The Midnight Circus, стр. 9
Igot home at three a.m. My mother lay fast asleep on the sofa, a box ofKleenex by her side, her eyes red with crying. She didn’t rouse when Islipped in the door. I thought of waking her, of hugging her withgratitude that I was home and safe. But I was so exhausted, I wentright to bed.
Itook off my shoes and, still in my clothes, lay down. A shadow detacheditself from my closet. Something long and sharp glittered in its hand.I tried to scream and couldn’t, then saw it was my father and relaxed.
“Dad. . . ,” I began.
“This. . . ,” he said, as he always did when he was going to punish me, “isgoing to hurt me more than it does you.”
Hewas wrong of course. On cold nights, especially winter nights, thatmissing toe aches more than anything.
ButI have never seen the man in black again.
Wilding
ZENA BOUNCED down the brownstone steps two at a time, her face powdered alight green. It was the latest color and though she didn’t think shelooked particularly good in it, all the girls were wearing it. Hernails were stripedthe same hue. She had good nails.
“Zen!” her mother called out thewindow.
“Whereare you going? Have you finished your homework?”
“Yes,Mom,” Zena said without turning around. “I finished.” Well, almost,she thought.
“Andwhere are you—”
Thistime Zena turned. “Out!“
“Out where?”
Eversince Mom had separated from her third pairing, she had beenoverzealous in her questioning. Where are you going? What are youdoing? Who’s going with you? Zena hatedall the questions, hated the old nicknames. Zen. Princess. LittleBit.
“Justout.”
“Princess,just tell me where. So I won’t have to worry.”
“We’re just goingWilding,” Zena said, begrudging eachsyllable.
“Iwish you wouldn’t. That’s the third time this month. It’s not . . . notgood. It’s dangerous. There have been . . . deaths.”
“That’s’gus, Mom. As in bo-gus. ’Ganda. As in propaganda. And you know it.”
“Itwas on the news.”
Zenamade a face but didn’t deign to answer. Everyone knew the news was notto be trusted.
“Don’tforget your collar, then.”
Zenapulled the collar out of her coat pocket and held it up above her headas she went down the last of the steps. She waggled it at the window. That,she thought, should quiet Mom’s nagging. Not that she plannedto wear the collar. Collars were for little kids out on their firstWildings. Or for tourist woggers. What did she need with one? She wasalready sixteen and, as the Pack’s song went:
Sweetsixteen
Powdered green
Out in the park
Well after dark,
Wilding!
Thetorpedo train growled its way uptown and Zena stood,legs wide apart, disdaining the hand grips. Hangers are fortourist woggers, she thought, watching as a pair of high-heeledout-of-towners clutched the overhead straps so tightly their handsturned white from blood loss.
Thenumbers flashed by—72, 85, 96. She bent her knees and straightened justin time for the torp to jar to a stop and disgorge its passengers. Thewoggers, hand-combing their dye jobs, got off, too. Zena refused tolook at them but guessed they were going where she was going—to theEntrance.
CentralPark’s walls were now seventeen feet high and topped with electronicmesh. There were only two entrances, built when Wilding had becomelegal. The Westside Entrance was for going in. The Fifty-ninthEastside was for going out.
Asshe came up the steps into the pearly evening light, Zena blinked.First Church was gleaming white and the incised letters on its facadewere the only reminder of its religious past. The banners now hangingfrom its door proclaimed WILD WOOD CENTRAL, and the fluttering wolf andtiger flags, symbols of extinct mammals, gave a fair indication of thewind. Right now wind meant little to her, but once she was Wilding, shewould know every nuance of it.
Zenasniffed the air. Good wind meant good tracking. Ifshe went predator. She smiled in anticipation.
Behindher she could hear the tip-taps of wogger high heels. The woggers weregiggling, a little scared. Well, Zena thought, they shouldbe a little scared. Wilding is a pure New York sport. No mushy woggersneed apply.
Shestepped quickly up the marble stairs and entered the mammoth hall.
PRINTHERE, sang out the first display. Zena put her hand on the screen andit read her quickly. She knew she didn’t have to worry. Her record wasclear—no drugs, no drags. And her mom kept her creddies high enough.Not like some kids who got turned back everywhere, even off the torptrains. And the third time, a dark black line got printed across theirpalms. A month’s worth of indelible ink. Indelis meant a monthfull of no: no vids, no torp trains, no boo-ti-ques for clothes. And noWilding. How, Zena wondered, could they stand it?
Nickwas waiting by the Wild Wood Central out-door. He was talking to Marnieand a good-looking dark-haired guy who Marnie was leaning againstfamiliarly.
“Whizzard!”Nick called out when he saw Zena, and she almost blushed under thegreen powder. Just the one word, said with appreciation, but otherwisehe didn’t blink a lash. Zena liked that about Nick. There was something coolish, something even statue about him. And somethingdangerous, too, even outside the park, outside of Wilding. It was whythey were seeing each other, though even after three months, Zena hadnever, would never, bring him home to meet her mother.
Thatdangerousness. Zena had it, too.
Shewent over and started to apologize for being late, saw the shutteredlook in Nick’s eyes, and changed her apology into an amusing storyabout her mom instead. She remembered Nick had once said, Apologiesare for woggers and kids.
Fromher leaning position, Marnie introduced the dark-haired guy as Lazlo. Hehad dark eyes, too, the rims slightly yellow, which gave him adisquieting appearance. He grunted a hello.
Zenanodded. To do more would have been uncoolish.
“Like the mean green,”Marnie said. “Looks coolish on you,foolish on me.”
“Na-na,”Zena answered, which was what she was supposed to answer. And,actually, she did think Marnie looked good in the green.
“Thenlet’s go Wilding,” Marnie said, putting on her collar.
Nicksniffed disdainfully, but he turned toward the door. The four of themwalked out through the tunnel, Marnie and Lazlo holding hands, eventhough Zena knew he was