by Ramona Finn
“Do you think—”
“What?”
Ona’s gaze had gone distant. I tried to catch her eye. She shook her head slowly, still clutching the dress.
“If Mom and Dad could see us now, do you think they’d be happy for us? Do you think they’d want... Am I doing this right?”
“Doing it right?” I pulled her out of the floodlights, toward the fitting rooms. “I thought this was what you wanted? Your big night?”
“It is, but—” She sank down on a bench, letting the dress crumple between her thighs. “I’ve been trying so hard, doing everything to fit in. And it’s working—I have friends already, and a golf membership, and a library card, but... But then I come home, and I realize I’ve barely seen you in days. I can’t remember Mom’s last words to me, or the taste of Dad’s cooking. I feel like... Like if I just knew they’d want this for me, it would…I would…I—I miss them so much.”
“Oh, Ona.” I sat down next to her and pulled her close. I had no idea what Mom and Dad would think, seeing their little girl in makeup, out partying all night. Maybe they’d be horrified, watching us drift apart, seeing how frivolous our lives had become. Maybe they’d be happy for her joy in it all and want the same for me. I took a deep breath. “They’d want you to find your place here,” I said. “To do what makes you happy, whatever that ends up being.”
“You think so?” Ona brightened. “I do love all this. I just wish I could—I always sit where the cameras are, when I’m out for lunch, or at the park. I keep hoping they’re watching, on those new screens down there.”
“Then make sure you’re always smiling.” I squeezed her hands tight. “Make sure—”
“What’s this, now?” Elli flitted over, all laden with gowns. “Less chatting, more shopping. Chop-chop.”
I rolled my eyes, irritated, and mouthed chop-chop at Ona. She snickered into her hand.
“Here’s your dress,” she said. “Try it. For me.”
“I will.” I turned to go look for more, but Elli caught my elbow.
“Try the ones I’ve picked first,” she said, ushering me into a fitting room. “You’re hiding some serious curves under those trash bags of yours. You’ll need a tailored waist to show those off.”
“I wasn’t trying to—”
Elli shut the curtain on me. I stood feeling foolish, Ona’s dress draped over my arm. I tried that on first, but she’d picked the wrong size. It stuck at my hips, stitches popping, and I squirmed free, relieved.
The next one was blue, like the sky in old pictures. It had a waterfall of skirts and a breathless laced bodice. I blushed at the way it put my flesh on display. It seemed absurd to my eye, like a pair of jellyfish in an ice cream cone. I jiggled when I moved, rippled when I breathed, and I covered myself with a scowl.
“No. That’s not right.”
I tried a pink dress and a white one, and a black one slit to the hip. The pink itched my underarms; the white fit like sausage skin. The black wasn’t awful, but it made me look pale. I let it drop to the floor and reached for the next one, a layered charcoal-gray thing with red buttons up the sleeves. It reminded me of our birds, sober and sleek, with gory hints of color. When I slipped it on it felt soft, like my sweaters from Comfort Wear.
“Where’d that come from?” Elli poked her head in, brows knit together. “That’s not one of mine.”
“Don’t you like it?” I did a slow turn, admiring myself from all angles. I liked the way the layers shifted, turning dark grays to blacks. “I think it’s pretty.”
“It’s a bit plain, isn’t it? And awfully high-collared.” Elli tugged at my sleeves, straightening the buttons. “Didn’t you try the other ones?”
“Yeah, but I want this one.”
“Uh—hey, Myla?” Lock called through the curtain, his voice low and sheepish. “If you’re dressed, could you come over? I’m in a fight with my shirt.”
“Go ahead,” said Elli. “I’ll check on your sister.”
I ducked into Lock’s fitting room and found him messing with his sleeves, one rolled to his elbow, the other hanging loose.
“I can’t find the buttons,” he said. “My cuffs are all—are they meant to flap like this?” He waved his arms by way of demonstration, knocking his coat off its peg.
“No. Here, let me—” I found his cufflinks on the shelf and reached for his hand. Static snapped as we touched, stinging my thumb and his wrist. Lock’s cheeks went pink.
“Sorry.”
