“Oh my goodness,” Ledi said. “It’s like Africa’s Next Top Model up in here.”

Ledi was still dazzled as they rode the elevator up to the ballroom on the hotel’s top floor. Music with a heavy drumbeat tugged at her hips before she even got through the door, and serving staff in aprons of kente cloth bustled by with plates of delicious smelling hors d’oeuvres. Ledi grabbed a small meat pie, and then another, partly because she was hungry and partly because she knew that parties where no one ate the appetizers were hell on a server’s wrists. It was also a cardinal sin to let free food pass her by. They moved against a wall as Portia searched out her parents.

“My dad should be somewhere around here—”

“Mom and Dad are playing musical chairs right now. We have to move because someone fucked up the RSVP and there’s no way I’m fitting between those tables.” The voice was low, its cadence a bit slow and overenunciated. Ledi looked down into a face that was so similar to Portia’s that she startled.

Regina, Portia’s twin sister.

They weren’t identical, but it was close. Her hair was much shorter, her curl pattern tighter, but it was the same dark auburn. Her eyes were the same shade of maple, and her mouth wore the same smile, except where Portia’s was sad, Regina’s was sharp. She sat in a sleek, high-tech wheelchair. The wheels were encased in fire-engine red rims and looked like something out of a comic book. Ledi was certain that was on purpose. The bright dresses weren’t the only things that would draw people’s eye at the gala.

Portia sometimes referred to a time “when my sister was sick” when she was drunk, but she was pretty tight-lipped about her sister otherwise, despite Regina’s rising internet stardom. Ledi had thought it sibling rivalry, but now she wasn’t sure.

“Hey, sis. Good to see you.” Regina looked up at her sister with an inscrutable expression.

“Reggie! I didn’t know you’d be here,” Portia said, bending down to give her sister a peck on the cheek.

“You would know if you ever answered my texts,” Regina said. Another sharp smile.

“Sorry. Just. You know how it is.”

Regina did not seem to know how it is. She raised a brow.

Instead of elaborating, Portia gestured toward Ledi. “This is my friend Ledi.”

“Oh, this is the Ledi you’re always hanging out with?” Regina sounded . . . Jealous?

A little rush of nerves went through Ledi, despite the obvious sisterly tension she was smack dab in the middle of. She tried to be cool, but that lasted about five seconds. “It’s so nice to meet you and also OMG I love your site so much! I read it every day! Thank you so much.”

So much for playing it cool.

Regina reached a hand up toward Ledi, and even though her hand shook en route, her grip was strong. “You’re welcome? Is that the right response? I don’t know what to say when people are excited about the site. This is why I hang out online instead.” She squinted up at Ledi. “Wait, you look familiar. Do you comment as HeLaHoop?”

Ledi’s face warmed and Regina looked embarrassed.

“Oh shit, I shouldn’t ask that. Just, you have a cool avatar photo wearing lab gear and you always have such smart things to say on the science posts, so I remember your picture. I was thinking about asking if you, well HeLaHoop, wanted to do a column on lady scientists. We pay our columnists, in case you were wondering.”

“Oh! That sounds like it could be fun,” Ledi said, both shocked and flattered. “And I could always use extra cash.”

“Oracle, take note. Email Ledi about lady scientists.”

An LED screen on the arm of the wheelchair blinked red, then green. A robotic voice styled after HAL from 2001: A Space Odyssey piped out of the armrest. “Note taken, Reggie.”

“Did your chair just talk?” Ledi asked. “That is amazing!”

“Your phone talks, too, I’m sure,” Regina said drily, but grinned at her. Ledi felt a hard tug on her arm. Portia.

“Dr. Okri is over there. I should go introduce you.” Portia smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and Regina frowned and looked down.

“It was great meeting you,” Ledi said before Portia could respond. “I’ll see you at the table.”

“Yeah,” Portia said. “We’ll be back.”

Regina’s expression lightened. “Okay. I’ll just . . . wait for Mom and Dad I guess.”

Then Ledi was being dragged toward an imposing woman who held court in front of a small group of admirers. She wore a royal blue gown printed with bright yellow images of birds in flight, paired with a matching headwrap. Her face had that smooth brown agelessness that meant she could be anywhere from thirty to seventy, and her eyes were bright with kindness.

“Why hello, Miss Portia,” she boomed in an accent that could only be described as “rich New Yorker.” Once you’d made a certain amount of cash, you could make up any accent you wanted and no one would call you on it. “And is this lovely lady the friend you told me about? Where are you from, dear?”

The last question was directed at Ledi.

“I bet she’s from Eritrea,” a woman in the group said. “She’s the spitting image of my auntie.”

“No,” another man interrupted, his accent thick. “Look at those cheekbones. She has to be from Sudan. I’d know my people anywhere.”