GLAZE (17 page)

By the time I get home, I’ve seen it seven times and it’s really starting to get on my nerves.
 

Zizi would know how to stop it, but I don’t dare ask her because then she’d know I was hooked up. Besides, she’s not here. The house is empty. Or at least, no one’s home. But it’s not empty. It’s full of information.
 

 
It’s weird seeing the house through the filter of Glaze. Objects I have walked past every day for nearly ten years look different. I also realise I’ve been wrong about some of the ornaments. The wooden mask, with the big teeth, hanging in the hall, is not from Honduras like Zizi let me believe. It’s from a shop I’ve never heard of called The Pier. And the white vases with pink blossoms curling up them, that Zizi said were given to her by a Chinese diplomat, are from an oriental outfitters in Islington. No wonder she wasn’t in any rush to let me on. Anyone with access would have been able to see straight through her stories. Unless … I’d read that you could re-tag items if you could hack the code. Or if you had access to the network itself. I bet that’s exactly what Zizi did. Changed the data so that no one would know the truth. Well, it doesn’t seem to work on my chip.

‘Busted,’ I say, not that I really care. Zizi and I have made a life out of lying to each other.
 

I head for the kitchen, as the video starts again, and it looks like Nathaniel is leaning against my kitchen cabinet.
 

‘Bugger off!’ I shout. And he does.
 

It’s such a relief that I start laughing again. Until I get the hang of the controls, I’m not going to risk playing another video. Besides, I can still see Nathaniel’s grinning face when I close my eyes.
 

I pour myself a drink from the fridge and read the label on the side. A cartoon figure jumps off the carton and begins dancing on the sideboard.
 

 
// H
I
, I’
M
J
UICYLICIOUS
J
UICE
AND
I’
M
JUST
CHUFFED
YOU
’
RE
DRINKING
ME
. I’
M
MADE
FROM
FIVE
WHOLE
ORANGES
... //

I put the carton down, staring at it suspiciously. I’ve never been fond of brands that insist on anthropomorphising themselves. Especially ones that you eat or drink. It always makes me feel guilty.
 

Everything in the fridge is tagged, even the fruit and veg. Where it was picked, and by whom. A whole trail of data going back to the day it was planted.

I shut the fridge door. This is going to get some getting used to. So far, Glaze hasn’t given me anything useful. But that’s my fault. How can I expect it to provide meaningful information when all I’m using it on is the contents of my fridge?
 

I’ve been trying to add people to my feed, but it doesn’t seem to be working. Another thing that will have to wait till the adjustment period is over. So I need to get out. I need to be around people.
 

‘Kiara Roufail,’ I say out loud, hoping I’ll be able to slide her a message.
 

Instead, the wall screen in the living room glows into life. ‘Calling, Kiara Roufail.’
 

‘No,’ I complain. But what does it matter how I contact her anyway? Kiara’s face appears on the screen.
 

‘Hey, Pet. What’s up?’
 

‘Where do the cool kids go?’

15

KIARA AND I ARRANGE
to meet outside a club called Douma.
 

I’ve heard of this place; a lot of the kids at school used to talk about it before the discussions about their social lives took place on Glaze and I stopped being able to take part. I smile at the memory. At how that’s all in the past now.
 

According to Kiara’s instructions, the entrance to the club is down a narrow alleyway behind a bar called the Freedom. This place isn’t even marked on the grid.
 

There’s already a queue of people waiting to get in. Eight guys and six girls, and I know each of their names even though I’ve never met them. Every item of their clothing is tagged. I don’t even recognise some of the brand names. The bouncer on the door is called Bunny, and he will, his feed says, break your teeth if you mess with him.
 

The overlay on the tiny entrance behind him is an image of an angel, her fingers pressed to her lips. Douma, my feed tells me, is the angel of silence.
 

‘Hey!’
 

I jump as someone pounces on me from behind.

