The Moon Dwellers (3 page)

“I don’t think he’s a bad guy,”
Tawni
says
.

“Mmm, really?” I say
, only half listening.

“No.
I mean his dad’s a jerk, but I don’t think kids should be judg
ed by what their stupid parents
do.”

My ears perk
up
.
I glance
at
Tawni
.
Her slight grin
has
melted
.
Her lips a
re pursed and thin.
My brain
starts
functioning
again
.
Doing the math
,
so to speak—
figuring thing
s out.
Like I always did
with my dad.
My dad and I liked to solve puzzles together.
Any kind
s
of puzzles really.
Word puzzles, math puzzles, riddles—that
sort
of thing.
I kno
w I shouldn’t
be
thinking of my new friend
Tawni
as
a puzzle, but I can
tell
there’
s some hidden meaning behind her words, some revelation
about her past
.
I am
suddenly
interested in her.
Where she co
me
s from, who she is, what she has
done to land herself in this hellhole.

I assume she still has hope—that much I gather from the fact that she does
n’t hate T
ristan just because of who he is.
The hopeless tend
to be the hardest on the sun dwellers, particularly the ones
in a position of power.
I can
also tel
l from her words that she harbors
animosity
toward
her parents,
presumably for something they’
ve done, something that reflects badly on her.
Maybe it’s all linked to why she’s in the Pen
wasting her days away like me.
But I’m
on
ly speculating.

I glance
at
Tawni
and
see
that she
’s looking
toward
the parade, so I turn
back to watch.
T
he lead car, in which Tristan is standing, i
s
about to turn the corner.
He’
s waving to his adoring fans, smiling his m
esmerizing smile, when he looks
at me
.
Right at me, like his eyes a
re
gun sights
and I am
their target.
De
spite the distance, they pierce
me to my very soul
, instantly warming my recently resurrected heart
.
I am
captivated, frozen in place,
like I’ve
turned to stone.
It’s as if there’
s an invisible tether between our eyes linking us together.
It’s not like I can
read his mind or anything—nothing
that farfetched—but I just feel
something for him
, like I kno
w him
.
I don't know exactly—it’s hard to explain.

As I stare at him, his face changes.
Gone is the smile.
Gone are his piercin
g eyes.
All swallowed up in a
frown.
At first I think I was rude, that I have stared too long, but then I feel a presence approaching from the side, a dark shadow.

I turn my head and see a guy.

I’ve seen him around the yard before.
A teenager in a man’s body.
Six-five, about two hundred and fifty pounds, covered in tats: he is one of the local gang leaders.
Not a good guy.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says.

I ignore him
and
look at Tawni, hoping he will pass straight by me.
He doesn’t.
Tawni shrugs.

“Hey,” he says.

I keep ignoring him.

“I said ‘Hey
,
’” he repeats.

“I heard you the first time.”
I still don’t look at him, not wanting to inadvertently extend an invitation with eye contact.

“You should watch your mouth,” he says.

“And you should keep on walking,” I say.

He doesn’t.
“I haven’t seen you around before,” he says.

“You must be blind
.
I’m here every day.”

“Nah, I would’ve noticed
you
for sure,” the gang leader says.

Tawni shrugs again.
I’m looking at her, but talking to the guy.
“Whatever.
Doesn’t matter.
Leave me alone.”

I finally
swivel my head and
make eye contact with him, giv
ing
him my iciest stare.
I know he’s not scared of me, but I want him to decide I’m not worth the effort.

“Not gonna happen,” he says, moving in close to me.

Something inside me snaps.
I’m sick of people ruining my life, acting like they own me.
He reminds me of the Enforcers who barged into our house and abduc
ted my parents.
Arrogant.
Selfish
.

I stand up,
my teeth bared, my eyes on fire.
M
y
fire-eyes barely reach
his chest.
His sweat-stained tunic is right in my face
and makes me nauseous
.
I push him as hard as I can, which doesn’t do much, but moves him back a couple of steps.
My hands are knotted into fists.
I hold them out in front of me, ready for the guy’s response.

“You’re a real bitch,” he says.
“And you smell like filth.
See you around.”
He slowly turns and saunters off, chuckling to himself.

I take a deep breath, try to get control of my rage.

“That was amazing,” Tawni whispers from behind me.

