Текст книги "The Sun Dwellers"

Автор книги: David Estes

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Chapter Eleven

Adele

We come around the bend to find Tristan frozen in place, just staring forward. What the hell? I follow his gaze to the next curve in the tunnel, where six silhouettes are highlighted against a bright and churning backdrop into a sun dweller city. The silhouettes are moving, sort of chaotically, holding each other up as they stagger toward us.

As they approach, my fists reflexively clench at my sides, preparing for physical confrontation. My heart rate picks up just a notch.

“Heyyy! Who goesh there?” one of them slurs, as they move into the light from our flashlights. A guy, young, perhaps twenty, clearly drunk. His hair’s unnaturally black and spiky, speckled with something that glitters like diamonds in the light. He’s flanked by two girls and two guys, each with their arms around each other. One of the girls is blond, her hair long enough to reach her waist and streaked with locks of blue and pink and green, some braided, some not. Dark mascara rims her eyes, running slightly from her alcohol-affected blue eyes. The other female is a brunette with a buzz cut, although most of her head is hidden beneath a wildly tall black top hat, stuck with at least ten multi-colored feathers. They’re both wearing tight mini-tunics that show off their toned and tan legs, which seem to go on for a mile before reaching their strange shoes with a thin spike in the back, which they wear without socks. Scooping U-necks show the entire world just how mature they are. They’re beautiful women by any standards, but their clothes just make them look desperate, trashy. The other two guys are as pretty as the women, with high cheekbones and tan faces. They’re tall and muscular, their biceps and shoulders exposed in their tank-tunics. Right away, one of them eyes Tawni, looking her up and down, while the other traces my curves with his stare.

It makes me want to kick them where the artificial Sun Realm sun don’t shine.

“Heyyy,” the center guy says again, raising a blue bottle. I notice they are all holding bottles, the girls’ pink, the guys’ blue. Then, speaking slowly, he says, “What are you all doingsh here?”

I wait for Tristan or Roc to reply. After all, this is their world. Instead, they’re silent. I glance from Tristan to Roc, and can almost feel the angry heat coming off of them. Evidently the way the guys were looking at Tawni and me pissed them off. I’m glad, but this isn’t the time for chivalry. Our position is precarious to say the least.

“We heard the best party is in this subchapter,” Trevor says, surprising us all.

The guys laugh and the girls titter, as if Trevor just made the funniest joke in the world. “Yoush got that right,” the spokesman says. “We were jusht about to havsh our own party. Wanna come?”

If the party involves slapping the drunken smiles off their faces, I’m in.

“Thanks anyway, man,” Tristan says, finally snapping out of his temper-induced haze. “We want to hear the band.”

“Are you sure, honey?” the blonde says to him. “We can make our own music.” Her flirting tone makes me dig my nails into my hands. Now I know how Tristan felt when the guy was undressing me with his eyes.

“Yes, but thank you all for the very kind offer,” Tristan says, using his most diplomatic voice.

“Hey, where’d yoush get those digs, anyway?” the guy asks, sweeping a hand across us, motioning to our battle outfits.

“It’s a new style coming out of subchapter one,” Roc says, lying easily. “I heard they’ll be selling them in every subchapter soon.”

“I gotsh to getsh me some of those.”

“You should,” Tristan says. “Well, we’ll see you all later. Have fun.” His voice is awkward and stiff, but the partygoers don’t seem to notice.

As we pass by them the blonde touches Tristan’s arm. “You look just as handsome as Tristan Nailin,” she says. “What’d you say your name was?”

Tristan goes beet red, but I know it’s not from the compliment. I’ve noticed he always seems uncomfortable with lying. I hold my breath, hoping he can overcome it now.

“I, uh, my name is…” Not looking good.

“Trevor,” he says finally, his face returning to its natural color as a smile crosses his face.

