism.”

  Gen frowns, and sharpness returns to her features. Her jaw clenches—my heart rate spikes. I’ve made a terrible mistake. I’ve uttered the word that’s worse than a curse.

  “What do you want to know?” Dom asks. Her eyes are on the drink she swirls in her hand. An image of calmness and confidence.

  “Second round! The topic for this round is travel. First question: Which European capital was built on fourteen islands?”

  Gen leans forward, eyes flashing. “Why are you asking about Prism?”

  It comes out as a hiss. A proclamation of her intent to fight. It causes my muscles to clench. For my stubbornness to grab the issue at hand and not let go. I’m tired of her trying to live my life for me.

  “Well, I have other questions too, if you’d like to start with those,” I grumble. “Like, why you hate Evangeline?”

  Gen scoffs. “Why do you like her? There’s no reason to hang out with her unless you like being used, I promise.”

  “It’s not the Netherlands, is it?” Mel muses. She’s a master at blocking out Gen and mine’s bickering, especially when it comes to trivia. “There’s a ton of water through the buildings, but the buildings may be on islands?”

  “I don’t think so,” Dom says. “Amsterdam has a lot of water, but I’m not sure if they’re islands. Jaqs, what questions did you have about Prism?”

  I ignore Gen’s sneer and focus on Dom’s warm eyes. “Last time we talked about them, Gen said they were dangerous, but you disagreed. I’d like to hear your thoughts, Dom.”

  “They are dangerous,” Gen interrupts. Her cup clinks against faux wood, and golden liquid escapes the glass, vying for freedom before dying against the hard surface.

  “It depends,” Dom remarks, moving her glass out of the way.

  “Question two! Which lake is called the ‘jewel of the Italian lakes’?”

  “Shoot, we didn’t answer the first. This round is hard,” Mel says.

  “Prism takes advantage of people, promises them the moon, and steals everything,” Gen whispers. “And Evangeline? She doesn’t tell anyone anything. She’s a pain in the ass.”

  “So when she comes into the store, she’s not telling you anything?” I reply.

  “She pulls Prism crap, as Prism people do.” Gen growls.

  “Why would she be pulling Prism crap, as you so eloquently put it?”

  Gen sits back, refusing to answer.

  Dom takes in an audible breath. She holds it while she sips her whiskey and lets it out slowly, as if to diffuse the tempers simmering at the table.

  “Both Prism and Evangeline aren’t by themselves bad; it depends on what you ask of them,” Dom says.

  “Friends, the question!” Mel hisses.

  “Mel, I’m lucky to find Italy on a map. I’m no help to you here,” I say. An exaggeration, but it gets the point across.

  “Sorry, Mel, it’s Lake Como,” Dom answers. “I went there a few years ago. Very beautiful.”

  “How can you say Prism isn’t bad?” Gen demands, voice growing louder. I shush her, and she returns it.

  Dom tilts the whiskey glass, allowing the amber liquid to lap the side. “Because I used them.”

  “Question three! Which country has the longest coastline in the world?”

  Mel answers without our help. Not that we’d offer much. Both mine and Gen’s mouths are hanging open.

  Mel cocks her head, interested at last. “Why did you use them?”

  A withering sigh leaves Dom. “I wanted real, true friends and wasn’t having luck any other way. For me, it’s hard to meet people outside of business. Evangeline helped with that.”

  My teeth snap together. Evangeline. It all keeps coming back to her. She offered me the ticket and suggested I keep it so I’d meet Dom.

  Evangeline thought I’d be a good match for Dom. The friend she needs. Evangeline believes in my dream and wants to help. My eyes soften.

  Dom spins her whiskey glass, face pensive, and continues. “It’s hard to make real friends when you have a lot of pull and, frankly, money. People aren’t truthful about wanting to be my friend, or if they want to be rich inventor Dom’s friend. And I don’t want the second.

  I got approached by Evangeline at a different party, and after talking to her, I figured why not try it?”

  She licks her lips, her ever-present confidence shattering. “It turned out OK. I met you all. You don’t give the same vibes as the others.

  After all this time, I’ve gotten pretty good at sussing those people out.”

  “Prism wanted to deal with something— not to diminish— but small?” Gen asks.

  “What do you mean?” Dom replies.

  “From what I’ve gathered, they’re more into larger wants and needs. Things they use to hold onto someone long term,” Gen answers.

  “Use that person again and again to do their dirty work.”

  Dom’s eyes narrow. “Odd thing to hear.”

