“Promise you won’t send me any more dresses,” she pleaded, though she knew her words were weakened by the fact that she was standing here wearing one.

“Only if you promise to stop looking so gorgeous in them,” Cord replied, and Rylin couldn’t help smiling.

She glanced around the expanse of city hall, filled with stylish waves of people, teenagers and adults all wearing smart angled tuxedos or shimmering gowns. Holographic pennants snapped along the walls in a nonexistent breeze. She kept thinking that she didn’t belong here, no matter how much she looked the part.

Then her eyes would slide back to Cord, and her blood would rise up light and buoyant in her veins, and Rylin knew that the setting didn’t matter. She belonged with Cord, wherever that was.

“Will you come over to my apartment tomorrow?” she asked, reaching for his hand. She didn’t mind being here, at a formal black-tie party, but it couldn’t all be like this. When was Cord going to come down to the 32nd floor to meet her friends and Chrissa?

“Sure,” he said easily. Rylin had the sense that he wasn’t quite listening. But then he nodded toward the dance floor, and Rylin decided to let herself be distracted.

“Want to dance, now that I’m so good at it?” Cord grinned.

“I didn’t realize you were ever bad at it,” Rylin countered.

“I didn’t realize either, until I started taking dance at school.” Cord laughed as Rylin’s eyebrows shot up. “You didn’t know? This year I’ve been expressing my deep and unshakable love of dance through Dance 101: Introduction to Choreography.”

Rylin stifled a snort. “You’re a ballerina now?”

“The correct term is ballet dancer, thank you very much,” Cord corrected. “This is what I get for dropping holography when all the other arts classes are full.”

Rylin wondered if Cord had dropped holography because of her—because he didn’t want to see her day after day—but it felt too self-centered to ask, and besides, it was all ancient history. “Don’t worry,” he went on. “I can’t promise that I’ll teach you all my epic dance moves, but at least one or two.”

Rylin tilted her head in amusement. “What makes you think I don’t have some epic dance moves of my own?”

They spun around on the dance floor until Rylin was breathless with exertion. Eventually the band paused to take a break. “Want to sit down?” Cord asked, leading her to a table where several of his friends were already clustered.

Rylin had met a lot of them last year, but they didn’t seem to remember her, so Cord went ahead and reintroduced her around the table: Risha, Ming, Maxton, Joaquin. Rylin smiled, but the only one to smile back was Risha. Ming had a glazed-over look to her eyes, having evidently decided that it was more entertaining to read messages on her contacts. Rylin wondered if any of them even recognized her from school.

Oddly enough, she found herself wishing that Leda were here. At least Leda would have engaged with her.

“Cord, we’ve been looking for you. This party is unbearably lame,” Joaquin announced.

Rylin was taken aback by the blasé attitude. This party was lavish and expensive and wasn’t even age-scanning at the bar. What could Joaquin have to complain about?

“Can’t you host the after-party?” Joaquin wheedled.

“I always host the after-party. Can’t someone else step up to the plate for once?” Cord said easily.

The table erupted in an immediate chorus of excuses: “Don’t look at me; you know my place is nowhere near big enough. We didn’t even have room to host the soccer team!”

“My parents are cracking down on me ever since I got a D in calc this semester.”

“I definitely can’t host anyone, not after you guys threw up in the hot tub last time.”

“That was fun, wasn’t it?” Risha said almost wistfully.

“What about you, Rylin? Do you think you could get away with it?” Maxton had turned to her with a friendly smile. At Rylin’s incredulous expression, he hurried to add, “We won’t invite that many people. And we’ll drone-drop all the booze, of course. All you’d have to provide is the space.”

Seriously? Rylin wanted to ask, but she knew Maxton wasn’t kidding. He had no idea who she was or where she lived. In his own way, he probably thought he was being inclusive by asking Rylin if she didn’t mind hosting the after-party.

For a perverse moment she imagined saying yes, dragging all of these rich kids down to the 32nd floor to squeeze awkwardly around her kitchen table. Now that would be an experience.

“Fine, fine, I’ll host,” Cord cut in, reaching one hand across the back of Rylin’s chair to give her a silent squeeze.

“I’m going to get a drink,” she said faintly, to no one in particular, and started away from the table. She heard Cord follow quickly on her heels.

“Rylin, what is it?” he asked, reaching for her arm. She whirled on him, her cheeks flushing. “I’m sorry. Maxton didn’t mean any harm by that question.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I just don’t fit in with that group. Why do they need to have an after-party anyway? What’s wrong with the very expensive, beautiful party we’re at right now?”

“It’s just how they are,” Cord said with a self-deprecating smile, as if that explained everything.