“All right, Trevor. I most certainly hope we see you later,” she sings. Ugh. If we weren’t about to get past them without a fight, I would relish knocking the bleach out of her hair and the fake tan off her skin. If only.

As if by some unspoken agreement, the five of us walk with our heads forward, forcing ourselves not to look back, which might appear suspicious. Just when we’re approaching the entrance to the subchapter and I think we’re home free, the guy yells behind us. “Hey!” We freeze, turn slowly, look at him. The alcohol has worn off, I think. He’s going to realize we don’t belong, recognize Tristan or one of us from the news, sound the alarm, give chase.

“I highly recommend the crowd-surfing,” he says instead. I smile, an easy smile that comes from a narrow, heart-pounding escape. I speak for the first time. “Thanks for the tip. We’ll do that,” I say.

My head’s spinning before we even slip through the entrance to the city. Our close encounter with the partiers, the pulse of the music slamming around in my head, the thrill of being thrust into the midst of the biggest celebration in the Tri-Realms: it all adds up to a muddled brain.

When we trot into the subchapter, all battle-clad and full of adrenaline, my jaw drops to the floor. A brilliant, yellow orb hangs high above the city, shooting shockingly bright light across everything beneath it. I try to look at the ball of light, but am instantly blinded, forcing me to use a hand as a visor. An artificial sun. Nothing could have prepared me for it. Compared to the dim, overhead lights of the Moon Realm, this subchapter is lighted as if by a thousand fires, and yet all that brightness comes from one big ball hanging from the cavern roof. After a few seconds the spots and stars clouding my vision dissipate, and I take in the rest of the scene before me, continuing to use a hand to shield my eyes from the artificial sunlight.

Although the other sun dweller city we passed through was beautiful and incredible—far surpassing anything I’d ever seen—it was empty of humans, the population getting a good night’s sleep before a day of fun and celebration. But this…this is just plain nuts.

The streets are wide and long and straight, jammed with thousands of people wearing the most colorful outfits I’ve ever seen. They’re moving their bodies in what I assume is meant to be dancing, but is more like convulsing, their hips gyrating to the beat while their arms flow over each other like waves. On top of the crowds are dozens of people doing what I’m pretty sure the drunk guy was referring to before: crowd-surfing. Hundreds of hands pass the bodies across the crowds, roaring with delight.

Everyone seems to have a drink of some sort in their hands. Some of them are blue and pink bottles like we saw before, while others hold crystalline mugs and conical glasses full of liquid of varying colors. Somehow most of them manage not to spill their drinks while they move like maniacs. I assume it must come from lots of practice.

The band, The Sun Rockers, is dead ahead, on a raised stage in the middle of the road. They’re wearing bright red, plasticky-looking outfits with pointed shoulders and knees. The lead singer’s black hair is sculpted into a red-tipped Mohawk. He’s clutching the microphone like a rope, using both hands, while he wails a melody about how he’s “gonna hit the party hard.”

“C’mon!” Tristan hisses, and I realize I’ve stopped and am just staring out at the crowd, while the others are moving down a ramp and into the fray.

“Act like the other sun dwellers,” I mumble to myself, recalling Tristan’s advice.

Jogging slightly, I catch up to the others, pushing in close to them as we form a little pod which we can hopefully use to push through the crowds. Tristan leads the way, slipping between the bodies, unafraid to bump and jostle his way through. I cling to Tawni’s back, while she clings to Roc, instantly feeling claustrophobic. Despite living underground my entire life, and having endured many tight crawlspaces and tunnels, this is far worse. Sweaty, churning bodies. Hands all over the place, unabashedly groping at me in all the wrong places. Cheering and screaming so loud I’m starting to worry I might lose a portion of my long-term hearing. I wasn’t prepared for this at all.

Hang on to Tawni. Just hang on. You’ll get through this just like everything else.

I can tell Tawni’s feeling the same way, unable to mask her horror as a tall, muscly, shirtless guy smacks her on the butt as she passes by.

