Page 110 of The Art of Exiley

Rafe is beaming at me with his too-pretty smile, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of having been right, so I turn my face into the salty wind.

Rafe quickly inflates the boat. He sits at the back and has me sit between his legs, my back resting against his chest. Well, this is awkward. I’m super grimy from the hike, and I can’t stop fidgeting because of the particular alignment of my butt and his crotch.

Rafe hands me a canteen, and I gulp liberally as he sets the motor and guides the boat. And then we’re off, and it’sfast. We shoot through the water, white foam in our wake. I sigh and lean my sweaty head against Rafe’s unfairly dry and non-smelly shirt. The sun glares, so I close my eyes.

I wake with my head lolling against a ridiculously hard chest. To my embarrassment, my cheek is wet with drool. If Rafe noticed the offense, it doesn’t seem to bother him. His hands are casually resting on my thighs.

“Good morning,” he says. Then he points his chin in the direction of the coast we’re approaching. “Just in time.”

32

I’m pretty groggy as we land on a beach that a sign informs me is in St. Augustine, Florida. Rafe folds up the boat onto his back and navigates me through a cave entrance to an Atlas station—supposedly the first ever built in the New World when the line was first being constructed.

Though the Arcadia station is locked down, the rest of the train line is still running, and no one who sees us board asks any questions.

“Aren’t you worried that you’ll be recognized?” I ask.

“I never assumed we wouldn’t be discovered,” he responds. “Genesis will soon notice the missing magneto gun and put all the pieces together. Our only rush has been to get to New York before they stop us.”

The trip to the New York station is short, and we’re soon pulling into the familiar platform, the air locks closing behind us.

We exit the City Hall station—the non-fun way, up a simple elevator into an inconspicuous office building where every door needs a separate special code—and then… we’re back in my city. The Brooklyn Bridge towers over a beautiful spring day. I don’t know why this surprises me since it’s spring in Arcadia too, but last time I was here, the city was wearing its winter coat of frost and holiday decorations.

There’s a familiar concert of honking horns, blaring sirens, and shouting pedestrians. It smells like street food, exhaust, and garbage—but in the best way. It’s soalive. The Maker population is tiny, nothing in comparison to the bustling life of New York City.

“You look happy,” Rafe says somewhat begrudgingly as he darts out of the path of an oncoming man who is texting aggressively without looking where he’s going.

“I love it here. Have you spent any time in Manhattan?”

“No. The only time I’ve spent in the provincial world has been in Europe.”

I feel my own grin stretching wide. “Well, then, I’m going to have to show you around.” Finally, we’re on my turf. I want him to see my world. I want him to see how amazing it can be and that the people have as much depth and creativity as Makers.

“Let’s first get to the hotel, clean up, and get rid of these bags.” Rafe booked us a hotel room, and though I have no idea how he managed to do so without internet, I’m glad for his foresight as we are a total disaster—sweaty and dirty from the climb, damp and muddy from the boat.

“Great. We can take the subway.”

“Let’s get a taxi.”

“The subway is a classic New York City experience, and today you are a tourist.”

“And slow and dirty. From my understanding, a yellow cab is also a classic New York City experience. And I have money that I’m willing to spend.” Despite the Maker world not using regular money, Rafe is fabulously wealthy in the provincial world. The Makers—the Vanguards especially—have numerous old business holdings for when money is necessary.

“Mass transit is better for the environment.”

He is silent for a beat. “Okay. But in this instance, I am willing to forgo my own personal morals for the sake of convenience. Let’s get a cab.”

For a boy who’s grown up in a world without proper money, he sure doesknow how to spend it. And for someone who has never been to New York City, he sure knows how to live it large here. The hotel we pull up to is the kind I’ve never noticed as a local, because I have never had reason to be on such a polished block.

As we walk in, I feel like a complete impostor, especially being so dirty and underdressed. I’m sure that at any moment I’ll be informed that this shiny lobby is only available to guests of the hotel, which I must clearly not be. But everyone is extremely polite.

Especially the receptionist. She’s immaculately beautiful and flirts unabashedly with Rafe, smiling her perfect toothy smile and flipping her perfect blond ponytail. She even says we can have our room right away although it’s hours before check-in. But when she mentions that her shift ends at four thirty and slips Rafe her phone number, I get pissed. What’s her problem? Isn’t it obvious that we’re here together? We’re not actually together, but she has no way to know that.Rude.

“I thought you hate provincials,” I say to Rafe. “But you don’t seem to be having any trouble making friends.” I hear the grouchiness in my voice.

“I’m just doing my part to fit in,” Rafe replies. “But I must say, I find your jealousy… hot.” He tries to put his arm around my waist, and I slap it away.

Rafe knows how to speak to all the fancy staff and flash all the right smiles and all the right plastic cards. He knows how to be escorted by the bellhop to our tenth-floor room and how to tip him without being the slightest bit awkward.

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