Bao appeared beside them, emerging like a ghost from the early twilight. “You never know where we might appear.”
“Stop doing that,” said Sahara, putting her hand on her chest in mock anger. “Can’t you just walk up to someone like a normal person?”
“It’s my gift to your audience,” said Bao, pointing to Cameron. “Twenty bucks says at least one of them saw me before you did; it’s a whole thing on the forums.”
“So, did you call us an autocab?” asked Marisa.
“Tonight we travel in style,” said Sahara, subtly avoiding Marisa’s eyes. “I figured since we’re all going to the same party, we may as well get a ride. . . .”
Marisa’s jaw fell open. “You didn’t.”
“Obviously she invited him,” said Sahara, “so don’t blame me for that. All I did was ask him for a ride. Have you seen his car?”
Bao looked at each girl in turn, filling in the unspoken gaps in the conversation. “Omar’s coming?”
Marisa stuck out her tongue. “I think I just remembered about seventy-eight different things I have to do at home.”
“If you didn’t want Anja to start dating a Mirador boy, you shouldn’t have kept bringing her here,” said Sahara. “Just be grateful she’s dating one with a Futura.”
“Are you kidding me?” asked Marisa. “This is Omar Maldonado, Sahara. As in, the people who practically shook down my parents for protection money not seven hours ago. He only has a Futura because his father’s a crime boss.” She looked right at Cameron, pointing dramatically. “Go ahead and sue me for libel, chundo, I dare you.”
“Slander,” said Bao, glancing at the nuli. “You can’t sue her for libel unless she writes it down.”
“Let me log in to the forums then,” said Marisa, blinking one open, but Sahara spoke in her most soothing voice.
“Whatever his father’s done,” said Sahara, “Omar’s our friend.”
“Exactly,” said Bao. “I like Omar.”
“I like him too,” said Marisa. “The boy is charming, but do you trust him?”
Neither answered immediately, and Marisa laughed in triumph.
“Regardless,” said Sahara, “now that Anja’s dating him, we see him almost every day.”
“And it’s problematic every day,” said Marisa. “I was hoping tonight could be the one night we wouldn’t have to deal with it—especially after what happened this morning. If my father ever found out I was hanging around with Omar, it would melt his processor; ojalá he doesn’t watch your feed.”
“And as if on cue,” said Bao, looking down the street as a jet-black autocar rolled slowly to the curb. The Dynasty Falcons that the Maldonado enforcers drove were rugged muscle cars designed for utility and intimidation; Don Maldonado’s youngest son, however, had a Futura Noble, designed purely for showing off how expensive it was. Marisa couldn’t even see the outline of the door until it slid open silently, exposing the familiar thump of nortec music from within.
“Ladies and gentleman,” said Omar smoothly. “Your carriage has arrived.”
“Gorgeous!” Sahara’s nulis swirled around, catching the best views of the luxury autocar as Sahara climbed in. The interior was more of a lounge than a car: lush seats around a central table, with a well-stocked bar against the far wall. The ceiling danced with abstract holograms, pulsing in time with the music.
Bao stepped in, but Marisa hung back on the sidewalk. Omar, seeming to sense her hesitation, stepped smoothly out of the Futura. He was tall and dark, clean-shaven and fiendishly handsome. Tonight he wore white slacks and a white tuxedo vest over a deep purple shirt and matching purple tie. The lack of jacket made him look like he’d just come from a fancy gala, through with the important stuff and ready to party; the calculated casualness of it made Marisa fume.
“Marisa,” he said, bowing his head slightly in respect. “I heard about what happened today at your family’s restaurant. I’m deeply sorry.”
Marisa wanted to throw the apology back in his face, demanding to know what his family was trying to pull, but Bao was right: even if Omar’s father was behind the gangster’s veiled threats, Omar himself was probably blameless. He was barely eighteen years old.
“Come on, Mari,” said Sahara. “It’ll be fun.”