Dreamwalkers - Corinne Davis Page 0,70

walk toward Zoë’s dressing room and stop outside the door. “You can call me Ben, by the way.”

I smile at him, but am too nervous to find words. He smirks again. I must be obviously uneasy. I feel pressured to say something—it’s been too long since I last spoke. “So why are you here in the colony, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I don’t mind. My father is actually one of the research scientists and my mother is a doctor in the pod room.”

“Wow, so both of your parents are walkers?”

“Yep.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah.”

If both of his parents are here at the colony, he must never leave. “Do you live here?”

“Yeah. I have my whole life.”

The thought saddens me. “Have you ever left the colony?”

“A few times a year. But this is where we are safest. It’s home.”

He smiles at me and gives my hand a little squeeze with his arm. The thought of living in this sterile environment for an entire life is stifling. I cannot imagine not being free to come and go as I please. His life consists of armed guards at every exit, blindingly white walls, standard issue clothing, and parents who chose this life for him. I wonder if he ever had the chance to play a sport, ride a bike, or even make friends.

“It’s really not as bad as you’re probably thinking.”

“What?”

“You look kind of sad. I’m guessing that’s because I told you I grew up here.”

I’m embarrassed. “I was just imagining what it would be like to be stuck here for seventeen years.”

“Nineteen. And I’m not stuck. There are residences on the cliff for those who choose to live here. I don’t live in this building. It kind of creeps me out to be honest. I live in a really nice house that overlooks the water with both of my parents and my younger sister.”

A genuine smile passes across my face and I feel silly for assuming that all of the people I have seen working here would live in this building.

The door to Zoë’s dressing room opens and I jump a little, not expecting the sound. A stunning, broad-shouldered boy, around our age, steps out then turns back and reaches his hand out for Zoë. Is there something in the water here that makes everyone so gorgeous? She emerges from the room in what feels like slow motion.

Her gown is a perfect iridescent purple with color ranges from eggplant to blue-violet. It's strapless with ruching from the hip to neckline. Layer upon layer of gathered taffeta ruffles are piled beneath the ruching and travel the length of the gown to the floor in an A-line shape, displaying a different shade of rich violet at every angle.

Zoë lifts her escort’s hand in the air and does a twirl. The back of her dress is a tightly gathered corset which amps up the sex appeal. It screams Zoë.

“Wow,” is all I can manage to say.

An enormous smile spreads across her face. “You look beautiful, Emma. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this dressed up.”

“Emma, this is Grayson Edwards,” Ben announces. “And hello, Miss Carver, my name is Bennett Reynolds.” He extends his hand and meets hers for a polite shake.

“Edwards? Like Dr. Edwards?” I ask Grayson.

“Yep. She’s my mom.” His voice is deep and sonorous. I could listen to him talk for hours.

“Grayson and I live next door to each other and have been friends for as long as I can remember. See, not so bad.” He looks down at me and smiles and I can feel the heat growing and spreading in my cheeks again.

Footsteps approach us from around a corner. Dr. Milton appears and when he catches sight of us, elation sweeps across his face. He stops dead in his tracks and places a hand over his heart. “You ladies look absolutely breathtaking! I am so thrilled to have you here, so thrilled that this day has finally come. Please, follow me to the ballroom. The photographer is awaiting your arrival.”

I grumble to myself thinking of being photographed, but then remember what I look like. It'd be a shame to not have proof that tonight actually happened.

The walk to the gala is a surprisingly short one. Unbeknownst to us, our dressing rooms are just around the corner from the entrance to the ballroom.

The ornate wooden doors that lead to the vestibule of the ballroom are a stark contrast to the bright white we have seen everywhere else. As we pass through them, we

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