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message it would send if Harold Chanson’s own son questioned the system. Do it for your sister. You owe her that!”
    Just then, the pedestal stops and the ’razzi drones fly off. As Ara comes down the steps, I grab her arm. “Come on. I need to get out of here. Now.”
    Ara and I make our escape through a side door of the gallery to avoid the MajorDoormo announcing our departure. Outside, in the loading zone, cars zip in and out. Since it’s after nine o’clock, the Distract is lit up like midday with LED displays on every building surface, but without my EarBug, none of the ads can talk to me directly. Above us, a twenty-foot tall Raj, arm-in-arm with Quinby, flashes across the side of the gallery building. Overhead, a hologram of Geoff Joffrey dances across the rooftops. He does a trademark spin, one arm up, then points at all the little people, teeming like ants following chemical trails from hot spot to hot spot, down below.
    â€œAre you okay?” Ara asks, still flushed from her brush with the Buzz.
    â€œYeah, fine,” I tell her, but it’s not true.
    â€œWhat’d that girl want?”
    My Cicada pulls up in front of us. The topside doors open like wings. I glance over my shoulder, making sure Calliope isn’t following us. “For me to convince my father to restart her career,” I lie as we climb inside. “Happens all the time.”
    â€œWhat a pain,” Ara says with an indifferent shrug. “So, what should we do now? Where should we be seen?”
    She points at the WindScreen lit up with all the hottest destinations for us to hit tonight.
    â€œThe end of the Geoff Joffrey concert at your dad’s arena? The first movie from Rajesh’s Captain Happenstance trilogy is still playing. Have you seen it yet? Oh, look!”
    She touches a pix of a cat in a tux to pull up info on a retrospective called U Must B Kitten Me .
    â€œDo you remember that girl Lynna Orkowski from SCEWL? I heard her ASA didn’t fully take and now she’s totally obsessed with cats. She draws cats, paints cats, makes tiny outfits just for cats.” Suddenly Ara looks horrified. “Oh, god!” she says. “What if that happens to me?”
    â€œCan we just get the hell out of here?” I ask, then tell my car’s V2V NaviSystem to take us home. “I can’t handle any more sosh tonight.” I reach across Ara and open the glove box for my own silver flask.
    â€œIs that a receiver?” She points at a black device tucked behind the flask.
    I nod. “I got it from the Plebe Rajesh knows who sells the Juse.” I take a swig. I need another hit after that conversation with Calliope. I know it’s dumb to let her spook me. She’s just a brain activist with a vendetta against my father. But none of them have ever targeted me. Plus she knew so much about the situation—my parents’ divorce that’s lingered in the courts for years and my doubts about having an ASA. I can’t help but wonder where she’s getting her information and it’s freaking me out.
    â€œWouldn’t your dad kill you if he finds out you listen to pirate radio?” Ara asks and takes the flask from me.
    â€œMarket research,” I joke and feel myself begin to relax as the Juse seeps into my bloodstream.
    Since the traffic is slow on the ground, the Cicada prepares to lift off and bypass the congestion. “Windows,” I command. The screens become transparent so we can see outside. I don’t like the SkyPath, yet. It’s still too new. Of course, my father insisted he be one of the first to have access to that space when it opened six months earlier, but the whole thing feels clunky to me. The car rumbles as the wings unfold, the air pressure in the vehicle changes too abruptly when we rise up, and there’s a screechy sound as the wheels retract. I look out at the four other new-model Cicadas that form our