The next morning, Vincent, still huddled into himself against the wind, stepped through the main doors of the school. Instantly, the cold in his muscles gave way to manufactured warmth, and the wintry howling in his ears to excited whispers and shuffling feet. Taking a moment to adjust to the light reflecting off the school’s bleached interior, his eyes searched for the source of the sound. In the far corner of the room – in a space of congruent shape to the Main but of amplified size – a group of Vincent’s classmates, nearly all of them, in fact, were clustered around a large opening in the wall where an uninterested looking man was passing out small packages. Vincent’s peers clambered over each other wildly for their share, with an eagerness in their eyes Vincent had scarcely seen in them before.
“They can’t function without their Lenses.”
Vincent turned around, following the voice. He found its owner in the brawny, tall boy so used to being followed by the same crowd now clustered around the man with the packages.
Brian smirked. “I’m surprised they survived the night without them,” he said.
Vincent glanced back at the group still fighting each other for – if Brian was right – their upgrades.
“They’re already here?”
“They’ve been here for a while now,” said Brian. “There’s been a line ever since the doors opened.”
Vincent continued to watch the crowd push and shove to get closer to the opening. “You got here early then?”
Brian shook his head. “Just a few minutes before you. I didn’t have to wait in line. I got the new model as soon as I went home last night.”
Vincent nodded, unsurprised. It made sense. He should have known Brian had a Newsight parent. Many of the kids in this Seclusion did – it was where the company was based, after all. Then again, the crowd of students was too large for everyone whose parents worked for the Lens creators to have gotten their upgrades early.
“Your parents work for Newsight?”
Brian nodded. Vincent motioned to the group at the opening. “And none of theirs do?”
“Some do,” said Brian. “But none as high up as my mom.” He said the last part as something of a boast, but it seemed proud, too, genuine.
Vincent didn’t say anything back. He was about to start over to join the crowd when the main doors pushed open a few meters off, dousing them with a sharp wave of cold. It was the girl with the dark ponytail. She cast the mob of students a quick glance before stalking past them and down the hall toward the classroom. Brian noticed Vincent looking.
“Our moms used to work together,” he said. He sounded resentful anyone should have the privilege.
“Used to?” repeated Vincent.
“Her mom was Head of Product before mine,” said Brian. “She was good at it, but she died only a year or so after getting the job.” He finished with a blunt, detached tone, not quite cold, just matter-of-fact. Vincent, however, was more interested.
“So how does she already have her Lenses then?”
“Her dad still works for Newsight,” said Brian. “Not nearly as high up as her mom was, but they still get taken care of. Everyone loved her mom.”
Vincent fixed his gaze on the mouth of the hall where the girl had just disappeared. “What’s her name?” he asked.
Brian watched him, wearing a hint of a grin. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”
Vincent shot him a look, his cheeks growing hot, then crossed over to the crowd of his peers to pick up his new Lenses.