// K
IARA
R
OUFAIL
,
AGED
16, 467
FOLLOWERS
,
LOVES
MUSIC
,
ART
. H
ATES
PRETENTIOUS
BULLSHIT
AND
LIARS
. //

‘Hey!’ I say back, grabbing her in a tight hug. I can’t wait to tell her.
 

‘You OK, Pet? You look so... happy.’

‘I’m great. Everything’s great.’
 

‘Isn’t it? I feel great too!’
 

‘You do? That’s amazing.’
 

‘Yeah,’ Kiara says. ‘I took Zizi’s advice and got some treatment. I’ve never felt better.’
 

I pull my best friend in the whole world into a hug, breathing in the smell of her hair. Life is so good, I could cry.
 

The queue moves as the doors are opened. I take Kiara’s hand and drag her forward.
 

Inside, I expect to be hit by a wall of sound; the latest track being laid down by the freshest DJ. But all I can hear is the crowd. Everyone dancing and singing along to nothing.
 

I look to Kiara, confused.
 

‘Oh, Petri. I should have thought. It’s a silent disco,’ she shouts—unnecessarily loud. ‘You can only hear the tracks if you’re chipped. I’m such an idiot. Let’s go somewhere else.’
 

‘No, it’s fine,’ I say, stopping her from turning around with a tug on her hand.
 

‘Are you sure? It’s not weird?’ she shouts, over the music that she must be able to hear.
 

I look around at everyone. They’re smiling, laughing, bodies all moving in time to the same beat. There’s a large overlay floating above our heads:

// F
OLLOW
THE
ANGEL
TO
HEAR
THE
HEAVENLY
SOUNDS
. //

I try adding Douma to my stream, but the sound’s still not working. I guess whatever Logan and Hwang did to the chip didn’t involve making the sound work. But that’s OK.
 

‘It’s perfect,’ I say, looking back to Kiara, grinning.
 

I pull her onto the dance floor, laughing. We find our spot in the middle of the jumping people and I start to dance. It doesn’t matter that I can’t hear the music. I pick up the beat from the movements of everyone around me.
 

Kiara shakes her head at me. ‘I thought I was the mental one.’
 

‘We’re all mental,’ I shout.
 

The boy next to me nods and smiles and joins Kiara and me in our dancing.

// J
ON
W
EIR
, 20, W
ONDER
W
OMAN
AND
S
HE
-R
A
FAN
. N
ORTHERN
.//

 
It’s not creepy. He’s not trying to hit on us. Everyone is here to dance.
 

There must be around 60 people in the room, and I can see info tagged on all of them, alongside the messages they’re sliding back and forth. Some of them look pretty private; especially the message from a guy about what he wants to do with his girlfriend when they get home. But maybe people here don’t care about sharing that kind of stuff.
 

One floating name stands out from the rest.
 

// R
YAN
M
C
M
ANUS
, 16,
LOVIN
’
LIFE
,
LIVIN
’
LARGE
. //

He’s back on. We’re all on and everything is good. I hold my arms out and spin around and around, the information feed blurring like long-exposure lights. And I’m laughing. So hard that it brings tears to my eyes.
 

I stop spinning and the trail of data snaps back into place. More and more messages pour into my mind, crowding out my view. Someone bangs into me but I can’t see them. I can’t see anything but the flow of information. Details of everything around me. The origins of the pictures on the walls, the chemical structure of the liquid in the drinks, all mixed in with the lives of everyone around me and, I realise—as messages start appearing in French, Spanish, Cyrillic text I can’t even begin to place—of people on Glaze all across the globe.

It’s not supposed to be like this, I know. I’ve read how when you first start out Glaze can be pretty dull till you start to build up your followers. But this feels like my feed is filled with a thousand—maybe a million—voices already.
 

I close my eyes and it disappears. All the images are gone and I’m staring into the blackness of my own head. The images echo still, but the relief is instant, like stepping out of a loud room and the doors shutting behind you.
 

Adjustment period. That must be what this is.
 

