Apparently, in the days before currency was digital, people actually threw money into fountains. It sounded to Calliope like something unbearably lavish, something only the wealthiest people on earth would have done—to be so rich that you literally tossed your money away for your own amusement.
“Want one?” Brice asked, following her gaze.
“It’s okay—I didn’t mean—” Calliope stammered, but he’d already scanned his retinas for the purchase.
“Come on,” he urged, giving a surprisingly boyish smile. “Everyone should make a wish every now and then.”
Calliope curled her fingers around the cool metal disk, burnished the color of copper. She wondered which kind it was. You never knew until you threw it into the water.
I wish that I could find my way forward. That I could feel like myself again, she thought fiercely. Then, with a wordless sort of desperation, she threw the wisher into the water. It instantly erupted in a shower of bubbles.
“What did you wish for?” Brice asked.
Calliope shook her head, smiling at the silliness of it. “I can’t tell you! If you tell, it never comes true.”
“So the wish was about me!” Brice proclaimed, causing Calliope to shove him in halfhearted protest.
As they turned away, the stream of bubbles was still floating cheerily to the surface.
AVERY
THE MORNING OF the New York municipal election, the thousandth floor erupted in a firestorm of frenetic energy.
Pierson Fuller stood at the center of it all, talking at twice his normal speed with the cluster of assistants and political strategists who surrounded him. His cheeks were ruddy, and he kept fidgeting with his blazer in a way that reminded Avery of an overgrown schoolboy. He didn’t even glance up as Avery walked past—but her mother did.
“You can’t wear that to the polling station. It’ll look terrible in the photos.” Elizabeth’s eyes widened reproachfully.
Good morning to you too, Mom. Avery gestured at her plaid skirt and white shirt in mild disbelief. “This is my school uniform,” she pointed out unnecessarily.
“And it’s not photogenic,” her mom said crisply. “Go put on one of those dresses I tagged in your closet, then you can come back after you vote and change for school.”
“Let her wear the uniform; it’s fine,” her dad said, and turned to Avery. “You’re okay with doing a few interviews after you vote, aren’t you, Avery?”
“I guess,” she said hesitantly.
“That’s my girl. You know my stance on all the main issues, don’t you?” Her father reached for his tablet. “Actually, I have a summary page I’ll send along. Very short and simple.”
We wouldn’t want my poor brain to be overwhelmed by anything too complicated, would we? “I think I’ve got it,” Avery assured him. She tried to remind herself that he was under a lot of pressure, that he didn’t really mean anything by it.
“I know you do. Just be charming and keep smiling and stick to those talking points. They’ll love you!” Pierson exclaimed. Avery noticed that the one thing he hadn’t said was Be yourself.
As always, there was a hover ready and waiting at the exit of her family’s private elevator shaft—but to Avery’s surprise, it wasn’t empty.
“Max! I didn’t know you were coming with me.” She slid into the seat next to him and keyed in the address.
“And miss the chance to watch the American democratic system at work?” he exclaimed, though it was evident why he had really come. He knew that Avery was dreading this day, and he wanted to support her.
Max kept up a steady stream of chatter as the hover sank into one of the vertical corridors that ran through the Tower. “I’m fascinated by the way Americans insist on meeting somewhere to vote in person. In Germany, you know, voting is considered a private thing. We all vote online.” He gave a sheepish grin, his hair falling forward into his eyes. “But of course you Americans prefer voting together, all in the same place. The same way girls always go to the bathroom together, like animals that have to band together for security.”
“I don’t do that,” Avery protested, though she was smiling.
“Which is one of the many reasons I love you,” Max said firmly.
Their hover emerged onto the 540th floor, the location of the largest midTower polling station. Technically Avery could vote anywhere in New York City—people weren’t assigned locations to vote, not anymore, since the whole process was linked to retinas and fingerprints. Still, most people voted at their nearest station, for convenience’s sake. Which meant that voting was at least somewhat segregated by neighborhoods.
Her dad had asked weeks ago if Avery wouldn’t mind voting at the midTower station. It had probably been his campaign manager’s idea: a last-ditch Election Day publicity stunt. Using Avery as a living, breathing commercial for her father.
People were already queued up and down the block before the community center, a sense of anticipation gathering in the air like a storm. Avery heard one group murmuring about health care, another online security, and yet another the environment. It struck her what a tricky game it was, politics—trying to please everyone, when everyone wanted such different things.
“That’s her!” A girl elbowed her friend, both of them staring as Avery started toward the back of the line. The whispers instantly multiplied. Everyone was suddenly blinking, probably taking snaps. “Wonder who she’ll vote for,” more than one of them said sarcastically.