Stuck in traffic, I stared out the window at all the Holiday lights on Galaxy Mile, the part of Michigan Avenue that had all the ultrachic, top-tier shops. Holiday verts were coming fast and furious, competing for shoppers’ attention.
“Her eyes will light up as bright as the diamonds in this Urban-Retro, twenty-carat-gold mail necklace.” “Give your Holiday Pre a glimpse into the ultra world of XVI with a XVI Ways Day Spa gift certificate.” “Surprise Dad this Holiday with an all-weather Verolux chronos.”
We were sitting in front of Mars 9, the ultra shop for teens. Their display scene was a party. I clicked my PAV to tune out the verts and pressed my nose to the glass. A girl mannibot drifted through the crowd in a scintillating, strapless gown. The scene was enthralling. A longing to look that nice, just once, seared through me, leaving behind a burning hole in my chest.
I would never be that girl.
I shut my eyes and didn’t open them until I felt the vehicle lurch forward. Paulette’s upper-tier party. My Sale-o-rama life. There was no way I could ever go to that party, no matter what Martin and Percy said.
I thought about Sal. About us. I hadn’t spoken to him in a while. I knew he was on NonCon business. I hadn’t gotten so much as a message. I shouldn’t be surprised, I told myself. But still.
Finally, the trannie pulled up to the house.
Chris was on his way out as I was going in. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Sure.” I didn’t even try to hide my low spirits.
He touched my arm. “You want to talk?”
Our eyes connected, and suddenly I did want to talk—to him. “I, uh… no. Is Wei home?” What was I thinking? Sal was who I should be commiserating with, not Chris.
“She’s upstairs.” He gave my arm a squeeze. “Whatever it is, Nina, it’ll get better.”
He left and I closed the door, confused. The more I saw of Chris, the more I liked him. And lately it seemed that he liked me—more. His interactions with me sometimes seemed flirty or, like now, attentive and filled with concern. Sure, I told myself, it’s perfectly normal to want to share my worries with someone who cares. It’s just that that someone should be Sal.
“Hey, you!” Wei came traipsing down the stairs. “I saw you through the window. What’s up with the hire trannie?”
I told her everything—except my near-breakdown in front of Mars 9.
“Paulette’s party? Lucky you! Mom and Dad had another commitment, so they won’t be there, but… yeah. You should definitely go.”
I said, “Maybe,” even though I knew it was the last thing I would ever do.
XXII
I woke up the next morning surprised I’d slept so soundly, especially considering what was in store for the day. Dee was up before the alarm and in my room, fretting. She fidgeted on the corner of my bed. “What should I wear?”
“The nicest clothes you’ve got,” I said. “Your black pants and your red sweater?”
“Sweater’s too small.” She checked out my room. “What are you wearing?”
“The same thing I wore when I went to B.O.S.S. headquarters to see about Pops.”
“What was that? You left before I was up.”
“Some of Mom’s clothes. I felt close to her, like she was there watching over me.”
“You think anything of hers might fit me?”
“Let’s go see. They’re in Gran’s room.”
Five minutes later, we’d found the perfect asteroid-blue sweater for her to wear. It was the tiniest bit big, but nothing a couple of well-placed pins couldn’t fix.
“It smells like Mom.” Her eyes got misty.
“Don’t be sad, Deeds. Think of it like she’s right here with you.”
By the time we met Mrs. Jenkins on the stairs, we both looked, if not tier five, at least four. And, neither of us had cried, on the outside.
First stop was Metro Hospital. Dr. Silverman had left a transcribed, notarized statement about Gran’s recovery and general good health. At least that was going in our favor.
When we got to the Hall of Justice, Dee slipped her hand into mine.
“It will be fine,” I whispered.
Simply standing outside the Hall was intimidating. Instead of the sleek, modern fronts of many of the surrounding buildings, it was old. The walls were row after row of glass, going up at least thirty stories. A balance scale was projected on the entire surface of the Dearborn Street side.
Balance. Right. The balance is all on their side, I thought. Doesn’t matter how many times they tell us we are free. It’s their version of free; I was guessing it was nowhere near my father’s version, and it definitely wasn’t mine.
“We’re in courtroom seven B.” Mrs. Jenkins hurried us inside. “We don’t want to be late.”
With my free hand, I pulled out my charms necklace, touching the number 7 that Gran had given me—“For completeness.” Surely it was no coincidence that we were in courtroom seven. It was my lucky number. I squeezed the charm.
We had no problem clearing the scanners flanking the doors. Mrs. Jenkins’s heels clicked purposefully as we made our way through the expansive lobby to the information desk. I was surprised at the number of actual people, rather than bots, who worked here, although the man who directed us was as impassive as any Hal at school.
Outside the courtroom, a uniformed officer guarded the door. He sent us to a room across the hall. “Wait there until you’re summoned.”
Before we even entered the room, I heard a familiar whirring noise.
“Mrs. Marchant!”
“Yes, Miss Oberon. That is who I am.” She glided over to us. “This must be your sister, Delisa. Good morning.” She extended her hand. “I am Mrs. Marchant, the principal at Nina’s school.”
“Hello.” Dee’s eyes swept across the transchair, but she made no comment.
“This is Mrs. Jenkins,” I said. “She’s—”
“Yes, I know Mrs. Jenkins well.” A deep-throated laugh erupted. “We’ve met on more than one occasion regarding Wei.”
Duh. The first day I met Wei, Mr. Haldewick had threatened to send her to Mrs. Marchant’s office. She did like to create scenes.
“So nice to see you again.” Mrs. Jenkins’s eyes twinkled.
“I heard about Nina’s situation,” Mrs. Marchant said. “It seemed to me that a character witness might be a good thing. I didn’t care for the way CPS treated one of my students, in my school, in my office.” There was fire in her eyes.
The door squeaked behind us.
“Miss Maldovar!” Dee broke into a smile. “You came.”
“I told you I would.” She cupped Dee’s chin in her hand. “You look worried. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. Why don’t you introduce me to your sister and…” She glanced at the three of us.
“Oh, this is Mrs. Jenkins. It’s her house we’re living in.”
Miss Maldovar approached, smiling. “Mrs. Jenkins.” She held out a gloved hand. “What a wonderful thing your family’s done, taking in Dee and her sister.” After they shook. Miss Maldovar turned to me. “You are, of course, Nina. I’ve heard so much about you. Your sister quite looks up to you.”
“Thank you. It’s very nice of you to come,” I said. “But you needn’t have, especially at Holiday time. We’ll be fine.”
Miss Maldovar’s smile changed to a look of warm concern. “I’m sure you will be. But as I told Dee, I have many years of dealing with Child Protective Services and even know some of the judges who hear these cases. Perhaps I may be of assistance. I hope you won’t mind if I at least observe.”
Mrs. Marchant cleared her throat.
“Excuse me.” I stepped back. “This is Mrs. Marchant, the principal of my school.”