Cole shrugs. “You’re growing on me.” His bottom lip doesn’t pout the way it normally does.
“Lie!” I declare, raising my arm in victory before it’s even confirmed.
Cole laughs and Tawni nearly spews out the spoonful of yellow goop she has in her mouth. “You’re right, Adele, you’re not growing on me. That would be disgusting. Hair grows on me, foot fungus on occasion, too, due to the shameful hygiene of the guys’ bathrooms, but not other people, and most definitely not you.”
His eyes are twinkling even more than before. I grin. “So what’s the real reason for wanting to help me?” I ask.
“I got nothing against you, nor your magical mysterious love affair with the sun prince”—I try to interject, but Cole sees it coming and pushes a finger to my lips, silencing me—“but I just don’t trust Tridlan one bit.”
“Tristan,” I say.
“What?”
“His name is Tristan. You said Tridlan.”
“Did I?” Cole says, throwing his hands up and feigning ignorance. I realize he’s mocking me. I want to be angry, but his mannerisms make me smile. “Anyway,” Cole says, “him being the son of the President and all, it’s not easy for me to be as trusting of Triftan as you guys are.”
I ignore his repeated mispronunciation of Tristan’s name and try to focus. It will be great to have friends help me—at least to get out of the Pen. But I still don’t understand their motives, which bothers me. At least not Cole’s. Tawni is probably trying to make up for the actions of her parents—to prove that she is better than them. Also, she seems to just be a nice person, willing to help a friend in need, even a new friend like me. But Cole is a mystery. It doesn’t help that he jokes around so much, which makes it even harder to get a read on him. He has no reason to help me.
“Seriously, why do you want to help?” I repeat.
His eyes darken. “Okay, look. I’m just really tired of everyone getting treated unfairly by the sun dwellers. I’ve been in juvie once before, when I was eleven. I had this teacher, Mrs. Witchikata. She was really kind, really pretty, always saying nice things to me. What can I say? I fell for her—head over freakin’ heels. So one day I told her I loved her. Mrs. W would never have reported it, but a nasty little Year Five kid overheard and told the principal, who told the authorities. Unauthorized flirting, they called it. I got six weeks in the Pen. Since then, I’ve always wanted revenge.”
Tawni giggles. I look at her, then back at Cole. “La la lie,” I say.
“Almost, smarty,” Cole says. “It was a half lie. All the stuff about Mrs. W was BS—in fact she was about ninety-five years old, two hundred pounds overweight, covered in warts, with a mean streak a mile wide. I hated her guts. But I did give you the truth about why I want to help you. The sun dwellers are creeps, period.” I give him a look and he throws up his hands submissively. “Okay, okay, maybe not all of them, maybe not even your beloved Triptan, but the majority of them.”
“Okay,” I say. I believe him. It certainly fits with what little I know about the male species. Their motives are generally simple: fun, honor, sex, food, pride, revenge, sex. Pretty basic stuff.
“Okay?” Tawni says, confirming.
“Yeah, we’ll escape together.”
“And then go rescue your family,” she says.
I haven’t thought that far ahead, but I figure I can talk them out of it when the time comes. “Uh, yeah, whatever. So how do we pull it off?” I say, leaning in.
Cole dips his head forward conspiratorially and lowers his voice, half-covering his mouth with one of his hands. “I know a guy who can get one of the guards to turn off the electric fence for a few minutes, maybe ten if we’re lucky,” he says.
I gawk at him like he’s an alien.
“What?” he says. “We were thinking about trying to escape once so I looked into it.”
I don’t have to confirm that he is telling the truth—his face is dead serious. “Okay. If we get your guy to turn off the fence at say midnight, two hours after lights out, we can sneak out of our cells and climb the fence,” I say.
“Our cells will be locked,” Tawni points out.
“There’s a trick for that,” I say. “I’ve done it before. Get a small piece of cardboard or plastic from somewhere, anywhere, and when you shut your door for the last time at night, slide the plastic between the door and the frame, blocking the deadbolt. When the door automatically locks, it will still click, but you’ll be able to open it.”