“Just go to another place, Tawni,” I say, squeezing one of her shoulders. She glances back, manages a nod.

At first we’re able to make steady progress through the herds of sun dwellers. There are a lot of strange and interesting people. A girl with pink hair tied into tight little braids. A guy wearing just his undergarments, both on his head and in the more normal pelvic area. Three guys who look identical, wearing more makeup on their faces than many of the highly makeupped women. The men really are as pretty as the women. Many of the men have long hair, lustrous and silky and full of glitter and colorful hair ties. Most of their ears are pierced, adorned with diamond studs or shiny, gold hoops. Some of them wear dark eyeliner and lipstick.

Definitely not like the Moon Realm.

Tristan’s head bobs and bounces as he fights through the crowd, hopefully taking us in the right direction to eventually give us some breathing room. He’s heading straight for the raised stage, and as we get closer the way forward gets more difficult, as the bodies mash even closer together, almost no space between anybody. With our movements slower, it gives me the chance to watch the reactions of people as we pass by. Right away I realize that Tristan is our biggest problem. He seems to know it, keeping his head tilted down and a raised hand over his face, but it still doesn’t stop some people from recognizing him, just like his tramp-admirer in the caves thought he looked like the son of the President. Heads turn as guys and girls alike stare after him, not sure if they were mistaken at having just seen the heir to the presidency. A few of them even say things like, “Whoa! Wasn’t that Tristan Nailin?” or “Dude, did you just see who I did?”

Not good.

Eventually someone will act on what they see and chase after him, trying to get an autograph, a touch, a kiss, or maybe all three. I decide to take a chance. The only good thing is that they’re less likely to recognize me with him marching along in front.

Just as we push past a row of dancing bodies with their backs to us, I grab one of their hats right off their head. The reveler, too busy grinding up against other nearby bodies, doesn’t even notice. The hat’s got a huge brim that can cover a whole face, is littered with metallic stars and hearts and other bobbles, and has a bright blue bow around the dome top. Other than clearly being made for a woman, it’s perfect. Tristan will just have to deal with it.

I pass it forward to Tawni. “Pass this up to Tristan,” I say.

She gives me a look that says, “You’re crazy,” far better than any words could, but sends it forward to Roc anyway, relaying the message. Roc hands it to Trevor, who hands it to Tristan. He looks at it like it’s a rare disease, holding it away from him, and for a minute I’m scared he’ll just toss it away, but then he sort of shrugs and plops it on his head, using a hand to pull the wide brim over his face. Yes! I think.

Our progress, which has been like walking through mud, abruptly grinds to a halt. We’re about twenty feet from the stage, and I can clearly see the band now. The lead singer is running around now, not even bothering to sing, like he’s on drugs. “I can’t go any further!” Tristan yells back. “We’ll have to go another way.”

I cringe. The thought of going around or back or any way that keeps us in the press of the crowd any longer is too unbearable. I look past Tristan, my eyes naturally zeroing in on the maniac singer, who suddenly throws his microphone to the stage and leaps off, landing on a bed of hands, which draws even more screams from the audience. That’s when it hits me.

Why go through when we can go over?

Little did I know at the time, but the drunk guy had given us the best suggestion of all. The singer is passed around, moving rapidly across the sea of helpers. It’s certainly a far faster way to travel than our current method.

“Tristan, up!” I yell above the noise, letting go of Tawni’s shoulders with both hands for the first time, so I can motion up.

“Too risky,” he yells, which draws a few strange stares from nearby frolickers.

“Not more than it already is,” I say. “Quick and fast. We can run at the end if we have to.”

We’re getting more and more looks, but it’s not because of our exchange. It’s because my hands are still in the air, raised to the roof. Apparently it’s the universal sign for crowd-surfing.

“Need help up?” a big guy says, lowering his hands to the ground, like a step.