I open my eyes again and for a second I see only what is really there; Kiara and all the people dancing around us. But then the feed is back and stronger this time.
 

My head pounds as I struggle to hold on to a single thread of information. Hands shake my shoulders and I shut my eyes again.
 

‘Petri, what the hell are you doing?’ It’s Kiara’s voice, Kiara’s smell. I open my eyes again and for a split-second I see her face, concern etched in her eyes. Then she vanishes beneath the waves of fresh data.
 

// H
ELL
. A
PLACE
OF
ETERNAL
SUFFERING
AND
PUNISHMENT
. A
N
ABODE
OF
THE
DEAD
,
WATCHED
OVER
BY
S
ATAN
’
S
CREATURES
. //

Images of cackling devils reach out to grab me. I shut my eyes to block it out.
 

‘Petri, why are you crying? What’s going on?’ Kiara says.
 

‘I’m... I’m OK,’ I shout. ‘Just give me a minute.’

‘Petri? What’s happening?’ It’s Ryan’s voice. I daren’t open my eyes to look at him.
 

‘Umm, I’m not sure the chip is working, Ryan.’

‘Chip? What chip? What is she on about?’ Kiara says.
 

‘It’s the adjustment period. That’s all,’ he says.
 

‘Adjustment period? What are you talking about, Ryan? Petri, Petri look at me.’

I open my eyes and focus on where her voice is coming from and can make something out beneath the flow. Her face is fragmented and coloured by the images from other people. It’s like looking at her through a kaleidoscope.
 

‘Shit, your eyes are mental, Petri. You’re scaring me. Are you on something?’

‘I’m on Glaze, Kiara. Everything is going to be all right.’
 

‘What? What about the blank?’

‘People are looking,’ I hear Ryan say. ‘You should get her home.’

‘I can’t take her home like this. Her mother will freak.’

‘Then take her to your house.’ Ryan is trying to keep his voice down but it’s angry and insistent.
 

// I’
M
SO
ANGRY
TODAY
. //

 
// T
HIS
TRAFFIC
MAKES
ME
SO
ANGRY
. //
 

// I
S
IT
JUST
ME
OR
DOES
T
IMOTHY
G
AGE
MAKE
YOU
SO
ANGRY
YOU
WANT
TO
STAB
HIM
WITH
A
PEN
? //

There’s a small x in the corner of my vision I know is supposed to switch the feed off. I try to find my way to it, directing the glowing dot that doesn’t want to be controlled. It’s bouncing around the layers and picking things at random. I close my eyes, like breaking to the surface to take a breath of air when swimming under water, and then dive back in, forcing the controls to do what I want. It reaches the x and I focus on clicking it. Nothing. The flow of information gets heavier and louder. I click again and again and then the x vanishes altogether. I sink to my knees.
 

‘Adjustment period,’ I say to myself, trying to remain calm. I’m recalling everything I’ve read about this period. It’s often unsettling, but it’s not meant to be like this. As a response I’m flooded with messages about other people’s experiences.
 

// A
NYONE
ELSE
GET
HEADACHE
WITH
THEIR
ADJUSTMENT
PERIOD
? //
 

// H
OW
LONG
WILL
THIS
WHOLE
ADJUSTMENT
PERIOD
LAST
? //

‘I’m taking you home,’ Kiara says, pulling me to my feet.
 

‘Ryan?’ I say.
 

There’s a pause, a loud tut from Kiara. ‘He’s not coming, Petri. Now come on.’

I feel a hand on my wrist and allow myself to be dragged forward through the crowd.
 

Once we’re back on the street I risk opening my eyes. The graffiti on the wall in front of me starts to dance and move as the embedded video plays. A cartoon panda with crosses for eyes and a cute looking kitten move towards each other shyly and start to kiss. Their kissing becomes more intense, till Panda throws the kitten up against the wall and... I shut my eyes.
 

‘Wow, people make the weirdest stuff,’ I say.