“It’s just funny to imagine,” Rainie says between giggles. She points to Henry, who’s been standing stiffly in the corner of the room beside me this whole time. “Because you’re so—so—what’s the word?”

“Aloof?” Vanessa suggests.

“Composed?” Mina offers.

“Hot?” Bobby says, and we all turn to stare at him. “What?” He scowls. “The dude is objectively good-looking. Don’t judge me for saying it aloud.”

But perfect is the term Rainie settles on.

“God, you’re so perfect,” she says with a little hiccup. Then, to my surprise, her eyes flicker to me as well. “And you, Alice. Both of you. King Henry and the Study Machine. Our perfect model students.”

I force myself to laugh along with them, but everything sounds off. The compliment burns on its way down like acid.

If only you knew what Airington’s two model students were up to tonight.

But beneath the panic, beneath all the guilt, there’s another emotion clawing at my chest. Resentment. Because if it weren’t for the school fees and Beijing Ghost and the terrible task waiting ahead, this night would be...everything.

I would be able to join in their silly gossip and laugh with Rainie and maybe work up the nerve to sit close to Henry, continue right where we left off, snake my fingers through his. I would be just a teenager, giddy in a fancy hotel in a beautiful new city, with old classmates and potential new friends: Rainie, who gave too much of herself to a boy who took too much; Mina, whose parents recently got back together after a messy divorce, and are working to patch everything up; Bobby, whose older sister ran away three years ago, but you’d never know it from looking at him now.

I would actually be happy with these people, carefree—not checking the cursed clock every two seconds and waiting for a strange wave of cold to soak through my body.

It makes me almost dizzy, thinking about the stark differences in realities, what will be and what could’ve been. But that’s the kind of difference wealth creates.

By the time I tune back into the conversation, the topic’s moved on to Beijing Ghost.

“...wonder who’s behind it,” Vanessa is saying. “Oh, come on, Alice, don’t act as if you haven’t heard of the app,” she adds irritably, misreading my stunned expression.

“I have heard of Beijing Ghost,” I say, choosing my words with care. My heart is pounding so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if they could all hear. “But I don’t know who’s behind it.”

“Well, obviously,” Vanessa says, rolling her eyes, and relief washes over me. “No one does. Though there’s plenty of theories going around.”

Bobby nods, then winces, as though the movement makes his head hurt. “Some people think the app’s run by, like, a top government spy who just wants to make a quick buck. Sorta makes sense, if you really consider it—they’d have all the right connections and the technology to make it work.”