“Thanks,” I say, not waiting for approval from Tristan. They’re just going to have to follow my lead this time. I step into the guy’s cupped hands, and then the world spins as I’m thrown into the air.

I’m off balance and out of control, but when I come back down, I land much more softly than I expected. The feeling is new and weird and kind of cool at the same time, as hundreds of tiny little fingers and palms touch me all along my legs, arms and back. It’s almost like floating while getting a newfangled type of massage at the same time. I check that my assortment of weapons is still tucked safely beneath my clothes and in their sheaths. They are, although even if they weren’t, the intoxicated partiers would probably just think they were fakes and part of our costumes—just another sun dweller fashion statement. The only thing I didn’t think about:

How to steer.

I’m already heading in the wrong direction, away from the stage, back toward the entrance to the shipping tunnel. Where are the brakes on this thing?

Not sure what to do, I yell as loud as I can, “To the stage!”

To my complete and utter shock, the people beneath me shriek with delight, instantly changing my direction. Although I’m heading right for the band now, which is where Tristan wanted to go for some reason—I have no idea why.

I look around me, trying to find one of my friends’ faces, but there are only strangers with funny hats, strange piercings, and dyed hair. Then I spy it: the hat I stole for Tristan, its blue-bowed dome top rising above the crowd. I’m going to drift right past it.

At that moment, Tawni is flung up and above the crowd, her white hair magnificent under the artificial sun, the blue streak down one side almost making her fit in with the rest of the sun dwellers. The look on her face is somewhere between giddy and frightened, a half-smile that never quite makes it to her eyes.

As I coast up next to her, I say, “Headed my way?”

Her head jerks in my direction and a full smile finally crosses her face. “How do you control this thing?”

“To the stage!” I yell again, and like before, the crowd cheers, pushing us both toward the front, just a couple of seasoned crowd-surfers.

Tawni’s high, melodic laugh rings out as we skim along unknown hands. “Fun, eh?” I say.

“Yes! Why haven’t we ever done this before?”

“Have you ever seen a crowd like this?” I counter.

“Good point. What are we going to do about the others?”

“They’ll catch up,” I say, craning back to find Roc, Trevor, and Tristan lying flat above the masses, moving in all different directions. Trevor’s just going in circles—clearly he hasn’t worked things out quite yet.

We zero in on the stage, which is now occupied by just the band members minus their lead singer, who’s been carried off elsewhere. A jolt runs up my legs as my foot bangs off the foot of the platform. “What now?” I shout above a hammering drum solo.

“Maybe he wanted to get behind it!” Tawni cries.

“Okay! Left! Left!” I yell, hoping the drunken, crazed fans below me can remember their right from left.

At least one person does, as we’re pushed hard across the width of the stage. I’m so close to the rockers that the sweat glistens on their skin as they strum, drum, and scream out the loudest music I’ve ever heard.

Then an amazing thing happens.

We round the edge of the stage and the hands disappear.

Chapter Twelve

Tristan

Just when Trevor, Roc, and I get the hang of crowd-surfing and are headed in the direction of Adele and Tawni, they drop out of sight. “What happened?” I say toward Trevor, who’s between Roc and me.

The question’s intended for Roc, but Trevor answers instead. “I think they got dropped.”

My heart skips a beat. Getting dropped in the middle of the mosh pit we’re riding on is a dangerous thing. Not only could you break a bone from the fall, but you might get trampled by the hundreds of sightless, stamping feet that can’t tell the difference between a human body and an inanimate object that’s in their way.

“Or they just reached the edge of the crowd!” Roc yells over Trevor.

“That still means they got dropped,” I return.

“But they’ll be safe,” Roc says. I know he’s just guessing, but it still manages to give me hope that they’re okay.

I will the hands below us to push us forwards faster, to get me to Adele, but our pace, albeit reasonably fast, remains consistent. A minute or two later we reach the left edge of the stage and by straining my neck and lifting my head, I realize Roc was right. The press of sun dwellers is thinning, the hands are disappearing, and I get the strange sensation that we’re about to go over a waterfall.

