Free Regret by Elana Johnson

had a good job in the Transportation Rise. Sure, she worked until five, but no one needed to behome to monitor my afternoon snacking and flying sessions.
    Besides, Director Hightower—that’s right, Raine’s father—did all the monitoring in Freedom.
    Raine paused, one foot on the grass of the green area across from Rise One and one foot still on the sidewalk next to me. I looked at her properly, almost flinching with the beauty I found in her face.
    “So,” I said, working hard to keep my voice from breaking.
    “So, I’m worried about you, Gunn,” she said. A secret flashed in her eyes; her words held more than concern. I realized how little I really knew about this girl, despite my crush on her.
    I frowned. “Worried?”
    “My dad …”
    Now, her dad I knew all about. Technically he was a Regional Director, presiding over many cities in the nearby area. Not that I’d been to any of them. I didn’t know how close they were or what they were called. I just knew that Van Hightower owned a lot more than Freedom.
    Rise One loomed before me, making late-afternoon shadows drip across the green area. “I didn’t know you lived in Rise One,” I said. “I thought you had a student flat.”
    Raine’s mouth tightened at my blatant change in topic. “There’s a student section on the second and third floors.”
    “You have a flatmate?” I asked.
    “Yes. You want her picture?” Raine adopted her power stance: left hip out, arms crossed, eyes challenging me to say something.
    I held up my hands in surrender. “No, no picture.”
    Pictures could also be sent over the cache, attached to an e-comm. Everyone in Freedom was fitted with corneal implants, which allowed us to view things on an individual basis on our vision-screens. It wasn’t really a screen, more of a movie or picture displayed before our own eyes. Of course, you could forward images through the cache, or you could load them onto microchips and pass them around physically.
    See, every Citizen of Freedom also had a wrist-port. This was a simple, inch-wide band of black around the left wrist. On the top, just below the back of your hand, was a slot for microchips, and then you could watch memories on your vision-screen.
    We’d eliminated almost all handheld devices in Freedom. It’s something Assistant Director Myers was forever bragging about. “We’re down to just the electro-board!” he boasted from the roof of the Technology Rise—his beloved home just beyond the taller central Rises.
    The e-board was cool; I’d give AD Myers that. It was thistiny little thing, about four inches long and two inches wide. A screen could be brought up to hover above the device if you wanted to show your buddies a particularly entertaining memory. Other than that, we used the e-boards in school to store class notes. Simply compose a message in your cache and send it to your e-board. Notes: taken.
    Educators could send items to their class lists, providing students with an endless supply of study materials. Free-time hours: gone.
    “Anyway, she’s not a student,” Raine was saying. She took a few steps backward, committing fully to crossing the green area to Rise One. “Well, I should go.” She didn’t seem too enthused about leaving, but that could’ve been wishful thinking on my part.
    “Wait,” I called. “What’s your flatmate’s name?”
    She waved her hand dismissively. “Just some chick named Vi.”
    I watched Raine walk away, wondering why Vi, a non-student, was living on a student floor, with a student. I needed to learn more about the real Raine Hightower, stat.
    I glided through the remaining Rises, covering mile after mile easily on my hoverboard. Each Rise—and there were twelve situated in the center of Freedom—took up an entire squaremile and created silver canyons, even with all the green areas. On the outskirts of those Rises, more buildings reached for the sky.
    My mom worked in the Transportation Rise, and there were others: