The Towering Sky

Unless something drastic happened in the next ten minutes, it looked as if Avery’s father was about to win.

“Avery,” her mom hissed at her elbow. “Where have you been? You missed photo call!”

“I’m sorry, Mom.” Avery had purposefully shown up late, her one small willful act of rebellion. But she was here now, and wearing the dress her mom had picked out: a bright crimson shift, since red was the signature color of the Democratic-Republicans.

“Avery, smile!” her mom admonished. “The cameras—”

“Right,” Avery said wearily, grinding her teeth into a smile. The cameras, of course. Waiting, poised to take snaps, to document the perfect lives of the perfect loving family.

“Excuse me,” she added, and turned away blindly, only to collide into Max.

“I was just looking for you.” His hands settled warmly on her shoulders.

Avery closed her eyes and let her head fall against his chest for a moment, drawing upon Max’s unwavering, steady strength. He smelled like laundry detergent and spicy deodorant.

“Thank you,” she whispered into his sweater.

“For what?”

“For everything. For being you.”

“I’m not very good at being other people,” Max said lightly, but Avery could tell he was concerned about her.

She stepped back and let out a strangled laugh when she saw his sweater. It was a bright Christmas red. “Did my parents tell you to wear the party color?”

Max didn’t deny it. “I’m good at following orders. And, you know, I have good reason for wanting the Fullers to like me,” he told her, his hands still on her shoulders.

“Do you, now?”

“Yes.” Max smiled. “You see, I’m in love with their daughter.”

“Ten seconds!” cried out one of the campaign staffers. Everyone in the room quickly joined in, counting down as if it were New Year’s. On the podium, Avery’s father began adjusting his tie, preparing for his victory speech; her mother stood at his side with a proud, placid smile.

It all felt suddenly overbright and loud to Avery, with a slight glossy tinge of unreality, as if the whole thing were a holo show viewed from a distance. As if it had nothing to do with her.

The room erupted in cheers, and she realized dimly that her dad had won. If only she hadn’t voted for him, after all.

“Thank you, thank you!” her father boomed. “Thanks to my entire staff for your tireless, instrumental work on this campaign. I couldn’t have done it without you.

“We should remember that only a few decades ago, confidence in New York was in short supply. We were a city displaced, the laughingstock of the global community as we moved all Manhattan’s residents out of their homes, and began the world’s most ambitious construction project to date. . . .”

Of course, Avery thought. Her dad never turned away from an excuse to talk about the Tower, and his role in it.

“Thanks to everyone in this room for your support, your donations, and, of course, for your votes!” Everyone laughed dutifully, and Avery’s father cleared his throat. “And most of all, I would like to thank my beloved family for their never-ending support.”

There was another smattering of applause. Max took a respectful step back, creating a halo of space around Avery, who felt the full onslaught of everyone’s stares. A mass of zettas—the small hovercams used by paparazzi to take pictures of celebrities—coalesced into a cloud around her. Avery resisted the urge to swat them aside; that would only result in a bunch of unflattering snaps.

Avery knew that her parents loved her, but at times like this, it was hard to feel like anything but an employee of the family company, a standard-bearer of the Fuller name. A beautiful, golden, living prop, which her parents had custom-ordered nineteen years ago for precisely this purpose.

“All my family,” her father added.

Something in his voice made Avery look up, and then she couldn’t look away.

He stepped out onto the stage almost casually, as if they’d been expecting him. Which they had, Avery realized. This was another PR stunt, just as elaborate and staged as her midTower vote this morning.

He looked different. Of course he did, Avery thought. This whole time, she had been imagining him just as she last saw him—preserved in the cryo chamber of her memory—but life wasn’t like that. Life left its mark on you.

He was wearing dark-wash jeans and a white button-down, no trace of red in sight. His light brown hair was cut shorter than Avery had ever seen it. It highlighted the bold, strong lines of his face, his long nose and square jaw, making him look older.

His eyes met hers, and he glanced from her to Max, a million emotions darting over his face too quickly for Avery to make sense of them.

“My son, Atlas!” Pierson Fuller cried out. “Who, if I’m not mistaken, delivered the final vote!”

“Though not the deciding one.” Atlas smiled, and the room erupted in laughter again.

Her father was saying something else—that Atlas would be here until the inauguration to help Pierson get his business affairs wrapped up, since he wouldn’t be able to touch any of his personal assets while in office. But his words were lost over the roar of noise. Everyone seemed to be flooding forward, exclaiming over Atlas, congratulating Avery’s father, popping bottles of champagne.