  Gen’s brow furrows. Her lips clamp into a narrow line around whatever she was going to say.

  “You have until the end of the song to turn in round two!” the announcer says.

  “Wait, we missed the final question. Shoot.” Mel grumbles. She turns to Dom and, in a brighter voice, says, “I’m glad we met you.”

  “Agree,” I say. “It’s been great getting to know you and absorbing you into our chaotic little family.”

  “Ew, you make it sound like we’re some sort of slime,” Mel says, sticking out her tongue.

  I wiggle my arms at Mel and hug her tight. “It’s the best slime.”

  Dom laughs. It’s easy and free, restarting the engine of her confidence. The sparkle returns to her eyes.

  If I were in Dom’s shoes, I would have taken Evangeline’s deal. It’d be lonely at the top. Especially when singled out at a young age for how smart you are. I’d be desperate to change it.

  “Still though,” Gen says, tone a serrated edge that cuts through the happiness like a knife. “Why the hell do you need Prism. In using them, they’re getting more power. More influence. Everywhere Evangeline turns up, people get pulled into Prism. Others, besides Jaqs, talked to her at that party.”

  “That’s not on Evangeline. That’s on Prism,” I retort.

  “Evangeline was the one talking to them at the party.”

  “Did you ever stop to think that maybe she doesn’t have a choice?” I say.

  “Oh, is that what your lunch date was about? And you believe everything she says? Cool. Great.” Gen’s voice gets louder with each sentence.

  Oops. Outed myself there. I breathe deep through my nose, trying to stop the flash of rage that sings from my blood, demanding retribution for awakening it.

  “Ladies at the corner table, please lower your voices!” the announcer calls, eyes fixed on us.

  I grimace.

  Mel jumps up from the table to turn in the second-round answers. Even through the crowd, her body language is clear. Hands clasped in front of her heart, eyes big and round. An apology for the announcer. We should be the ones apologizing to Mel. This is one of her favorite things, and we’ve caused her to miss a question.

  “Listen,” I hiss. “I’m sure Prism does do bad things, but we all have wants, and all of ours are wholesome. You want a relationship and to take care of your siblings. And what about the shop? You never want to talk about that, is this why? I want to walk among the stars. Mel wants to make it as an actor. And Dom wanted friends, which, to be honest, is the easiest of the bunch. Your wants mean a lot to you, and it’s the same for all of us. If given the option, we’d take it.”

  Gen opens her mouth to argue.

  “It’s not like any of us are asking Prism to murder someone,” I growl. “Nor would we kill for them.”

  “Dom hasn’t said what she traded,” Gen says.

  Dom frowns. “Money. They wanted funds to help someone’s family.”

  I don’t miss the narrowed eyes Dom fixes on Gen. Did she figure it out, too? That I’ve scratched the surface of the truth with the shop.

  Gen didn’t deny it, but that doesn’t mean much. Too quick to say no, and she appears guilty; and in not answering, she gets the same treatment. Worse, I don’t trust anything she’d tell me would be the truth.

  Mel returns, mouth tight with disappointment.

  “Sorry, Mel, we’ll try to keep it down,” I say.

  “Thank you,” she says. Mel sits curtly and takes a long drink of her beer.

  The announcer reads out the next question. Mel homes in like a hawk, refusing to miss it. The new category is about animals. I’m less than useless on this round. I’ve never owned a real dog, let alone a bot one. Most animals in my world exist on the tele or in history books. The climate crisis years ago wasn’t kind to them.

  “I need to ask for my own mental health—need to make sure—you all still want to be my friend even though I used Prism to find you?” Dom asks.

  “Of course,” I say. I’d be a hypocrite otherwise. Mel echoes my statement, and with a grumbling sigh, Gen agrees as well.

  “Dom, please be careful,” Gen says. “Prism has an in with you and may come to you again for more money. I don’t want you to be used by Prism. And Jaqs, stay the hell away from them.”

  Dom takes the last sip of her whiskey. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of myself.”

  There’s no chance I can fulfill her request. I promised Evangeline I would help her. And, it’s my life to live.

  Mel brightens, sitting up straight. “Oh! Queen Elizabeth the Second had Pembroke Welsh corgis!”

  She jots down the answer.

  I tilt my beer glass, and the bubbles slip to the other side. It’s not a problem for Dom with how little Prism asked of her. I need to figure out what I’m going to do if Blake’s requests get to be too much. Gen’s eyes are hot and tight, anger plain as day within them. I lick my lips.

  Gen can’t find out.