Free Imitation by Heather Hildenbrand Page B

For the rest of the meal, she does not speak of my attack
again. Even when I reach across the table for the salt shaker,
revealing the purpling bruise on the inside of my forearm, a
perfect match for a handprint, she doesn’t comment.
    She speaks of parties and couples and
scandals and affairs. Who’s dating whom. Who’s cheating, who’s
broke, who’s running for office.
    The politics in this world scare me.
In Twig City, there are two classes: Imitations and Authentics. The
latter rule the former. That will never change. Here, the rise and
fall of power is based on fortunes and blackmail and scandals
exposed. It is good that I will not be a part of it for long. I
could never fit in here. I don’t want to.
    Taylor leaves an hour later with
promises that we will see each other soon at some benefit gala or
another. A senator is getting re-elected. The fact that Taylor
knows this without a doubt three days before the election is not
lost on me. Everything is a game here.
    I don’t feel like I play very
well.
    ***
    After lunch, I am confined to my room
with a subtle click of the lock, but I don’t mind. Not this time. I
am more comfortable alone than I am with a single Authentic I’ve
met here. And part of me is terrified over seeing Titus if I’m
allowed to wander. The makeup job covering the bruise he left on my
cheek has worn off, so I touch it up with unsteady fingers as I
stare at my reflection.
    I am paler than usual, my skin tone
almost matching my translucent hair. When I’ve covered the bruise
as best I can, I attempt the same with the darkened circles under
my lids. I’ve never had a problem sleeping before coming here, but
I rarely sleep more than two hours at a time anymore. It’s too
quiet. I miss the humming pipes, the melody of a room full of
rhythmic breathing. Ida and Lonnie.
    My chest aches when I think of them. I
wonder if Lonnie is comforting Ida or if she’s taken her usual
“stiff upper lip” stance and expected Ida to do the same. Fragile
Ida. She is not cut out for this, despite what they tell us about
our “chemical makeup” and our being “created to serve.” I am glad
that it is me and not her who has been called up.
    My thoughts wander to Linc. I haven’t
seen him since this morning and I wonder if he is in trouble for
killing that man before they could learn who he was. I think of the
motorcycle ride home and my lips curve into a small smile that
feels like a secret. My mood lifts.
    I tinker with Authentic Raven’s stereo
and switch it from the jazzy album she had playing to a moody rock
sound. I am baffled by the radio and stand in awe of the talking
voice coming though the speakers between songs. It sounds as if
he’s talking in real time right beside me. Amazing.
    Commercials are my favorite. The
choices are endless. These people get to choose what food or
clothing to buy. It shocks me how many different sorts of fabric
there are for curtains alone. In Twig City, no one has curtains
because no one has a window.
    Out of boredom and then sheer delight,
I spend an hour trying on the different clothes in the walk-in. And
the shoes. My feet feel like princesses in the heels. As much as I
dread more parties, I am willing to go if it means I can wear a
pair of these shoes.
    Gus comes to get me for dinner. He is
his usual unsmiling self but there is something else. Caution.
“Daniel Ryan is joining you for dinner. Dress accordingly and meet
me in the dining hall in ten minutes. Don’t be late or I’ll have to
come get you.”
    The way he says it, menacing and
certain, chills me. Despite the fact that he leaves the door
unlocked, I know I won’t try anything.
    I dress for dinner in a pants outfit
that has a matching half-jacket and hope this is what Gus meant by
“accordingly.” I have no idea what Daniel is like but if Taylor is
any indication, he will notice something like a wrong
outfit.
    I make my way around the circular
hallway, certain I’m being watched. I cannot see