When Every Version of You opens, New Year's Eve is celebrated in a virtual utopia.
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The sky is not right today. An oversaturated blue, it turns into striped seawater on the horizon and is punctured by the sun as it descends towards its bloated reflection. The tide hits the shore. One, two, three across the sand. One, two, three, four – leaving a sine wave of foam.
Tao-Yi sits with his legs tucked under him, twirling an almost empty bottle of beer in his hands. Long shadows flow from the sandstone formations around her. In this secluded cove, protected by reddish rocks, she does not see the others, but she hears them laughing and shouting as they collect driftwood for the fire.
She let Naveen drag her here, a little out of obligation, but mostly out of habit. This is what happens every New Year's Eve: Zack throws a party. It would be wrong to miss this.
The bottle remains icy in her palms, impervious to the warmth of her body. She brings the headband to her lips. The last sip cuts her throat. The ocean sways like a silk skirt in the wind, wrinkled and opaque. She waits for a gust of wind to roll onto the shore and lift strands of hair from her neck, but it never comes – the air in Gaia is stale, like a subway tunnel.
The rustle of sandy grass heralds Naveen's approach. He’s almost a stranger—tall and thin, wearing a short-sleeved shirt and khaki pants, black bangs falling haphazardly over his forehead, a vulnerable smile. He hands over another bottle of beer.
“Tastes like crap,” she says, shaking her head. “It's better than last year.”
She manages to smile as she thinks about Zach's experimental drink.
“Come back,” he insists, brushing his fingers against her hairline. “Help us light the fire.”
Tao-Yi allows him to pull her to her feet. She follows him out of the bay, around a group of boulders, and back to the shore. His shirt hangs loosely on him, clinging to the lower corners of his shoulder blades. She wants to touch these inverted brackets and make sure they are real.
Between the dunes and the sea, the others filled the shallow hole with driftwood. There are a dozen or so college-educated twentysomethings like her and Naveen, all with sharp looks and witty remarks. The general is virtual. This is a happy generation – born in motion, filled with potential, rising on the wave of change.
Zack easily moves through the group, the others are drawn to him like mosquitoes in shallow water. He looks particularly boyish in an orange T-shirt and knee-length sarong. He leans over a snag, holding a lit match in his long brown fingers, like a conductor's baton. The others scream as the flames bloom. If you follow the formula, there will be no second attempts.
Tao-Yi calls up his live interface. In the corner of my eye, a neon countdown flickers: 21:00, December 31, 2087. 3 hours left! The constant scrolling of status updates is superimposed on the beach landscape. Mostly excerpts, four-second video clips dissolve as she absorbs them with her attention: friends dancing at open-air concerts, go-karting under electronic fireworks, stimulants ringing against powerful rhythms.
Evelyn approaches her. Tao-Yi refuses countdown and trimming. Today, her petite friend looks a little different. Although she is wearing a pastel dress from her typical wardrobe, her dark brown hair is braided and her cheeks are decorated with gothic decals. It's cute, like a puppy trying to be irritable.
Evelyn hits Tao-Yi with her hip. -Are you Flash? “I'm fine. Why?”
“You just seem quiet.”
Tao-Yi clasps his elbows with his hands, feeling the symmetrical depressions behind the bony joints. “Yeah, I'm just a little tired. Busy day at work.”
“Oh yeah. Of course. You're a badass authenticity consultant now.” Evelyn drawls out the words and chuckles.
The name still sounds strange to Tao-Yi's ears, even though she has been working at her job for six months now. She's still thinking about moving from a marketing job, manipulating people into buying more things, to a place like Tru U, guiding lost souls back to their true selves.
“People are just obsessed with their avatars. They want them to look as unique as everyone else, you know.”
“Usu, Tao-Yi, don’t pretend to be a cynic. I know that you are really a gentle person,” Evelyn says. “Wait a few more months and you'll be spreading the feel-good virus, just like your boss. What's his name? Andy? Gary?”
– Griffin, not even close.
“That's right. You know what he told me at that party you dragged me to last month? Wide eyes, deadpan face. You need to find your way.”
“Oh, yeah. He says it about ten times a day. My brain is just filtering it out now.”
“I told him I use Google Maps. He didn't even smile!”
Tao-Yi laughs. “But he's good at his job. Are you coming for an appointment?”
“No thanks, you can stay away from my virtual pieces.”
Tao-Yi laughs again and turns to the fire. Evelyn's gaze moves to Zach and stops there. The glow of the fire warms his tanned face, illuminating his brilliant black eyes and expressive mouth.
Tao-Yi watches Evelyn watching him for a while. Then she slips away.
Every version of you Grace Chan (Verve Books) is the book the New Scholars Book Club will be reading in November 2025. Register to read with us Here.
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