“Electricity, right? What can you do?” I took his hand carefully and turned it palm-up. Lock stood perfectly still, the hairs rising on his arm as I rolled down his sleeve. “Prium had these on. From what I could see, they go just through the slits, slide, twist, and—there. Now, you get the other one.”
“I’m left-handed,” said Lock.
“Seriously?” I shot him a narrow look, but he was staring at his feet. “Then, fine. I’ll do it.”
“Thanks.”
I fixed his cufflink in place and retrieved his coat from the floor. “Now, put this on.”
Lock did as I told him, shrugging into his coat. It hung to his knees, resplendent in black and gold. Its collar grazed his ears, and he tugged it down, frowning.
“I look ridiculous,” he said. “Like a vampire, or—”
“You don’t.” I batted his hands away and smoothed his lapels. “See? Loosen your shirt a tad, just these top buttons, and you’ll actually look...”
“What?”
I cleared my throat, embarrassed. Lock looked almost dangerous, all sharp lines and angles, his broad shoulders straining against the fabric. He was sweating under the lights, a light sheen across his chest. The gold threads in his collar brought out amber flecks in his eyes.
“Halfway human,” I said. “You’ll look halfway human.”
Lock chuckled. “As opposed to...?”
“Your usual shaggy-dog self.” I mussed up his hair, mostly to cut the tension. Lock took my hand and lowered it to my side.
“Well, you look amazing. Like that dress was made for you.”
My ears burned red. “Now I feel like a jerk.”
“No need. I’m not—”
“You look good too,” I said. “That’s what I meant to say. It’s all just so weird, clothes like this, you and me. You don’t really look like a dog.”
“Nah, I get it.” Lock twiddled his cufflink, checking out the design. “I’m hopeless with all this—the clothes, the way they talk. When you go out to dinner, and there’s a million different forks, or that spoon with the teeth on it—what’s that all about? I’ve never seen anyone use it, but you sit down to dinner, and boom. Tooth-spoon.”
“It’s for grapefruit,” I said. “They have those Outside. But the rest...” I sat down heavily, weary to the bone. “It’s us. We don’t belong. Nobody wants us here, and as for Lazrad—”
“Myla—”
“This isn’t a reward.” I felt my jaw tighten. “This is to keep us quiet, so we won’t run our mouths in the Dirt.”
“Don’t go courting trouble.” Lock reached for me but didn’t touch, setting his hand next to me instead. “Without you to talk to, I—”
“How’s everything looking in here?” Elli pulled back the curtain, smiling brightly. “Oh, Lock. You’re a picture.” She squeezed in between us, tugging expertly at his sleeves. “A stitch or two here, let out those shoulders, and...”
Lock’s eyes met mine, dark with worry.
“No promises,” I told him. “But I’ll be careful.”
Lock looked like he had more to say, maybe a whole lot more, but I didn’t want to argue. Not when my mind was made up. I gave him a wave and made my escape.
Chapter Fourteen
I lay in bed late the morning after our shopping trip, playing Tangerine Rampage on my phone. Lock had demolished my high score, but if I could just up my speed, keep popping those oranges—
An ad bubbled up, ruining my streak. I killed the app with a curse. Tw
o days to go before my check-in with Reyland. Till then, I was stymied, just waiting and stewing, nothing to do. I heaved myself off the bed, rumpled in my pajamas. My hair was a mess, so I twisted it into a bun heading into the kitchen. Someone had filled the fruit bowl, so I grabbed an apple and polished it on my chest. I was about to bite into it when I thought of Jack. I hadn’t checked in on him since Sonia’s departure. He’d been quiet, depressed, maybe a little sick. I wondered if he’d been eating.
I headed downstairs, apple in hand. Jack had been to Lazrad Corp. He’d had his own ball, and maybe he’d gone exploring. I could kill two birds with one stone, bolster his spirits and pump him for intel. He was definitely home. I could hear him in there, banging around in his closet.
“Jack?” I knocked on his doorframe and poked my head in. “I was just—”
The words died on my lips as I took in the scene. Those workmen were back, folding Jack’s clothes into boxes. One of them spotted me and smiled thinly.
“Did you need something?”
