“I can do a hundred.”
The boy kneeled like he was going to start exercising right there in the dust. The place where he had spilled his cup was completely dry; I couldn’t even tell it had been wet. I could see the elastic band of his underwear and the smooth skin where his back was exposed. No marks, scratches, or scabs of any kind. My own hands looked like some kind of treasure map, except the lines didn’t lead to riches.
“I’m Vera,” I said to his back.
“Kai,” he said, standing up.
“Where did you get the water?”
“I’ve got lots of water.”
“Are you rich?”
“I guess so.”
“Should you be out alone?”
“Ha!” he snorted. “I’d like to see them try something.”
It wasn’t clear whom he was talking about, but I didn’t think Kai—or any boy—could stand up well to the bandits and soldiers who menaced our town, no matter how many pushups he could do.
“Are you waiting for someone?” I asked.
“Going to a scavenge site. Want to come?”
“I’ve got school.”
“After school?”
I said I would try, but I knew my father wouldn’t let me. He didn’t want me going anywhere after school—not with this boy, not with any boy. It was dangerous to hang around strangers. Just last year there had been a virus, and three kids in our class had died. No one went to school for two weeks afterward, and Will and I played cards in his bedroom until we got so bored that we wanted to scream.
“We live in the Wellington Pavilion,” Kai said, naming a fancy housing complex. “Meet me there this afternoon. I’ll tell the guards.”
“I have water team.”
“After water team, then.”
“I’ll ask my dad.” Down the road I could see the telltale signs of rising dust. “There’s my bus.”
Kai looked to where I pointed, and his lips drew a tight line of disappointment. I realized then that he wasn’t out in the road spilling water because he had enough to drink. Like the girls who cut themselves or snuck their parents’ pharmies, he wanted someone to pay attention. I promised myself I would try to visit this boy, even though my father wouldn’t like it.
“Good-bye,” I said. “I’ll look for you later.”
“Later,” he said.
I boarded the bus and turned to wave, but as I did, I saw a car stop for the boy—a big, black limousine, gasoline-powered, with an engine that threw off heat in shimmering waves of silver. The door opened, and a burly guard with a machine pistol stepped into the road—mirrored glasses hid his eyes, and a thick cartridge belt cinched his waist. He signaled to Kai, and the boy climbed inside without looking back.
CHAPTER 2
That night Will and I stayed up late. Will had dragged his mattress across the hallway to my room, where it rested on a couple of wooden crates our father had salvaged from a food drop. The two beds made a kind of giant spongy stair. I was on the top step, and Will was one below. We had two covers, both of which I tugged more closely around me. Will complained, but he gave up as soon as I told him about Kai.
“He must be rich,” Will concluded.
“He is,” I said. “And Will…” I waited until I had his complete attention. “After the bus came, they picked him up in a limo.”
“Who picked him up?”
“I don’t know. There was a guard with a gun.”
Will squinted with his left eye. I always thought it was unfair that I got our mother’s freckles, while Will had our father’s witch-hazel eyes: pinwheels of green, gray, and gold. When he squinted, it was like peering into the glass end of a kaleidoscope.
“His father must be a WAB minister, maybe.”
“There are no WABs here,” I reminded him.
“He could live in Basin.”
“Then why would he be out walking on our road?” I asked.
If the boy’s father were on the Water Authority Board, he wouldn’t live in the Wellington Pavilion, as nice as it was, and he wouldn’t be outside walking. There were places a lot nicer, and a lot more expensive, with better security. Most of the WAB ministers lived in Basin, the capitol, about sixty kilometers away. The Water Authority controlled the flow and distribution of water and was the closest thing we had to an actual government. Our republic—Illinowa—was all that remained of the Midwestern pieces of the old United States, and the only thing left to govern was water. The decisions made by WABs in Basin could mean life or death for the rest of us. I’d never been to the city, but photographs showed leafy trees growing from beneath semi-porous grates and real grass in the park. Everything seemed to be breathing, and the air was gauzy with moisture.
“He must live around here,” I decided. “He says he does.”
“We should invite him to dinner.”
“We don’t have any food.”
“That’s not true.”
“Synth-food’s not food,” said Will. “And Dad is a terrible cook.”