“Are you on your way?” Avery’s voice sounded in her ear, pitched louder than usual over the clamor of the party. Eris glanced at the time, illuminated in bright pink numbers in her lower left field of vision. Cord’s party had started half an hour ago and she was still lying in bed, with no idea what to wear.
“Obviously.” She was already halfway to her closet, shimmying out of her oversized T-shirt as she picked her way through discarded clothes and stray pillows. “I just—ow!” she yelped, clutching a stubbed toe.
“Oh my god. You’re still home,” Avery accused, but she was laughing. “What happened? Oversleep your beauty nap again?”
“I just like making everyone wait so they’ll be that much more excited to see me,” Eris answered.
“And by ‘everyone,’ you mean Cord.”
“No, I mean everyone. Especially you, Avery,” Eris said. “Don’t go having too much fun without me, ’kay?”
“I promise. Flick me when you’re on your way?” Avery said, and ended the ping.
Eris blamed her dad for this one. Her eighteenth birthday was in a few weeks, and today she’d had to visit the family attorney to start her trust fund paperwork. It was all excessively boring, signing countless documents with an official witness present, taking drug and DNA tests. She hadn’t even understood all of it, except that if she signed everything, she’d be rich someday.
Eris’s dad came from old money—his family had invented the magnetic repulsion technology that kept hovercrafts aloft. And Everett had only added to the already-massive fortune, by becoming the world’s premier plastisurgeon. The only mistakes he’d ever made were two expensive divorces before he finally met Eris’s mom, when he was forty and she was a twenty-five-year-old model. He didn’t ever talk about those previous marriages, and since there were no children from either, Eris never asked about them. She didn’t really like thinking about it, to be honest.
Stepping into her closet, she drew a circle on the mirrored wall, and it turned into a touch screen that lit up with her closet’s full inventory. Every year Cord threw this back-to-school costume party, and every year there was a fierce and unspoken competition for best costume. She sighed and began sorting through her various options: the gold flapper dress, the faux-fur hood her mom had given her, a hot pink sequinned gown from last Halloween. None of it seemed right.
Screw it, she decided. Why was she trying to find a costume anyway? Wouldn’t she stand out more without one?
“The black Alicia top,” she announced to her closet, which spit the item into the output chute at the bottom. Eris pulled the top on over her lace bra and stepped into her favorite suede pants, which she knew made her ass look fantastic. She snapped a set of silver cuffs on her elbows and reached up to yank out her ponytail, letting her strawberry-blond hair fall around her shoulders in a wild tangle.
Biting her lip, she plopped down at her vanity and placed her hands on the hairstyler’s two electropulsers. “Straight,” she ordered, closing her eyes and bracing herself.
A tingle spread from her palms, up her arms, and into her scalp as the machine jolted her with a wave of electricity. The other girls at school always complained about the styler, but Eris secretly enjoyed the feeling: the hot, clean way it set all her nerves afire, almost like pain. When she looked up, her hair had fallen into straight layers around her face. She tapped at the screen of her vanity and closed her eyes as a fine spray of makeup misted over her. When she looked up again, eyeliner now brought out the strange and arresting amber flecks in her irises, and a blush softened her cheekbones, highlighting the smattering of freckles along her nose. But something was still missing.
Before she could second-guess herself, Eris was moving through the darkness of her parents’ room and into her mom’s closet. She felt for the jewelry safe and typed the passcode, which she’d figured out at age ten. Nestled inside, next to a colorful array of gemstones and a rope of thick black pearls, were her mom’s stained glass earrings. The rare, old-fashioned kind of glass—not flexiglass, but the kind of glass that could actually break.
The earrings were exorbitantly expensive, hand-blown from the panes of an old church window. Eris’s dad had bought them at an auction, as a twentieth-anniversary present. Pushing aside her twinge of guilt, Eris reached up and screwed the delicate droplets into her ears.
She was almost at the front door when her dad called out from the living room. “Eris? Where are you headed?”
“Hey, Dad.” She turned around, keeping one heeled bootie in the hallway so she could make a quick exit. Her dad was sitting in his favorite corner of the brown leather couch, reading something on his tablet, probably a medical journal or patient record. His thick hair was almost entirely gray, and his eyes were creased with worry lines, which he refused to surge away like most of Eris’s friends’ parents did. He said that patients found the lines reassuring. Eris secretly thought it was kind of cool of her dad, to insist on aging naturally.
“I’m going to a friend’s party,” she explained. Her dad glanced over her outfit, and Eris realized a second too late that she hadn’t concealed the earrings. She discreetly tried to pull her hair forward to hide them, but Everett was already shaking his head. “Eris, you can’t wear those,” he said, sounding a little amused. “They’re the most expensive thing in this apartment.”