The Lofties (The Echelon Book 2) by Ramona Finn (ebook reader play store .TXT) 📗

have—where the hell’s Reyland?” Lock sat up abruptly, boots thumping the floor. “I can’t take it. We’ve got this one opportunity, this one perfect shot, and what are we doing? Dancing around like idiots with our stupid gold nails, doing that blocked-sinus accent—mey I hev this dence? It’s tomorrow. Where is he?”

“I don’t know.” I stood as our train slowed. I’d been worried, myself. Reyland hadn’t said when we’d meet, but I’d assumed—

“What if they caught him?” Lock surged to his feet. “What if Prium has him?”

“Calm down. He doesn’t.” I smelled grass as the doors slid open, and wood smoke, and horse manure. I stepped out into darkness and the whisperings of leaves. “If they’d caught him, he’d have talked. They’d have come for us by now.”

“Or they wouldn’t.” Lock sighed. “Prium does love his drama. What if he’s waiting for the ball, to expose us for traitors where everyone can see? A public execution—”

“Too dangerous.” I picked my way through the gloom, finding a bench by the lake. “You heard Elli. Everyone’ll be there. They can’t chance us resisting, maybe hurting someone important.”

“You think?” Lock sank down on the bench, face tilted to the sky. “Maybe they want us to shank a few. Make a scene, act like monsters, remind everyone what we are. Just dogs from the Dirt, full of rabies. We’d be a cautionary tale, what happens when you truck with animals.”

“Maybe.” I squeezed in beside Lock, kicking his leg out of my way. “There’s still today.”

“Yeah.” He leaned back even further, the dawn silvering his hair. “Let’s watch the sun come up, maybe get something to eat. We can swim in the lake, try that carousel.” His chest rumbled with laughter. “Let’s sit here and plan the perfect day, everything fun, everything awesome. Reyland’ll have to come ruin that.”

“You think?”

“That’s the rule.” Lock seemed to relax, draping an arm over my shoulders. “Perfect days aren’t allowed. It rains, or you stub your toe, or some mean girl kicks you out of bed—”

I kicked him again, not too hard this time. The sun came up, red in an amber sky. We splashed in the lake, then we went and ate waffles. Lock had syrup with his, and I went with jam. The strawberry-seed crunch made me homesick for Gran’s version, all thick and carroty, flavored with ginger. I cleaned my plate anyway and stole a bite from Lock’s.

Lock went green on the carousel, but he grinned through it gamely, pretending to spur on his horse. We walked by the river after, Lock breathing through his nausea, me checking my phone. I had three missed calls, all from Elli. Lock peered over my shoulder.

“Nothing from Reyland?”

“Not yet.”

We found an art gallery next and got kicked out for touching. We ran away laughing—why grow moss over statues, if not for us to fondle?

“I mean, it said touch right there. Right there on the sign.” Lock collapsed against a fire hydrant, catching his breath. “That wasn’t an invitation?”

“I think it was the title.”

“Their art is weird—pots of moss, talking toilets, and what was with that ladder?” Lock scratched his knee. “I want that moss for a shirt. No, for pants. Like a cloud cradling my—”

“O-kay.” I cut him off, laughing, and we circled round to Golden Square. We found a toy shop and swarmed it, bouncing balls, riding bikes, throwing sticky worms at the walls. Little kids stared, open-mouthed, as we blew bubbles through wands. Lock bought five tubes of bubble mix and a bag of sour candy. I bought a bouncy ball, mostly for the sound it made. We ate too much sugar and our mouths went all fuzzy, and we had to buy toothbrushes and clean our teeth in the fountain.

“It’s late,” said Lock. He glanced up at the skylight, now a dull brownish-gray. I checked my phone one more time: still no Reyland.

“He’ll call. There’s still tomorrow.”

“Elli’ll be all over us, tarting us up for the ball.”

“Not in the morning—see?” I held up my phone, displaying her latest message. “She’s not coming till two.”

“Yeah.” Lock looked down, frowning. He tucked his toothbrush in his pocket. “Today’s been—I don’t know whether to be happy or sad.”

“Because Reyland didn’t call?”

“Because that toy shop, that art gallery, messing around on the carousel... picture that, only we’re six. I’m not saying it wasn’t fun. Just...” He shook his head. “I used to come home from nursery and help Grandpa shine shoes. Or we’d haul water, run errands—anything for a token. I’d have killed for a day like today, toys like this, friends like you. Cramming it in now, it all feels too late. Like we missed half our lives, and there’s no turning back the clock.”

I bounced my ball off the floor, just to hear it go pang. Lock was right—it rang hollow. Too late.

“Reyland’ll call,” I said. My words rang even hollower, so I took Lock’s hand instead. He gripped it like a lifeline, and I let my head rest on his shoulder.

Reyland had to call.

Elli showed up early, at eleven instead of two. She came with a retinue, hairdressers and manicurists, seamstresses and jewelers. Ona and I were mobbed, perched on pedestals like mannequins for our final fittings.

“This one’s gained a pound or five.” One of the seamstresses pinched my middle. “Oh, she’s just slouching. Back straight, darling.”

I straightened up, offended. Ona was snickering into her fist. I needed to talk to her, somewhere private, just the two of us.

“How long’ll this take?”

“Not long. Just try not to breathe too much. I’d rather not prick you.”

I stood and tried not to breathe, feeling stupid. One of the hairdressers had Lock and was menacing him with a set of trimmers. Lock was protesting, covering his head with his hands. Behind him, the manicurists were setting up, and did we really need our nails done again? Mine were fine, barely chipped, gleaming gold under the lights.

“Third floor living room, once you’re done.” Elli poked her head in, clapping her hands. “One more