• I guess the thing that got me first was her hair.
    It was a little white fox running through a brown, dead field of secret life and ideas: meaning, she had a little white Mohawk in the middle of a bunch of short brown hair.
    And her eyes, I think, too. They were wide—and happy, like any kid’s—but curious and oddly serious, underneath her playful exterior.
    And I hardly got a glance at them.
    Gosh, she was cute…
    She clutched the little ring hanging from the top of the train and smiled out the window, absently listening to her friends’ conversation—that’s what I assumed. I didn’t care to observe them too much at the time.
    I tried to look out the window and see what she saw, but it was only other kids and their robots and some balloons, and the flashing lights of the Underground. I saw nothing—but maybe, I figured, it was her wiring. Or her hard drive. What was that thing even called anymore? Anyway, maybe she was reading something…
    The train halted and the little nerdy kid at my side pushed past, along with the others, herding me away from her. I gave up eventually, stepped onto the concrete and toward the escalators, and light. I tried not to look back, but I did, and I was sad.
    She stepped off, in her little white parka-hoodie-thing, and green capris. She wore ankle boots that would be too small on me (and my small feet) but they looked huge on her, dwarfing her, and rendering her adorable.
    She stood with this…startlingly tall guy (had to be 6’5”!) with the same brown hair and these huge goggle-spectacle things. And really tight pants… He was chatting absently to her and the domed robot that stood on one wheel, halfway between them in height. It burbled and answered the chatty giant mechanically, which indicated that it was an old family favorite—those sorts were kept mostly for companionship, rather than purpose.
    They walked by. She pulled out a little blue lollipop from a pocket, popped it into her mouth, then looked down at her feet, shoving her hands in her pockets.
    She continued to smile.
    The three passed me, and then the tall one (who I noticed had spray paint in his butt pocket) suddenly sniggered. I blinked and pretended to look past him.
    They got to the elevators before the robot turned round. He whirred and hummed through the throng of shorties and rolled right up to me. I blinked down at him.
    His yoyo-sized red eyes gleamed up at me, shining in little circles of increasing radius. The square slot of his mouth opened and revealed metallic white teeth—little squares that serve no purpose, again.
    So retro.
    “You’re outta your league, bub.”
    I blinked. Retro-bot’s got a problem… “What?”
    “She wouldn’t even look at you,” he continued in a flat voice that I would’ve liked, had he not been taunting me.
    “Oh yeah?”
    “Yeah.” His claw like arms moved up in a shrug. “But whadda I know, anyway? Just a messenger.” He whirred away.
    “Hey! Hey, wait!” I jogged after him, accidentally pushing two twin girls in purple out of my way. He stopped right in front of the elevators. I glanced up, but the two weren’t there… Now that I was there, I’d forgotten what I was going to ask him.
    “What?” he asked. His tone was polite—he was probably used to the word cuz of Gigantor over there…
    “Oh yeah,” I scratched my head. “What district are you from?”
    He beeped and his eyes turned blue. “A-92 PinkSkunk.”
    A-92 PinkSkunk. I would remember it. The robot chirped, entered friendly-mode again, and blurped, “Bye.” It turned and whizzed up the elevator, levitating over the steps. As soon as his little cylindrical back was turned, I pulled out a Sharpie (the non-smelly type) and wrote the addistrict down in neon green on my wrist, along with two other districts and some doodles. The doodles were permanent.
    Cubic curly-q’s and numbers made into patterns with each other. A dog. And my district icon: the turtle.
    We all agree that it is the most stupid turtle ever made into an icon. But it is our mascot—and our friend—so we honor it.
    It’s name is Sammy. One of those old American names. Hella old, too.
    And I forgot to feed him that morning!
    I yelped and startled two preps as I jogged up the near-motionless escalator, two stairs at a time, and scrambled down the street in my baggy green clothes and old sneaks.
    Sammy would be very irritable…
    The Common Streets were emptying—kids were going to their home districts, preparing for block parties.

    My home district is above ground, but we take underground tunnels to get to it—most of them being sewers. The sun started to set, and the lanterns started to flash red in warning. I swore and dashed over to a manhole, lifting it with ease and dropping in.
    I landed on my board—a simple metal thing hooked to spiraled tracks that swerved and weaved down into the depths of the Underground. They were fast and the air was cool in my hair and clothes as I picked up speed, leaning forward. I turned sharply up at the memorized point and passed a ton of flashing yellow lights.
    The exit was coming up.
