I knew all the stamps in it and they were the destinations of the rich. Part of my training had been to learn about them and there were items in my extensive luggage that would corroborate my visits there. I even had a suntan, acquired not on the beaches of the West Indies but on a sunbed at the house. The limousine that awaited me drove me to the Burj Khalifa and my new secretary, Alicia dealt with the formalities as she booked Olivia Stockton-Mills, that is me, into one of the hotels suites. Alicia has the face of the English aristocrat: rather pasty and with prominent teeth. She spoke high English which grated on me. I had had to do some elocution too but I had maintained most of my natural voice. Alicia was not a lesbian. Quite, I was told, the opposite. Jay had said in bed one night after I had been introduced to Alicia that the latter would shag the entire England Rugby team before going out looking for a man. ‘So don’t go getting any ideas,’ Jay had said. ‘If you need a bit of. I have to work if I want to eat.”“You are still considered illegal in this state for someone my age.”“I’m seventeen, no prosecutor will touch the case.”That, I couldn’t argue.“Now that that’s settled,” she plopped down on my oversized, overstuffed, favorite leather chair. “Ooh, warm and comfy. Don’t just stand there. Aren’t you going to offer me a Coke?”“Natalie, would you like something to drink?”“Yes, please. A Diet Coke, lite-ice.”I was curious to see how far she wanted to take this, so I got her a Diet.“Thanks,” she took a sip of the Diet Coke, mostly for show, “so really, how did you get all those cuts?”“A tree while skiing.” It was my story and I was sticking to it.“That was a nice tree, to not hit your face or the back of your arms.”“I agree. What year are you in?”“Senior.” Taking a breath, for the first time she looked unsure of herself. “Where is your portal?”“What makes you think I have a one?”“You have a title.”“Huh?”“A title. If you pull up your Status screen you can see.
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