Chapter Seven

September 20X5: Keystone

My new journal tucked under my arm, I’m deeper in the Vault than I’ve ever been. The lanterns that line the more-traveled corridors are few and far between down here, and I don’t bother lighting them. Shining my penlight on the dirt path, I wind my way through the mud tunnel, the damp air cool against my bare arms. The tunnel splits, forking in three directions, and my instincts lead me left. Pausing, I note the direction on the map I’ve drawn on the inside cover of my book so I can find my way out of here later. Closing the journal, I walk a few feet until my hair catches on a root. At least I hope it’s a root. Picturing a crooked finger tickling my neck, I shiver. I’m definitely deep enough for this to be a long-forgotten cemetery. Before I totally freak myself out, I illuminate a small wooden door to my right with the word “Montauk” etched into it. This is as good a place as any. Nobody is going to find me down here. Inhaling, I turn the brass doorknob, praying I’m not walking into a closet full of skeletons.

The room is pitch-black. Half expecting to get a face full of spiderweb, I hold my breath as I duck through the doorway. Luckily, the coast is clear. Flashing light over wood-paneled walls and a brick fireplace, I straighten my spine under the vaulted ceiling, exhaling relief. I spotlight a floor lamp and switch it on, casting the small space in a warm, yellow glow. The only other furnishings are a cushy gray chaise longue next to an end table and a built-in bookshelf on which the book spines all face in, their aging pages turned out in variating lines of brown and cream. So cool. The fireplace is filled with candles, and, happy with my hideaway, I kneel to light them before curling up on the chaise with the journal on my lap.

Me and my past, alone at last.

A candle pops as I lift the cover, and I jump, my chest tight with anxiety. The blank, vanilla first page stares at me, impatiently awaiting the life only I can create for it. But I don’t want to go there. Not back, only forward… My lower lip quivers, and I want to slam the book shut, to run screaming to the surface, but I take a deep breath. And another. And another, until my racing heart slows. But back is the only way forward. You promised you’d try. Do it. Now. Write the first thing that comes to your mind. How did you get here?

Before I lose my nerve, I roll up the tip of the gold-plated pen Allard gave me and begin.

August 23, 20X4

It started with Adam.

We met my first day at Intersection, the Hollywood high school all the top Influencer kids attended. I didn’t know anyone except Deena. She’d been my best—and only—friend since we were five, when our moms launched a line of workout clothes together. We’d been dreaming of coming here—what we’d wear—who our first boyfriends would be—for years, but I hadn’t seen her in person since her sixteenth birthday in February, when she debuted on the Social Stock Exchange. Since then, I’d devoured her Network feeds, and it was clear she’d been accepted to the “in” crowd. Deena was my only connection to what the outside world was really like, and I felt lucky she was my ambassador.