“No. I guess not. I thought you were...” I let that thought go unfinished. “Sorry. I’ll be going.”
I backed out the way I’d come. I felt cold, cold and clammy, like stepping into a fog bank. That lump was back in my throat, sadness and fright, a choking sense of loss. Jack hadn’t been ready—he’d said so himself. I’m not going anywhere. Not for a good while yet. Three days ago, he’d said that. Three days, and that hardly seemed—
A yelp burst from my throat. I’d backed into someone coming down the stairs. My sock slid on the step, and I was falling, arms pinwheeling as my legs went out from under me. My apple flew over the railing and smashed five floors down. Birds squawked, indignant, and I felt myself lifted, caught under my arms and set on my feet.
“Easy, there.”
“Lock.” I grabbed his hand, heart pounding. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
I glanced over my shoulder—no sign of the movers. But they wouldn’t be long now, and I wouldn’t get another chance. I bounded downstairs, tugging Lock in my wake. He was still in his PJs, bare feet slapping on the landing.
“Wait, Myla—” He dug in his heels. I jumped down half a flight, nearly wrenching him off his feet. Lock grunted in pain.
“Sorry, just—”
“What’s going on?”
“Quiet. Just trust me.” I dragged him across the atrium and out of the house. The birds’ scolding followed us down the steps, drowning Lock’s protests.
“Myla!” He shook me off at the footpath and stood squinting in the sun. “I’m not going anywhere till you—”
“Those movers are back. The ones who took Sonia’s stuff.” I grabbed him by the shirt and kept running, muscling him down the path. “That’s their truck. We’ve got to hurry.”
“Hurry? Where?”
“We’re stowing away.” I picked up my pace, practically sprinting. “Jack wasn’t ready to move on. He told me the day Sonia left. He said he wasn’t going, but—”
“So you wanna... what? Find out where he moved to?”
“He didn’t move.” I was howling, I realized, bellowing in Lock’s face. “He didn’t,” I repeated, more quietly. “Wherever he went, it wasn’t his choice, and I think—I think he might be dead.” I seized Lock by his lapels and shoved him behind the truck. “I’m going to find out what happened. Are you with me or not?”
“I—”
“No time. They’re coming.” I let go of Lock and jumped into the trailer. It was empty inside, but for an old pile of tarps. I hunkered down behind them, head to my knees. Moments later, the trailer shook, and Lock squeezed in next to me.
“Just to keep you out of trouble.” He took my hand and squeezed it, then let go. We crouched there, breathing dust, for what felt like forever. Lock sneezed and I smacked him, and he stifled the next one. At last, the movers returned, and I felt Lock stop breathing.
“Just the three, this time. I think that’s a record.” I heard a thump, then two more, and then someone spitting.
“That guy a few years back, we fit all his stuff in one. It was weird, ‘cause he looked stylish, but his closet was—”
The trailer doors slammed shut. A weak light buzzed to life, and I noticed Lock’s feet.
“Your nails are pink,” I whispered.
“Shut up.”
“And sparkly.”
“Shut up more.” He tried to cover them with his pajama bottoms. “I thought it wouldn’t show much, if I picked a light color.”
I smothered a laugh in my sleeve as the truck began to roll. Lock choked back another sneeze.
“If I get carsick, it’ll be all over you.”
I snorted. “Yeah, try that. See what happens.”
The truck rattled down the hill, knocking us together like gumdrops in a bag. Lock breathed through his nose, slow and measured. I heard the sounds of a train station, the hubbub of foot traffic. A gate rattled in its tracks, and the sunlight vanished from the cracks as the ground swallowed us up. I smelled thick exhaust, heard Lock gagging. At last, the truck came to a stop, and I peered over the tarps.
“This is it.”
Lock pulled me back down. “Don’t get caught.”
“I won’t. I’m just—”
The deadbolt thumped back and the doors swung open. One of the workmen cursed out loud.
“The chute’s closed,” he said.
“So open it.”
“I don’t have my keycard.”
“Fine. I’ll go.”