Adele and Tawni are nowhere to be seen.

I squeeze my muscles tight, preparing for the drop. With a final firm push by some wandering hand directly on my butt, I’m thrown forward, out of the reach of the sea of partiers. There’s a quick pull of air in my gut, my stomach dropping as I fall. Curling my legs beneath me, I manage to land on my feet, but in an awkward, crouched position, my ankle turning and crumbling beneath my weight and the hidden weight of my steel weapons. The ground is hard and unforgiving, hammering my knees and scraping my shoulder as I’m pitched forward.

I come to a stop just outside of a broad shadow cast by a gigantic speaker set next to the stage. Being this close to the speaker makes it feel like the pump, pump, pump of the music is actually inside my head, making it hard to think.

There’s a voice that sounds like it’s miles away, a mere whisper by the time it reaches my ears. “Nice landing, ace,” Adele says.

I glance around, seeking her, but all I see are Trevor and Roc careening off the edge of the crowd simultaneously, Roc bouncing off the rock on his butt, and Trevor hitting flush on his side, his head jerking in a cringe-worthy manner. “Dude, you okay?” I say to Trevor, who seemed to get the worst of the fall.

“I’m good,” Roc answers. “I’ve got lots of padding down here,” he adds, rubbing his butt.

“I meant Trevor, butt wad,” I say, motioning to the last member of our group, who’s still lying face first motionless on the ground.

“Oh,” Roc says. “Trevor, you good?”

“Uhhhh,” Trevor says, flopping over onto his back. He takes a deep breath, raises a hand to his head, holding it gingerly. A trickle of blood squeezes through his fingertips.

“You’re bleeding, man,” I say.

“You think?” Trevor retorts. “I know I’ve got a hard head, but that was a nasty blow.”

“Can you walk?” I ask, knowing we need to get away from the edge of the crowd, which is ebbing and flowing like a living organism. Any second it might move in our direction, trampling us into the dust.

“I’ll do my best,” he says.

Roc pushes to his feet, still massaging his well-endowed behind, while I stand up and limp over to our fallen comrade. My ankle and knees are throbbing and there’s a burning sensation in my shoulder, but it’s nothing I can’t handle right now, while the adrenaline is still flowing. Later—I don’t know. Bones and muscles and tendons might tighten up, walking might be difficult. But I’ll cross that inter-Realm bridge when I get to it.

Together, Roc and I haul Trevor to his feet, his head bobbing around like last year’s heavyweight champ’s skull after taking an unprotected uppercut by the contender, a gargantuan by the name of Moe Bradley. (Yes, Moe is now the new heavyweight champ.)

We manage to hold him up, however, one arm draped over each of our shoulders. His feet are like rubber, stumbling and flopping like a baby’s legs during their first attempt at walking. We’ve got him up, so the next concern is finding Adele and Tawni. Did I imagine her voice mocking me when I fell? Perhaps I hit my head too.

“Over here,” Adele hisses, an invisible voice from the shadows behind the speaker.

Roc and I glance at each other, shrug, and then assist Trevor to the side of the stage. With each step, his legs seem to recover, requiring less and less of our help to walk. By the time we reach the shadows, he’s practically walking on his own, a good sign.

We step into the dark, blinking away the drastic change in lighting. It’s incredible how dark it is once you’re out of the watchful gaze of the artificial sun. After spending so much time in the gloomy Lower Realms, I’ve almost forgotten how different the world I grew up in is. We expect things to be bright because that’s the way it is.

“Is he okay?” Adele’s voice says right next to my ear. I half-jump out of my skin, cursing under my breath.

“Holy—” I spout. “You scared the stuffing out of me.”

“You’ve got stuffing?” Roc asks smartly.

“Sorry,” Adele says. “Can’t you see us?”