“Nice,” Cole says, nodding. I smile. I am glad to be able to bring some level of expertise to the table.
“Right,” Tawni says, “so at five minutes to midnight we leave our cells. Adele and I will be together and we’ll meet you”—she gestures to Cole—“at the fence. We’ll meet in the shadows in the northeast wing. When the electricity goes out we start climbing.”
Cole’s eyes narrow and his face crinkles up. “How do we tell the time?” he asks.
“We’ll have to base it off of the guards’ patrols,” I say. “Start counting from the ten o’clock lights out. Approximately every fifteen minutes a guard will go by—watch through the slot in your doors. Once seven patrols pass we’ll know it’s about quarter to midnight. Then we’ll just have to count in our heads for ten minutes—six hundred seconds. Then we go.” I am feeling confident—probably too confident—but it is a good feeling, one I haven’t felt in a while.
“When should we do it?” Tawni asks.
“How about tonight?” I say, feeling eager butterflies in my stomach.
“That’s pretty tight,” Cole says. “I’ll have to check with my guy to see if it’s possible on such short notice.”
“It better be,” I say. Acting in a hurry is better than taking a long time to plan our escape. That way the dirty guard won’t have time to rethink his choice to help us.
“We’ll need money to pay him,” Cole says. “You know, the guard who helps us.”
I knew it sounded too good to be true. I don’t have any money and certainly no way of getting any. But I ask anyway. “How much?”
“At least fifty Nailins I expect.”
My heart sinks. I haven’t seen that much money in my entire life. It might as well be a million. Even if we come up with a way to raise some money, we won’t be able to get that much in ten lifetimes. I close my eyes tightly and clench my teeth, trying to stifle a scream. I need a miracle.
I get one.
“I can provide the money,” Tawni says.
My eyes flash open and I look at the skinny, white-haired girl beside me. I look back at Cole. He doesn’t seem surprised. In fact, it is like he expected her response. I realize that when he mentioned the money he wasn’t talking to me. He was talking to Tawni the whole time.
I turn back to Tawni. “You have access to fifty Nailins?” I say in disbelief.
“More if we need it,” she says. “When I got caught trying to go interdistrict without a travel permit my parents were all over me, asking me why, why would I do such a thing? So I gave them a BS story about how I really wanted to see the Lantern Caverns of the ninth subchapter and how I never thought they’d let me go.” She pushes a strand of hair out of her face, grinning. “They bought it, and although they couldn’t get me out of doing time in the Pen, they were able to make my stay here as easy as I want it to be. I could have had a plush room on the third floor, five-star meals, access to a telebox, pretty much anything I want.”
“Then why do you sleep in a crappy cell next to me?”
Tawni’s face falls. “Because if I took advantage of what my parents could do for me, then I’d be just as terrible as them. I swear to God, Adele, I’m not like them—never will be.”
“Truth,” I say solemnly.
Tawni nods. “In any case, I still have access to an account they set up for me with the warden, I mean with the concierge.” I chuckle at her little joke. “There are more than two hundred Nailins in it.”
Cole whistles. “I didn’t know
you had that much dough. How about sharin’ some with an old friend of yours?”
Tawni smirks. “We’ll need all of it if we’re going to pull this off.” She lowers her voice again. “First to pay off the guard and then to travel across the Moon Realm.”
I nod. “Thanks, Tawni. And you too, Cole. I wouldn’t stand a chance without your help.” I realize then that I don’t have to be alone anymore—can’t be alone, can’t stand it for one more second. I hit a new low the previous day and then everything started moving up again. My downward spiral is finally over.
It reminds me of something my dad said one year at Christmas, when we didn’t even have the money for presents, or fancy food, or anything. He said, “Sometimes, girls, you have to hit your lowest low just before you hit your highest high. It makes you appreciate the good things so much more.” Right now is starting to feel like one of those times. Yeah, maybe meeting a couple of friends and coming up with a plan to escape from a juvenile delinquent facility isn’t the best of times in my life, but it isn’t the worst either, and for that I am thankful.
