Her question throws me off. “A fake ID?”
“Yeah,” she says, waving her hand in the air. “A fake ID. You know, a driver’s license that says you’re of age to drink.”
“No need to sound patronizing, jeez,” I tease her, but then turn serious. “No, I don’t.”
“Oh.” Her frown is momentary. I wonder what sort of activities Lily gets up to in her spare time. Something tells me she isn’t having tea parties to drown out the stress. “That’s fine. We’ll just go to a place I know.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
She looks at me, and her hazel-green eyes are insistent, almost like she wants me to understand. Her demeanor changes, and she’s stiff. Her hand comes up and rests on my shoulder, though it feels weird since I’m several inches taller.
“There’s only a few places in town that you can still go to where The Elites don’t have eyes,” she says slowly. “And I can’t bring you to my place, and I’m sure you want to keep where you live quiet. At least until they figure it out. They probably have figured out where you live, now that I think about it.” She shakes her head, refocuses. “Never mind. My point is, you need to be careful of where you go. And we need to be careful of where we meet. The Elites like to keep tabs on the people they hate.”
“You’re kidding,” I say, a bone-chilling coldness settling deep into my body. I thought I’d left them every day once I was off school grounds.
Of course not.
The Elites are everywhere. They are like fucking God, and they sure play the part.
“Unfortunately, I’m not,” Lily says, watching the information take hold, her hand squeezing my shoulder sympathetically. “You’ll need to leave your phone at home. They’ve probably installed a tracking device on it.”
* * *
The place Lily gives me directions to is a renovated warehouse. As the sun goes down, I drive through the shadily lit streets until I land on number 127.
It looks decent enough. Light streams out of the bottom floor windows, and a couple people mill about the uncut grass and weeds out front. Cars are parked haphazardly on the gravel lot, so I pick one far away.
The sign across the open double doors says: The Rooster Cafe. Below it is a sign: “Jameson’s Number One Growler Fill Station and Family Restaurant.”
I step in to see the place is literally split in two, a low half-wall extending through the back, zigzagging here and there. From the ceiling, heavy curtains of beads fall, reflecting the disco lights and pulsing purple lasers. It stops halfway at a railed balcony with even more seating.
It’s a weird concoction of family restaurant and club, but with the dim lights and low-playing EDM, it somehow works. It’s heavily packed when I go inside, but to my surprise, I find children lurking about the stools, cuddled up against their parents. Their parents are young – clearly this speaks to a certain crowd.
I find Lily to the left, nestled into a deep booth, picking at a plate of fries. She’s dressed in a nice t-shirt but nothing fancy. I slide in across from her.
“Hey,” I say, looking around. I spot the large neon blue sign that says The Rooster Cafe. “Weird place.”
“It’s got a certain quirk,” Lily says, munching on a fry. “You know they don’t cut the grass deliberately?” She shoves the basket in front of me. “Want some?”
I take a few and dip them in ketchup. I feel like a fish out of water, and when I strain my head up over the half-wall, I’m greeted with a group of twenty-somethings ordering craft beer.
“So, how’s it going?” Lily asks.
“Oh, fine,” I say. I’d spent the day lounging around in sweats and a dirty t-shirt, and I showered just before I came to meet her. “Literally did nothing.”
“How are you holding up?”
I blow out a long breath, grab more fries, and stuff them into my mouth. When I swallow, I admit, “I’m okay. Not the best, but it’s whatever.”
“Has he tried to text you?”
“Nope,” I say. “Thank god for small miracles, huh.”
Lily gives a sad smile, like she agrees but doesn’t want to. “Yeah. You want something to drink?”
“Sure,” I say, and now that I think of it, my throat is a little parched.
Lily stands up, and her eyes land on someone behind me. Her face breaks into a genuine smile, and she beckons whoever it is with a dainty hand.