The Dazzling Heights

“I’m sorry I was an ass to you about going to LA,” he said, trying again. “You asked me to be happy for you, and I really am. Not to mention, really proud of you.”

Rylin looked down. “Don’t be. I’m not sure I even deserved it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just that you were right.” Feeling a flush of shame rise to her cheeks, Rylin told him how Xiayne had kissed her at the cast party the final evening.

“What the hell, Rylin? Are you serious? He should be fired for that.” Cord started to stand up, as if to go confront Xiayne this very minute. Rylin put a hand on his to still him.

Cord’s eyes darted to hers at the touch, and she quickly pulled her hand away, scalded.

“No,” she said slowly. “I don’t want to get him fired. It was wrong of him, but he wasn’t aggressive or … forceful about it. He was just being stupid.”

Cord watched her closely. “It’s still not okay,” he said at last.

“Of course it’s not.” Rylin fumbled for a way to explain it to him, that she wasn’t angry about the kiss so much as hurt by its implications. She wanted to go back to being the star holography student, the prodigy whose Oscar-winning professor had invited her cross-country to help because she was so talented—instead of what she was now: the assistant whose director had hit on her. Even she knew that that was a tired Hollywood cliché, and she’d only spent one week there.

“I just thought he wanted me there for real. But in the end, you were right,” she said wearily.

Cord flinched at the reminder of what he’d said. “I’m really sorry that I was.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m going to drop the class.”

“You can’t quit!” Cord exclaimed. “Don’t you see that if you do, you’ve let Xiayne win?”

“But how can I face him again after what happened?”

Cord gave a strange sigh, as if he wanted to be frustrated with her, but wasn’t. “There’s another holography class—intro level, taught by a professor who’s been here forever. The class is mostly freshmen, and it’ll probably be too slow for you, but it’s better than nothing. If you have to, you should at least switch to that.”

Rylin murmured her thanks and reached for a blade of grass, rubbing it thoughtfully between a thumb and forefinger. “I just wonder, sometimes, if my being at Berkeley wasn’t some huge mistake. In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t exactly fit in here.” She laughed, a laugh that was as dry as the leaves whispering above them.

“It wasn’t a mistake. You’re talented. Don’t ever let anyone make you think otherwise,” Cord declared, with a conviction that startled her.

“Why do you care, anyway?” Rylin heard herself ask. After what I did to you, she thought, but didn’t have to say.

Cord took a moment to answer. “I never stopped caring what happened to you, Rylin. Even after everything that happened between us.”

I never stopped caring what happened to you. That meant that he still cared even now, didn’t it? But did he care as a friend … or something more?

Cord brushed off his navy uniform pants and stood up, and Rylin knew the moment was over. “We should be getting back. I can’t afford to lose my job as TA. It’s the only extracurricular on my college applications,” he said lightly. He held out a hand to pull her to her feet. Where their skin touched it sent electric vortices down Rylin’s nerve endings, all the way to her toes.

“What, street racing old driver-cars out in the Hamptons doesn’t count?” Rylin teased, and was rewarded with a smile at the shared memory.

The whole walk back, some new feeling was pressing at Rylin, subdued and insistent and joyful and terrifying, and she didn’t dare look at it too closely in case she was mistaken.

But as the tour guide droned on, she kept sneaking glances at Cord’s profile, wondering what it all meant.

AVERY

MONDAY AFTERNOON, AVERY stepped off the monorail in New Jersey and pulled her navy coat tighter around her shoulders. She began the walk up to Cifleur Cemetery, ignoring the lone hover that detected her movements and began to float alongside her, flashing a hopeful green to indicate that it was free. Avery needed the walk right now. She’d woken up this morning feeling listless and hollow, her pillow soaked with tears. No matter how hard she worked at it during the day, every night she forgot that she and Atlas were over, and then she had to wake up and remember the cold harsh truth all over again.

She felt isolated and lonely, and worst of all, she couldn’t even talk to anyone about it. She’d thought fleetingly of Leda, but although they were making peace, the whole Atlas thing was still too raw for Avery to discuss it with her. She really missed Eris.

Which was how she’d ended up here, at the cemetery, wearing her heaviest coat and cowboy boots—the brown ones with white detail that Eris had always begged to borrow. It seemed somehow fitting. She passed the main front gates, nodding at the security cam installed there, and turned left toward where Eris was buried, in the middle of the Radsons’ family plot. Despite everything that had happened with Eris’s father in life, he’d ended up claiming her in death, after all.

Avery hadn’t been back since Eris’s interment, after the funeral service and the seemingly endless visitation—which they’d held in an impersonal rented event space, since Eris’s mom was still living downTower, and Eris’s dad at the Nuage. By that point, the only people left had been Eris’s parents and grandmother, and the Fullers … and Leda. Avery remembered standing in the blistering wind, watching the priest lower the tiny urn containing Eris’s ashes into the ground, thinking that this couldn’t be all that remained of her expansive, vibrant friend.

She picked her way down the gravel path until she found Eris’s headstone. It was smooth, with nothing inscribed on it but her name: until you tapped the top, and a hologram materialized before you, of Eris smiling and waving. Avery thought it was a bit absurd, but then, Caroline Dodd-Radson had always insisted on the newest and trendiest in all things. Even funeral accessories.

Tears pricked at Avery’s eyes as she stood there, wishing more than anything that she could talk to her friend.

So talk, she thought. There was no one around to hear, and what did it matter anyway? She shook out her scarf, spread it over the cut grass, then sat down and cleared her throat. She felt a little foolish.

“Eris. It’s me, Avery.” She imagined her friend sitting there, her flecked amber eyes wide with amusement. “I brought you a few things,” she went on clumsily, pulling the items from her bag one by one. “A gold sequin, from that dress you let me borrow for the holiday party one year.” She set it carefully by the headstone, letting it catch the light of the sun in a way Eris would love. “Your favorite perfume.” She spritzed the jasmine scent Eris always used to wear. “Your favorite raspberry bonbons from Seraphina’s,” she added, unwrapping one of the smooth dark chocolates and then holding it uncertainly, wondering why she’d even brought it. She hesitated before popping it into her mouth. Eris would want Avery to enjoy it here, with her.

She started to lean back, but felt a lump in her bag.

“Oh, and the candle!” Avery fumbled in her bag for a beauty wand, flicked the setting to HEAT, and held it determinedly to the stumpy remain of the IntoxiCandle she’d stolen from Cord’s. It took a while, but eventually a flame guttered to life on the tiny gold wick, dancing wildly in the wind.

Avery propped herself on her elbows and stared at the candle through lowered lids, remembering what Cord had said, that Eris had been the one to buy the IntoxiCandle in the first place. She wasn’t surprised at all. Eris had a magpie-like obsession with anything bright or sparkling, not to mention anything just slightly forbidden—and the fire-hazard IntoxiCandle was a perfect example of both. Even now its movement was quick and capricious, just like Eris.

Little pockets of serotonin drifted upward as the candle melted down. Avery felt her awareness melting slowly away.

And suddenly she saw Eris, sitting there on her own headstone as easy as you please. She was wearing a fluffy pink dress—like something a little girl would wear, playing dress-up—and her bright, fresh face was devoid of makeup. “Avery?” she asked, swinging her bare feet. Her toes were painted a glittering silver.