We leave the cafeteria long after we arrived—we are the last to go. Although we aren’t satisfied by the food, we are still satisfied. By other things. More important things. Life-changing things. I am going to rescue my family, and hopefully myself at the same time.
Yeah, things are looking up.
Chapter Six
Tristan
Ahhh, a holiday at the Sandy Oasis. It has everything anyone could ever want. Soft, plush beds to sleep on. Warm, sandy beaches (they even simulate waves and paint picturesque ocean views). Half-naked girls ready to throw themselves at any celebrity who happens to make eye contact.
I throw up in my mouth when we arrive.
Roc is carrying my bags while my security detail protects me from the girls.
You’re probably thinking that I am a big wimp to let my father dictate the terms of my holiday so easily. I could’ve pushed back harder, tried to force him to see my point of view. But you see, the thing is, my father doesn’t like being pushed around. And I could tell he was in one of his moods, more stubborn than the lovechild of an ox and a mule. So I played along.
Roc and I aren’t staying in the Oasis. Not for long anyway.
We’re going to find the girl. I hope she is alive.
We reach my room with a record low of only three girls offering to have my babies. I guess I am losing my touch. From the looks in their eyes, I think they are offering to have them, like, right now, immediately. I don’t make eye contact for fear that they’ll rip their clothes off and throw themselves at me and my entourage.
The room isn’t really a room. More like an entire wing of the hotel, comprised of ten distinct rooms, only five of which are bedrooms. The others are sitting rooms, standing rooms, massage rooms, and kitchens. I don’t even count the six bathrooms as rooms. The cost for a single night would feed an entire subchapter of the Moon Realm for a year.
Luckily we aren’t staying long. “Quick and unexpected action is the most effective in battle,” my fighting instructor used to say. I am about to put his advice to the test. Perhaps not in a traditional battle, but in a battle nonetheless. A battle to take back my life.
I ask my security guards to wait outside, to monitor the four doors for any fake-tanned girls trying to gain access to my suite. When they are gone, I say, “Is this going to work, Roc?”
“I’m not sure, sir,” Roc says.
“Cut the sir crap, Roc, please,” I say. “We are about to embark on a rogue mission and I want you to be with me as a friend, not as a servant.”
“I’ll try, sir,” Roc says, grinning from ear to ear. I grin back, swatting at him playfully. He punches at me and for a moment there is a good chance it’s going to escalate into another practice fight, but then there’s a sudden knock at the door.
One of my guards enters, a giant with no neck and fists the size of boulders. His nose looks like it has been broken a dozen times—it is flat and wide. Although I expect to have to translate a series of grunts and hand signals, he surprises me by speaking perfect English, in an unexpectedly high voice.
“You have a visitor. He says he’s expected.”
“Name?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Kruger.”
“He’s okay,” I say.
The guard leaves, closing the door behind him, and a minute later the door reopens and another guy walks in. Compared to the guard, this guy looks tiny. He is actually about my size. Well, exactly my size actually, both in height, weight, and body type. Athletic build, six-two without shoes, a hundred and eighty five pounds dripping wet. It always amazes me how I can just snap my fingers and make things happen. I have no idea how they found someone who so closely resembles me in such a short time, but I don’t really care about the details. His face even kind of looks like mine. If he wears a hat and sunglasses, the guards won’t be able to tell the difference. Although each member of my security team would rank well across the entirety of the Tri-Realms when it comes to muscle, their IQs would likely sit in the bottom quartile.
“My money?” Kruger says. This guy gets right to the point, which is fine with me.
I wave Roc forward. He extracts a paper envelope from his pocket, which clinks as he hands it across. “A hundred Nailins,” he says. “Count it.”
The guy shakes his head and the parcel at the same time. “No need. It’s all there,” he says, as though he’s done so many shady deals that he can count the coins just by the sound of their clinking. Maybe he can. What do I know?