    My board stopped next to all the others, and I was literally tossed into the air to land on my feet on concrete among pulsating music and the laughter of friends.
    “Vinnie—you were late,” said the NY accent of a good friend. She had her rollerblades on (as always) as well as a plaid skirt and tight red tank top. Her dark skin shone in the waning sun with sweat and her hair, long and braided, swayed in the slight wind. She was unconsciously dancing again (we all do) to the pulsing techno music coming from District Undergreen 96’s awesome sound system.
    What used to be a skate park was now filled with twenty-or-so kids like her, dancing or blading or drinking Green, our specialty drink of green lemonade (?), soda, and punch.
    I love this place. “Yeah,” I said. “Underground took a while—“
    “You’re blushing,” she said before I could actually finish the sentence. She smirked, though I couldn’t see her eyes under her unruly fringe of blonde-brown hair. “Sammy’s hungy,” she said, using the baby-speech we reserve for our favorite turtle.
    “I know…”
    She jumped and rolled down the nearest swoop of concrete, joining the other roller-bladers.
    When I went to the giant, graffiti-covered turtle, he was indeed angry. Well, maybe he’s a tortoise…
    Anyway, he sat in a giant wad of hot pink cushion, surrounded by sexy girls we’d adopted from other, weaker districts. They fed him foods I don’t think turtles should eat, and they danced to the pounding music. Sammy looked up at me and growled.
    “I know,” I said, reaching into my pocket. “I’m sorry—I was distracted.”
    One of the girls was playing with my hair—it’s only just long enough to flop between her fingers. I ignored her and pulled out a crinkly white paper bag, filled with a weird mixture of anchovies and dope.
    Yes. We have invented such a thing.
    I opened the can and moved forward, away from the curvy miniskirt chick and toward his giant red food bowl, already partially filled with beef and broccoli. He opened his dark brown eyes and cooed at me as he accepted my offering.
    Satisfied, I turned back and jumped down from his raised platform to join the throbbing party. This one was big. We’d invited two other districts, cramming hundreds of kids into ours.
    It was officially dark out and the music pulsed against my heart, pulling me to the speakers. So many people were forced to do the same—it’s in our blood by now. I wormed my way through, shifting, twisting, closing my eyes and giving myself to the ebb and flow of the surrounding kids.
    And then I found myself right next to the speaker.
    My gang-mates and every other kid in this Burg thought I was a loser. They’re right. My “wiring” or “distinguishing quality” or whatever it is was considered lame, and I dressed very…un-edgy. In their definition, that is.
    But I can dance—and that is the reason why they respect me at all. We all can dance, technically. I just happen to be awesome at it—especially for a guy.
    Someone’s hand touched my side and I had to open my eyes and face Mute. “Hey,” I rasped, still unable to stop swinging my hips.
    He shoved an ear bud in my ear. “Hey babe, how ya doin’ tonight…?”
    “Good,” I said. That was probably a really old song…
    His fingers twitched over the old MP3 that had served as his way of communicating all his life. “I wanna make some babies. I wanna get it on…” He nodded over at a cluster of super-skinny, super edgy girls. They must’ve been friends, as they looked nothing alike, and I was pretty sure they were from District BullGum 72. The printed 72’s on their socks, skirts, or shirts kinda gave it away.
    I grinned at him. His choppy blue hair concealed his asian-y eyes and face partially, but he was grinning. Mute wasn’t a pariah or anything—he was completely on top of the social ladder. He just was mute. But he was hot and could dance, and listened to cool music every second of every day. We were best friends, I, the lesser of the two.
    But this was good. He could get me to meet other people. I followed him through the crowd and when the chicks turned, two of them started to giggle.
    Sweat glistened on their long legs and midriffs. One particular girl eyed him curiously. She seemed to be a mix of latino and white. (Nearly all of us were mixed…) Her short blonde hair accentuated the darkness of her eyes and she wore a pair of shorts and a 72 shirt that would have baggy had it not been cut off at mid-stomach. She leaned close and put a hand at Mute’s back, saying something to him.
    I couldn’t hear. I was dancing again. I looked up when I felt someone’s hand at my waist.
    It was a black girl. She was shy, but very cute and she’d been quiet up till now. Her voice was husky: “You’re quite the dancer.”
    “So I’ve heard,” I responded, smiling. “You wanna dance with me?”
    “Yeah.” So we did, close, flirtatious, touching constantly. It wasn’t as though I’d never danced with a girl before. First impressions slowed me down. She was taller than me by some, graceful and lithe, complimenting the way I moved.