“Not yet. We’re flying blind at the moment.”

“I can see them,” Trevor mumbles.

“Yeah, well my night vision isn’t as fine-tuned as yours,” I retort, sounding unnecessarily harsh, even to my own ears.

“That sucks,” Trevor says, laughing.

A hand touches my shoulder. “I’m right here,” Adele says. “Tawni’s here, too. Is he okay?” she asks again.

“I think he might have a concussion,” I explain, as Trevor continues to giggle beside me. “He took a pretty hard knock to the head. We need to find a place to rest and get fixed up. We also need to find a place to switch clothes.”

“What?” Trevor screeches beside me. “I’m wearing the hottest new trend to come out of subchapter one in fifty years! I’m not switching clothes!”

Ugh. He’s getting worse. “Why do we need different clothes?” Tawni asks.

“Although we’re able to blend in here, in a less crowded place we will stick out,” I explain. “That line about our clothes being trendy in another subchapter will only work on drunkards and morons.”

“So most of the sun dweller population,” Roc chimes in.

“You lied to me!” Trevor wails. “I thought this outfit was in.”

Ignoring both stupid comments, I say, “The sooner we look like everyone else, the better.”

“You’re halfway there with that lovely hat already,” Adele says.

“Yeah, thanks for that,” I say, finally seeing Adele’s outline in the dark. “Roc, any thoughts on where we can hide out for a while?”

“Everything will be closed today, so if we’re willing to smash a window or pick a lock…”

“We’re willing,” I say.

“I’m good at smashing stuff,” Trevor says.

“Okay, then we should hit the first clothing store we come to. I think there’s a Paradise Sun around here somewhere. Or maybe we can find an In Crowd. Both of those stores will have everything we need to disguise ourselves appropriately.”

* * *

We end up at In Crowd, which is only two blocks down and one across. Although we pass several late festival attendees, they’re so focused on getting to the concert that they barely even notice us.

As Roc predicted, a red “Closed” sign hangs on the door of the multi-level store. After a quick glance down either end of the deserted street, we lean Trevor up against the wall. He hasn’t spoken in a while, for which I’m grateful, but he is humming to himself, his eyes closing for periods ranging between five and ten seconds, much longer than a normal blink, even a particularly slow one. So much for him being the one to break the glass.

“There’s no alarm system,” Roc notes. “We don’t have much crime up here. Other than the occasional drunken brawl, that is.”

“But breaking the glass might draw attention,” I point out. “Plus anyone passing by will definitely notice a shattered window.”

“I can pick the lock,” Tawni says.

“What? Really? That’s awesome,” Roc says, gazing admiringly at her.

“How’d you learn that?” Adele asks.

“When I ran away, before I was caught, I learned all kinds of interesting things, not all of them legal,” she says.

“Go for it,” I say, stepping aside.

“Anyone got a thin knife?” she says.

“I think I’ve got something that might work,” Roc mumbles, rummaging through his pack. “Here!” he exclaims, handing Tawni a tiny paring knife.

“What do you use that for?” I ask.

“If you have to know, cutting my toenails,” he says.

“Gross.”

Tawni’s already got the knife jammed in the lock, twisting and turning it at various angles, trying to get the mechanism to line up in the right way. A minute passes with us just watching her and Trevor mumbling something that sounds like a poem under his breath.

Another minute passes and then, “Got it!” she cries, as the lock clicks and the door pushes open. We’re in.

Tawni and Adele go in first, while Roc and I help Trevor. “I don’t want to go to school today, Mommy,” he murmurs, his head lolling lazily to the side.

“Don’t worry, little Trev-Trev, we’re going to put you right to sleep,” Roc coos, making me crack up.

When we get inside, the girls are already roaming the aisles, relying on the dimmer security lights to check out the merchandise. Their eyes are wide and their mouths slightly open. “What do you do in here?” Adele asks when we approach.

“Uh, shop,” Roc says.