Next, Roc hands him some clothes, identical to the ones I am wearing. A gold tunic, a silver bracelet, brown moccasins. He even gives him a pair of my blue silk boxer shorts. “Put those on,” I say.
The guy strips right in front of us—clearly modesty is low on his priority list. I turn away, removing my own clothes and swapping them for a black tunic, black pants, and black boots. While I add a dark hat and sunglasses to my getup, Roc provides Kruger with a similar pair of sunglasses and a floppy, white beach hat. A current edition of a sun dweller magazine and a bottle of expensive wine from my father’s personal stash complete the façade.
With a nod, Kruger slides the money into the magazine and heads for the door. Roc trails after him. We’ve agreed that if the fake me leaves without Roc it will raise eyebrows; Roc goes everywhere with me. I hide off to the side, behind the red velvet drapes that provide privacy at the poolside windows. They exit, and just before the door closes, I see the gaggle of guards surround them. Kruger’s head is tilted slightly downward, so there will be even less likelihood that he’ll be recognized as anyone but me. The door closes and I hear Roc’s muffled voice as he explains to the guards that my guest will be resting in the suite while I am at the pool.
I’m not worried. They will buy the story. After all, they aren’t really trained to question their masters. Plus, they are trying to protect me from those who might hurt me, not from escaping. I’m not a prisoner—not technically.
I slip back around the drapes and peek through the window. A few minutes later, the dummy me and my entourage enter the pool area. Because we arrived in the early afternoon, it is already packed—finding a place to sit would be near impossible for any normal person. But I am no normal person, at least not to these people. It has all been prepared ahead of my arrival. A carved-out section of the patio, complete with tables, chairs, a vase of flowers, trays of food. To my disgust I notice a couple of deeply tanned, fake-boobed girls standing ready to fulfill my every desire. No doubt they are a gift from my dad.
I hope I never see him again.
Roc leads the imposter to the reserved area and motions for the guards to stand in a circle around me, blocking me from view of all the rubberneckers who are already standing up and trying to catch a glimpse of the President’s son. That makes me laugh.
It is time to go.
I leave the suite, taking a minute to scan the hallway for any guards who might’ve
remained behind, or for any hotel staff who might become a witness to my escape.
The hall is empty.
I go the opposite way down the hall from where we entered, intent on using the private exit, specially designed so that celebrities can leave without being noticed. It will be guarded by one of my men, but that won’t be a problem. He will be looking for someone trying to get in, not for someone on their way out.
I tiptoe down the stairs, cognizant that any scuff of my feet or scrape of my toes might echo to the bottom, thus alerting the guard to my presence. I have to maintain the element of surprise if I want to avoid an ugly confrontation.
I reach the bottom without so much as a tap of my feet on the stone steps. The thick security door is bolted shut; I raise the lever gently, hoping it has been oiled recently. When it doesn’t creak, I breathe a sigh of relief. So far, so good.
I take a deep breath, trying to concentrate. To focus my mind. To prepare myself for swift and decisive violence. To incapacitate, not kill. I have no hatred for my guards, no desire to harm them. They aren’t smart enough to think for themselves. They just follow orders. Maybe that’s not a good excuse, but I let them have it.
Using my shoulder as a battering ram, I burst through the door, bobbing my head left and then right to locate the guard. He is surprised, but alert, already reaching for his sword. I have mine out and am ready for combat. Before he raises his arm in defense, the point of my sword is at his throat. I’m not sure if he recognizes me beneath my sunglasses, but in a few hours it won’t matter.
As soon as he drops his sword, I swing around behind him and clamp his chin between my forearm and bicep, slowly tightening the force on his neck. At first he fights it, but then his feet stop kicking, his arms stop waving, and he goes to sleep. I wait a few more seconds before releasing him, just in case he’s faking it, and then lay his unconscious body to the ground, kindly propping his head up on his hip bag. Before I leave I steal his sword, just in case.