I peeked out from my hiding place. One of the movers strode off, muttering under his breath. A moment later, the other followed, and I darted after him. We’d arrived in a dismal place, all concrete and exhaust fumes. An ugly old car sat parked in one corner, cloaked in dust, like it’d been there a while. A row of trash cans stood next to it, and a stack of used tires. I leaned out to see better. Lock grabbed for me, but I was faster, slithering down from the trailer and ducking behind a pillar. Lock followed and pressed up next to me, heart pounding at my back. One of the movers made a grunting sound.
“D’you hear something? Like a scuttling, or some kind of...”
“Paranoid jackass? Yeah. I heard you. C’mon. Let’s—”
“I heard something.”
“It’s rats. It’s always rats. When you gonna—” A loud clang rang out. I felt Lock stiffen. He shifted just slightly, shielding me from—
“Okay, that’s it open. Grab his crap, and we’re out.”
The movers slouched back our way. I heard the scrape of Jack’s boxes, then the shuffle of burdened steps. I elbowed past Lock, and he clapped his hand over my mouth. I fought him at first, not understanding. Then I saw, and I whimpered into his palm. Lock held me closer, rocking me, almost. I stood, unresisting, as all Jack’s worldly possessions clattered down a wide, black chute.
“That’s everything. Hit it.”
One of the movers slapped a button, and a roar rose from below. The chute glowed red, then orange, and I felt Lock’s chest hitch. He pulled me back behind the column, crushing me till my ribs strained.
“Guess that’s all for a while now.” The movers started back toward us, boots heavy on the concrete. “Prob’ly a year for the boy, and the girl’s got a while yet.”
“I’m not so sure. The big ones go down faster. That kid’s a giant, so I’d reckon ten months.”
“Wanna make it interesting?”
Lock made a desperate sound, a low, choking groan. His buttons dug into my back. I reached back and gripped his arm. He was trembling, or maybe I was, and I could hear him breathing hard.
“Oh, hey? What’s this?” One of the movers bent down, and I heard a bell jingling.
“What’d you find?”
“A bracelet, some cheap thing. Must’ve been his.”
“Give it here, then. My kid’ll like it.”
I bit my lip hard. I wanted to scream at him, no! That’s not yours. That’s his, from his sister; you can’t. It’s not you
rs. Everything Jack had, everything he’d been, just fed to the fire like he never mattered at all. And his bracelet, from his sister, jingling on some Lofty’s wrist. It wasn’t right, wasn’t fair—
I felt Lock’s thumb on my cheek, drying tears. I shut my eyes tight. I wouldn’t cry.
“Shh, Myla. Shh.” His breath rushed in my ear. I heard a door slam, then another, then the roar of an engine. The truck beetled away and the gate rattled down. Lock let me go and stood bent at the waist, one hand pressed to his stomach. I touched his shoulder.
“You okay?”
“Just carsick.” He sniffed loudly and swallowed, straightening up with an effort.
“Sorry I dragged you into this. I didn’t think it’d be—”
“I needed to know.” Lock made a sound, half a sob, and cleared his throat roughly. “And we need to get out of here. Before we get caught.”
I cast about, fighting panic. Two cameras flanked the gate, one on each side. Another hung over the fire exit and two more by the stairwell. A short tunnel led to a second gate, this one marked WAREHOUSE B. I spotted a guard booth beyond it, with a guard inside.
“Right there.” Lock started toward a drainage grate, then stopped, head hung low. “The actual hole’s narrower than the grate. Too narrow. We won’t fit.” He turned to me, eyes hard. “Think, Myla. If they catch us—”
“I know.” We were traitors now, spies, with pockets full of secrets.
“If we could get that guard over here, we could bash him. Grab his blaster. Shoot out the cameras, and—”
“There’ll be more outside. They’re everywhere. We’d be snapped ten times over before we even hit the street.”
“Then...”
“Shut up.” I pressed my palms to my temples. I needed to think. It couldn’t end like this, not here, not now. Not with Ona’s life caught in the balance. Her and every Decemite, current and future. “Just let me—give me a second.”
Down in some sooty basement, the incinerator ticked and rattled, winding down from its exertions. Lock paced, bare feet slapping. I smelled smoke, tasted salt, and my heart beat run, run, run.
