“Tucks,” River whispers, his eyes glazed over. “Please forgive me!”
Something in my head turns blood red. Everyone tried to warn me, yet I can’t stop the anger and bitter disappointment within me. “N-no!” Blinded by my emotions, I raise my hands, push him out of the way, and run toward the door. I know how fast he can be—he’s a master at running away—so I have to use the element of surprise. I slam the door, and the key that was still on the outside falls out of the lock. Instinctively, I pick it up, hurry down the stairs to the first floor, and shove the key into my pocket. Halfway down, I hear the door and his heavy footfalls.
I spin around the landing, leaping down the last five steps and dropping onto the musty green carpet of the lobby.
“Tucks!”
I glance back as I pick myself up. River has stopped on the stairs and is holding out his hand to me. “Please don’t run away again.”
I want to cry, scream, and kiss him all at the same time. I want to wrap my arms around him, whisper I love him, and never let him go again. I want him to be only mine, but that wish shatters into a million shards during these seconds. He belongs to the entire world, the entire nation, and never, ever to any Kansas Montgomery. And that’s exactly what makes me run because I just can’t bear the thought.
Without turning to look at him, I push past a few newcomers, shove open the heavy glass door, and rush down the narrow alley. I rush by smelly dumpsters and homeless people pushing their belongings around in shopping carts.
“Dammit, just stop!” Now he sounds mad as hell. I’m so frightened I almost stumble at the next intersection.
I rush blindly through the traffic light, which turns red before River can catch me. He’s still yelling my name, and this time, when I turn, I don’t recognize him directly because he still looks like a cowboy.
He’s almost caught up with me, standing on the other side of the street, but he can’t cross it because the cars are moving again, and traffic is heavy. I run one more intersection and reach the Las Vegas Strip with its colorful hotels, bars, and neon lights. There is noise and music everywhere. Illusions all over. Lies. After a moment’s hesitation, I plunge into the fray and become swallowed by the glittering maw. I push past a family with three children and, in my rush, break through a tour group that complains loudly.
“Stupid bitch” is the nicest thing they yell after me, but I don’t stop. I just keep running and going.
I’ll just keep running until the truth evaporates and fizzles out.
At some point, completely out of breath, I stop at a monumental hotel and support myself on the balustrade. It’s the Bellagio, and in front of me, the famous water fountains dance to classical music. The tourists’ ahs and ohs echo across the artificial lake.
None of this is real.
Nothing is real.
A minion wearing overalls and a diving mask, taps me, wanting to take a photo, but I no longer have a cell phone. I can’t even reach my dad.
As I continue running, tears sting my eyes. I wrap my arms around myself protectively, freezing even though it’s warm with the crowds and lights. I don’t know what to do. I need to think about everything in peace, but I can’t do that as long as River is chasing me. And it’s hard to spot him, too, since I’m still looking for blond hair. For River McFarley.
I keep running with a painful tightening in my chest. I only know one person here other than River, and I haven’t seen her in years.
Mom.
I have to go to her. The opening of the art exhibition is in the Forum at Caesars Palace, the hotel’s attached shopping center. Good thing I looked at the newspaper again earlier.
I run the last few feet, push through the revolving door with a stream of tourists, and stand in the lobby of the hotel, a gigantic circular hall with golden columns, marble fountains, and colorful paintings on the walls and ceiling. Where is the opening? I wander aimlessly through hallways as high and wide as church naves. To the right and left, there’s the casino. Slot machines flash and rattle everywhere. Security guards walk up and down. At some point, without knowing exactly how, I arrive at the Forum.
I notice a silver poster with black writing—The Power of Masks. Then a second and third, all with directional arrows. I follow them past white-gold statues, broken columns serving as benches, and on through a labyrinth of people, marble, and ancient house facades. The Roman fountains and water features glow with a surreal purple-pink light. In between are restaurants and luxury shops: Michael Kors, Chanel, Breitling.
The most expensive shopping mile in America, Arizona whispers in my head. Nowhere are more sales being made.
I push away the thought of my twin and continue to walk across the shiny floor, which now looks like I’m in the middle of ancient Rome, with colorful frescoes alternating above me like in a church and the illusions of an evening sky.
It’s all a deception. Like River. Like this whole damn summer.
I look around nervously. No sign of him—or maybe he’s hidden well.
Suddenly, I’m standing in front of a red velvet barrier rope. Behind it somewhere is my mom’s exhibition, but there’s no one in sight. I only discover a gigantic circular fountain. No, actually, fountain is the wrong term, even if it is one. It is a work of art the size of a small family home. In its center, a rock rises up, around which lies a pool of water surrounded by ancient columns and life-size winged horses. It’s located in the middle of a square, and other passages apparently branch off from there.
“You can’t get through here at the moment, miss. The event is for invited guests only,” a security guard in uniform informs me. “This area doesn’t open again for another two hours.”
I stare hypnotically into his face as if I could force him to recognize my resemblance to Mom by some invisible force, but his face remains expressionless. Since I don’t answer, he turns away.
Damn!