“Shop?” Tawni says.

“Yeah, you know, like pick out clothes and try them on. If they fit well, you buy them at the register.”

“Register?” Adele says.

“Um, don’t worry about it,” Roc says. “We won’t be doing it that way anyway.”

“We should move upstairs,” I say. “Anyone passing by the front window will be able to see us.”

The escalator is turned off, so Adele and Tawni run up the steps, while Roc and I haul Trevor, who now appears to be sleeping, his breaths slow and deep, after them, one step at a time. When we get to the top, I say, “Let’s dump him somewhere to sleep it off.”

“Good plan,” Roc agrees, smirking.

We find a cozy corner, and while I hold Trevor up, Roc piles up long, brightly colored dresses to use as a bed. We lie him down, rolling up one of the coats—a turquoise one—for a pillow.

“Now what?” Roc says.

“Now we shop.”

We find the girls standing in front of a rack of shoes, just staring. “What are these?” Adele says, picking up a pair of red, ultra-high heels.

“Shoes,” I say.

“No way!” Adele says. “How could anyone walk in these?” She sits down on a nearby bench and starts taking off her boots.

“They can and they do,” Roc says. “Most of the girls here wear them. It seems the heels get higher every year. Being tall is in.”

“But they’re not really tall,” Tawni says.

I chuckle. “True, but that’s not what matters. It’s all about image. Most of what you’ll find in the Sun Realm is artificial—just like the sun.”

“But why do people care?” Adele says, standing up unsteadily, now wearing the red heels. “A shoe’s a shoe,” she adds, trying a cautious step forward.

“Not to these people. They want their clothes to make them stand out,” I explain.

“But they don’t,” Tawni says. “They still all look the same, just different than moon and star dwellers. If they really want to stand out, they should visit the Lower Realms wearing those.” She points to Adele’s heels.

Adele, clutching a rack of shirts as she moves forward another step, says, “I can’t even walk in these, much less run or kick.”

I laugh again. “Sun dweller women don’t do much running or kicking. They mostly just go tanning, go to the salon, go shopping, that sort of thing.”

“But how do they…live?” Tawni asks. This is all clearly blowing both girls’ minds.

“Usually they have rich boyfriends or husbands who deal in shipping or own mines in the Lower Realms,” I say. “There’s a lot of old money up here that’s been passed down for generations.”

“So while we’re all working like dogs for our next meal…” Adele starts, taking off the heels.

“The sun dwellers are up here attending parties, killing time, and generally enjoying their lives,” I say coldly. “Can you see now why I left?”

“Not really,” Tawni says. “Wouldn’t that be a good reason not to leave?”

Roc surprises me by saying, “Tristan’s got too good of a heart for that. He doesn’t like to see people suffer while others take advantage of them.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“We shall never speak of this compliment again,” Roc says, smirking.

“I’ll remind you every day,” I joke.

“That’s the last time I say something nice about you.”

“We don’t have to wear these—what do you call them?—high shoes, to blend in do we?” Adele asks, her face scrunched with concern. “Because I don’t think I can walk more than a few blocks without killing myself.”

I take the shoes from her. “High heels,” I correct. “You can if you want, but I think we can find something much more sensible, but still fashionable.”

“Sounds good. Where do we start?”

“You and Tawni should pick out some tunics that you like. Pretty much anything in this store is in style right now, so it’s hard to go wrong. Roc and I will get ourselves and Trevor outfitted and then help you with your shoes and accessories.”

“Accessories?” Adele and Tawni say at the same time.

“We’ll show you later,” I promise. “Try and have fun with it.”

“Yeah, girls are supposed to like shopping,” Roc adds.

Adele and Tawni look at each other like we’re completely out of our minds, but then move off into one of the aisles full of the new Beau Gabore line of flaring-bottom tunics.

“This should be interesting,” Roc says.

“Thanks for the compliment,” I say again, trying to keep a straight face.