Ellie Sandberg would love to reinvent herself. When she earns a spot at an elite boarding school for young inventors, it seems like the perfect opportunity: A summer away from home, away from her overprotective parents, and away from the hopeless cr...
I stand stock-still, momentarily paralyzed, before bounding in the direction of the pool. No one else reacts. I must have been the only one who saw Ellie go under. With visors on, it would've looked like her avatar merely disappeared behind the augmented-reality palm trees. But I took my glasses off before she reached the trees, confused by the outcome of our interaction.
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I wrote that script myself, specifically with Ellie in mind. I knew she was jumpy after our first conversation. But still... I was expecting her to pick the other option.
She was supposed to blow a kiss back, not run away so hastily that she forgot to look where she was going! And those palm trees never should have been there in the first place. Who added them to this location, anyway? Not me... Was it Reese? Or Eleanor?
Ellie better not be hurt. I call out to the other students as I make my way to the water's edge. The deck is illuminated by lanterns, but the water itself is dark. I kneel, craning forward as my eyes scan for any sign of her beneath the inky surface.
I whip off my blazer, preparing to go in after her, but there's no need. Ellie resurfaces, thrashing and sputtering. I grasp her by the wrist, careful to keep my balance on the edge as I drag her back to safety. "Ellie! Are you OK?"
She doesn't answer, too choked up to speak. My hands hover near her shoulders but not quite making contact. I'm not sure how to help her—or if she even wants my help—as she gags and coughs up water.
A crowd has gathered at my back. I glance up, looking for Dr. Carlyle. Instead, I only see Reese pushing her way forward.
"The visor!" Reese crouches at Ellie's other side and reaches toward her face. "Is it damaged?"
Seriously, that's her first question?
Ellie's hair has come loose from its ponytail. It clings to the dark glasses in a sodden mass. Her hands move to her glasses, struggling frantically to pull them off, but part of the frame has gotten caught in her hair.
She and Reese are both working to untangle the last knotted strands when a third set of hands—perfectly manicured—reaches down and tears the glasses free.
Eleanor stands above us all, her face mask of impatience as she turns the visor in her hands. "The LED is out," she mutters to Reese, who stands to help Eleanor examine them. "I thought they're supposed to be waterproof!"
"Up to 30 feet deep," Reese confirms." Try holding down the Power button. Here, let me."
I can't believe how crass they're being. I reach an arm around Ellie's shoulders to support her as she fights to regain her breath. "Are you hurt?" I ask softly, pulling her closer.
