23
Before I can ask Mrs. Scott what she means, Halli’s father calls out over the crowd, “Everyone take their seats. Monsieur Bern has arrived.”
There’s a swirl of lights rising above a tablet sitting on the long conference table. Soon the lights collect themselves into a face.
He’s about Halli’s parents’ age, with blond hair in a very square cut, right down to the straight line of bangs. He has round, gold-framed glasses, and a small, thin mouth.
“Shall we begin?” Halli’s father says. People murmur and settle in.
Nobody tells me where I should sit, so I grab one of the seats at the furthest end of the table. Red settles in at my feet. The man closest to me looks over, meets my eye, then pointedly turns away and ignores me.
So this should all be fun.
The lights dim, and the holograph
