The Leveller - Julia Durango Page 0,34
the house, where a motorcycle’s been parked in the alley. He climbs on, then tells me to get on the back and hold on. As we ride through the city, in and out of cars, we don’t talk—I can’t talk—and I’m glad Wyn doesn’t ask me any questions. I have no answers right now. I can barely remember my own name. I just rest my head on his back and let him drive. The monkey cymbals are not as loud now.
We finally reach a huge, stately hotel, its majestic entrance framed with towering palm trees standing sentry. The sign on the door reads HOTEL NACIONAL. Wyn leaves the motorcycle with a uniformed valet, and we walk through a lush lobby, where more beautiful Meeple stand about talking and laughing and clinking little ice cubes in their drink glasses. Some of the people look familiar and I wonder if they are more famous movie stars—or the same famous movie stars. I open my mouth to ask Wyn, but nothing comes out.
Wyn squeezes my hand. “Don’t worry, we’re almost there.” He leads me to an elevator, where another hotel attendant says, “Good evening, Mr. Salvador,” and presses a button. The elevator goes up to the top of the hotel and lets us out into a luxurious hallway. A small voice in my head is trying to tell me something—warning me—something about strange boys and hotel rooms being a bad idea, but my hand, the one that is holding Wyn’s, ignores that voice, and it soon goes away.
We go through a service door, up a flight of stairs, and Wyn opens a door into the night sky. We are on the roof of the hotel. He leads me to a small garden and pushes me gently into a wicker recliner. “Wait here,” he says.
In the distance, I can make out the ocean, its waves slow and steady as they approach then retreat from the seawall surrounding the city. The sound is restful, hypnotic, and soon the cymbals in my head go away entirely. A handful of stars twinkle above me, like fairies. I feel as if I could almost fall asleep, which is ridiculous. I’m in the MEEP. Avatars don’t sleep.
“Here you go,” whispers Wyn. His arms are full of linens and pillows. He tucks a pillow under my head and covers me with a silky lightweight blanket. As my eyelids flutter down for the last time, I see him settle into the recliner next to mine. He is staring up at the stars.
When I next open my eyes, there is a beautiful pink-and-orange haze surrounding me. I blink once, then burrow my head back into the pillow and reach for Hodee, who likes to sleep inside the nest of my curled body each night. Only he’s not there. I register this as strange, but I’m not ready to fully wake up yet to investigate further. This pillow is so soft, the sound of the waves so soothing . . .
Waves. Ocean? Something is wrong with that, I know. My brain is trying to pull itself out of slumber, but it’s like it’s fighting itself. Half of it is saying “Ocean waves . . . mmm.” The other half is saying “Ocean waves . . . wha?”
The “wha” side wins.
I open my eyes. A gorgeous boy sits across from me, watching me. He smiles. “Go ahead and take a minute,” he says.
I don’t even need the full minute. Within seconds it all comes back to me like a full-scale tsunami: the sharks, the anaconda, the pterodactyls, the banshee, and of course, Wyn. I’m in the MEEP. Not only that, I’m a prisoner here.
I sit up slowly, combing my fingers through my hair and running my tongue over my teeth. I’ve never slept in the MEEP before; I feel like I should have rumpled clothes and morning breath. But when I glance down, my avatar looks as fresh as ever. That’s a bonus.
“I don’t get it,” I say to Wyn, who’s still watching me. “Why was I so tired? Avatars don’t need to sleep.”
“Avatars don’t, but our brains do,” says Wyn. He picks up the blanket on his chair and begins to fold it. “What’s the longest you’ve ever played in the MEEP?”
I hesitate. I signed a MEEP contract promising I would always abide by the “4 hours per every 24 hours” maximum.
Wyn grins at me. “Be honest. I swear I won’t tell my dad’s legal department.”
I grin back and shrug. “I don’t know