I sit back down and
try to relax my face as I
look at her.
Her eyes are wide.
“He’s a jerk,” I say
through clenched teeth
.

“A scary jerk,” she says.
“That was awesome how you stood up for yourself.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

Tawny shrugs for the third time.
“Honestly, I probably would have tried to run away, or yell for help or something.
Not fight—that’s for sure.”

Tawni’
s eyes flick back to the fence and
I follow her gaze.
The parade.
Tristan.
I forgot all about him when the gang guy approached me.

But now
Tristan
i
s gone, the
front of the parade
having moved
out of sight
while I was dealing with the thug.

“That was
pretty
weird,”
Tawni
murmurs
, still looking past the fence
.

“What was?” I say, glancing
at her
furtively
.
Did she notice
the way Tristan
looked at me?
Did she sense
what I had
?
Had I imagined the look of concern on his face just before the confrontation with the gang guy, or had she seen it
,
too?

“I didn’t see many photographs being taken of Tristan during the parade.
I thought the paparazzi would be out in full force.”

I roll
my eyes at myself.
Of course
Tawni
didn’t notice
Tristan looking at me.
Probably because
he did
n’t.
He’d probably just looked in our general direction, past us.
He was probably frowning at all of us—at the criminals.
Disgusted by us.
Clearly he wasn’t warning me
about the approaching gangster.
My mind has
a way of playing tricks on me.
My dad
always
said I have
a
n
overactive imagination.
It’s
gotten me into trouble more than once growing up.
Like the time in Year
One
when I told everyone in my class about the swamp monster that was hiding in the janitor’s closet.
Some of the kids freaked out, crying and screaming and stuff
; one boy even peed his pants
.
Then
Mrs. Windsor checked and discovered that my swamp monster
was really
a savage mop, clearly looking for a young child to feast on.

Yeah, in reality
Tristan probably di
dn’
t even look at me.
I might ha
ve s
een his head turn in my
direction, perhaps a random glance at best, certainly not the laser
-
beamed, te
thered
gaze that I’
d obviously imagined.

But
still.
There is no doubt I
felt something
for him
.

I feel something
for him
.

“Helloooo?
Earth to…What’s your name anyway?”
Tawni
waves
her hand
across my face—apparently I
’ve
spaced out, lost in my own random thoughts.

“Adele,”
I fi
nd myself saying, to my surprise.
Giving my name away so easily like that—what
am
I thinking?
Tawni
i
s penetrating my social defenses faster than a
mine cave-in
swallows a trapped traveler
.

“Well, Adele, i
t has been a true pleasure meeting you
and watching you handle that guy
.
Truly impressive, really.
Would you like to dine with me and my friend Cole tonight?”

Dine?
This girl has
a funn
y way of speaking.
Like she has no clue that we’
re locked up in a juvenile detention ce
nter.
And that we live underground.
And that most of us will
never get our freedom back.
Certainly not me
.
Maybe she i
s just a few days from being released, which would
certainly explain why she seems so cheery.
I hope so.
If I ca
n’t
get out, at least someone I know can
.

“Uh, yeah, I guess so,” I say.
“Thanks,” I add
quickly, realizing how ru
de I sound
.

“Great!
Meet us in the northwest corner—we’ll reserve a table.”

There she goes again: speaking as if we’re
going out to som
e fancy restaurant that accepts reservations.
I shake my head and realize I’m
smiling.
Not my normal smile
—no, I’m not
ready for that yet—but slightly better than
the crooked, awkward smile I
attempted earlier.
Maybe thin
gs a
re looking up for me.
I’
ve
made a friend.
At least
,
the
closest thing to a friend I’ve
had in a long time.

* * *

There a
re only two hours
to kill before dinner, so I use
the time
to think
.
I start
with the past—my
hap
piest memories.
My father coming home from a long day of work in the mines, filth
y and dripping sweat, but
bringing
my sister and me
a treat of some kind.
Either a small gem
stone that he’
d smuggl
ed out or a piece of candy he’
d bought in town.
He always seemed to have a twinkle in his eye and a bounce in his step, no matter how tired he was.
Sometimes he even gave me a piggyback ride before he got cleaned up.
My mother hated it when
he did that, because then I’
d have to take a bath before supper, to
o.