    I glanced over at Mute. He already had the blonde girl in his arms, kissing her hard and moving his fingers into the waistband of her shorts.
    Jeez… Mute was only fourteen or so but he had been devirginized about thirty times over.
    I was sixteen-seventeen. Though we all know each other’s mothers and fathers and celebrate birthdays boisterously (when we remember to) it is still really hard to keep track.
    But anyway, I was still a virgin. And I didn’t mind. Not like I’m waiting for the right girl, or that I never get any chance at action. I just tend to stop before it goes too far. Mostly for the tease and because, for some reason, I lose interest. Maybe I’m a snob. Maybe I’m too shy. No idea. I just don’t go all the way.
    Another reason why it’s hard to get respect.
    “What’s your name?” I asked her.
    She put one hand on my shoulder and her other at my waist again, still shaking her hips and breathing the music. “Dani.”
    “Dani. Cute.” She giggled and moved so that her head was on my shoulder, and the rest of her was pressed up against me. She seemed pretty shy, but she must really like me.
    I felt her full lips against my throat. She must really like me.
    Glancing over, Mute and Blondie have disappeared. The other girl seemed envious of Dani.
    But I noticed something over her shoulder. A familiar couple. A short 12-15 year-oldish girl with a white Mohawk and a huge, lanky giant of a brother. His threatening looks warded off the guys around her, who had lust in their eyes and the faces of jackals.
    Dani’s hands were under my shirt, running over my stomach and chest. Her lips were at my jawbone now.
    I wondered briefly what time it was. And had we invited District PinkSkunk A-92? I didn’t think so. Why were they here?
    At least they left their robot at home. How nice. They’re trying to be courteous while crashing our party.
    Party-crashing is not awesome. If any moshing breaks out and someone is hurt from an uninvited district, or vice versa, wars will break out. And there is also the possibility of poor breeding. We’re a promiscuous people, sure, but we like to know exactly who we’re ******** and how we can contact them later. I know guys with girls from five districts, all mothering their children. We don’t ditch the people we screw, nor do we expect them to.
    That’s just how it is. And party-crashing messes with that.
    I used my hands at Dani’s waist to push her away. “Crashers,” I explained, whispering in her ear. She pouted adorably and nodded. Just to show her it’s not personal, I kissed her cheek and moved away, after them.
    They were headed toward Sammy’s den and my pulse sped. Defiling a district mascot—or killing it—is not uncommon. But it is scary and we all love Sammy. The people turned to watch them move toward his huge thronish pillow, but did not stop him. I wondered where Mute or Lila (the blader from earlier) were. I started to run.
    “Hey! Hey!!” The girl turned with huge brown eyes unleashed on me and I almost stopped. “You weren’t invited to this block party—you’ll have to leave,” I panted, sweating all over and very nervous.
    The girl put a finger to her lips. “We’re sorry,” she said in a soft voice. It was unique, hard to describe, and it reminded me of fruit and candy covered with gray ash. “We were just looking for you.”
    The giant was silent and frowning.
    I stared at them. “Oh. Why?”
    The girl stepped closer. “I read something in you.”
    “You read people?” I asked. I thought that was my…thing.
    She shook her head. The white fox wiggled. “Everything.” Her eyes were huge and dark, glittering in the moonlight and strobe. “You are part of everything.”
    “I thought everyone was,” moved by those pretty dark eyes, but nervous of her brother.
    She frowned. I thought she might’ve been mulatto. “In a way, yes.” She smiled. “But you’re really important.”
    “Okay…” I shifted, unsure of what she was getting at. I could see that she wasn’t trying to trick me. She was positive and hopeful of something. Her sincerity was almost scary. “What am I supposed to do?”
    “We need you to come with us,” said the giant at last. His voice was deep and monotonous. Fricking giant emo…
    I stared at them both again. “I can’t just leave my district.”
    “Bring them with you,” said the girl. “We need all of you—everyone does.”
    “We’ll come back for you tomorrow,” said the giant. “Let’s go, Sophie.”
    She moved closer again, and reached up her hands, touching my shoulders and standing on her toes. The giant watched me as, unsure of what to do, I brought her closer and blinked as this adorable girl maybe four years younger than me kissed my lips and then let me go. Something weird had come over me as soon as our lips had come in contact, but I wasn’t sure of what to do. My hands were at her waist and the music was, for once, separate from my entity.
    Something big…
    “Bye, Vincent.” She smiled and took the giant’s hand, moving back into the crowd.