Elite Fraud

Chapter 20: Walking On a Dream

It starts when Zain pulls the flask from Tave's hands (Zain never says no to alcohol). When I feel the beginning of another argument between Tave and Zain, I take a long swig, followed by a few smaller ones. Marli is smart; she sees my tactic and decides that she, also, will need all the help she can get to loosen up. Theo is the last to take his share of the alcohol, and even then, he only takes a few sips.

At the time, I thought him boring for wanting to stay sober on our tip, but now, as I sit in the train, fighting to contain the laughter in my chest at the scene in front of me, being sober seems like the much better idea.

A sophisticated Asian man sits with a crisp suit, no-nonsense, angular glasses, and a meek little mustache. A rather large man whose odor I can smell from here is pressed up against the first man, his bulbous face leaning on his shoulder with drool dripping down his suit. The Asian man cannot move, his face the epitome of annoyed as he presses his suitcase closer to his chest as if protecting it from the air that comes out of the other man's mouth.

I dig my teeth into my lips as the odorous man presses up even closer to the other man, squeezing him against a woman smacking gum. It is so funny to me, and I don't know why.

Finally, our stop arrives. and we stumble out of the train, a giggling group of teenagers struggling to climb the stairs out of the station. Having held the burden of so many things, I seem to forget that that's what we really are.

Out in the open air, a mighty wind races through my clothes teasing the soft cotton of my sweater, dancing around the loose waves of my hair. The evening sun casts long shadows on the ground, the slanting rays giving a warm orange tinge to the sky.

Our subway lands us in the part of the city that I rarely come across, too far south from my house. To the left are some brownstone buildings in varying shades of red and brown, the streets dotted by pedestrians and local stores and bakeries. To the right, in all its glory and magnificence, is the Brooklyn Bridge, standing tall and mighty as it peaks between the buildings, the angry-orange sky shadowing its curves and edges. It demands to be seen, to be admired: look at me, I am here and I am great.

"Guys." I point to it, and they follow my gaze.

"Don't even think about it—"

But Zain doesn't have to think about it. She interrupts Tave, already turning toward its direction, wild hair following the rotation of her head, "Let's cross the Brooklyn Bridge. What do you think Marli?"

Marli looks taken aback for a second, surprised that Zain is asking for her opinion. But Zain only looks at her expectantly, hands in her pockets with a sincere, excited smile on her face. At first, I worried that the clash of personalities between my new friends and Marli wouldn't end well, that the different attitudes would be too thick of a barrier to walk over with small talk. But now, as I look at Zain's warm face, honeyed by the setting sun, I remember that Zain invited me to a party on the first day of meeting her. Surprisingly, there is no awkwardness or tense air between the five of us, and I feel immensely grateful for it.

Marli pushes her jet black bangs over her brows, takes a few steps forward so she stands next to Zain. "Umm, it looks gorgeous. I think we should go."

Zain grins a toothy smile, hooking her arm around Marli's. They are almost the same height, both shorter than me by a little. "I thought so too." They start to walk away, seemingly to forget Tave's half protest at this idea.

Theo, Tave, and I share a look: there's no point arguing now, and it's only best that we start walking before we get left behind. So we follow them wordlessly, Tave first so that he catches up with Marli and Zain, then Theo and I trailing behind.

The ground is a cobbled path, a darkened grey from the countless of feet that walked it before us. Sometimes, a faint footstep can be faintly seen like a fossilized print, as if someone walked on this path before the cobble completely dried. The empty street is quiet save for Zain, Marli, and Tave laughing further away from us.

I realize that Theo and I haven't been truly alone since the few minutes in David's balcony at the fundraiser. Now, we walk side by side, the sound of his clothes brushing with every walk, his radiating warmth a welcome against the cold air.

"What is it that you wanted to tell me yesterday?" he asks.

I wince, the image of Yvonne's threatening face appearing for a moment. "It's Yvonne. She knows that we were snooping around in David's house."

"She told you that? How did she even know?"

I scoff lightly. "In more ways than one. She must've asked that guard downstairs. It doesn't matter how she found out," I sigh. "She knows we're on to something, and she's giving me 'one last chance' before . . ."

He doesn't say anything, pulling his lips between his teeth in thought as he stares ahead at our friends' silhouettes.

"Do you think she'll tell on us?"

"If she was planning on doing that, she would've done it already," he replies. "I think she's just trying to scare us off."

I nod because he's right. But then a thought occurs to me. "Actually, she never mentioned your name. She was only talking to me." My step falters. "But surely if the guard told her about me, then he must've mentioned you too. If anything, he only knows your name."

"That's weird," he notes with furrowed brows.

For a very short second, a silly, senseless thought sneaks its way into my head. What if Yvonne's lack of threat to Theo roots from their alliance, and she only found out because he told her? This theory would answer so many of my unanswered questions but would also raise even more confusing questions that wouldn't make sense.

I'm about to push the idea out of my mind when Theo notices my hesitation. He looks at me in question, and his eyes narrow. "Why'd you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You faltered. Your expression changed when you looked at me." He tilts head, as if he understood a riddle when he spoke it out loud. "You're doubting me again."

Under any another circumstance, I would laugh at the irony. It's astonishing how, if the roles are reversed, I would study him the exact way he studies me now. Nothing really slips past him.

"Of course I doubted you for a second," I say, starting to walk again before we can lose our friends ahead of us. They're now at the end of the street, closer to the bridge. "If I judged the situation based only on the mere facts I was given, I would doubt you. I have to. Wouldn't you?"

He doesn't answer, which suffices as an answer.

"But obviously I don't."

We lapse into silence. Our friends stop where they stand, giving us time to catch up as we walk closer.

"You'll never not doubt me, will you?"

The question surprises me, making me glance directly at his face for the first time. The sun tinges his already olive skin a warmer color, his brow bone casting a shadow over his high cheek bones, his eyes remaining dark under long lashes. His lips are pulled into a thin line, awaiting my answer. He is undeniably beautiful in this exact moment, standing between brown tenements, the sun behind him as a backdrop, his hands covered in the pockets of his jeans, that I want to capture the panorama. I want to freeze this scene, the moment before I speak words I don't want to say and ruin the moment.

I wish the answer isn't so easy, albeit I say it without sugarcoating it. "No. If I want to win this game, I can't afford giving anyone the benefit of the doubt. It doesn't mean I trust you any less."

He stares at me a beat longer before nodding. He knows it's the best I can give him despite everything. It's the best I can give anyone.