noise like that. And I’m not going to save you again.”
I open my mouth and take slow, silent breaths, straining to hear the warning sound of approach.
A long time passes—my legs begin to itch from standing still for so long. I sink down to the ground and sit on the grimy cement. Icy hands are on me, touching my face, wiping my arms. I pull away and whimper, expecting a knife in the back.
“Hold still, idiot,” Arrin breathes. I force myself to freeze beneath her hands. She keeps touching me, wiping grit onto every inch of my exposed skin. When no skin is left untouched, she whispers, “Take off your clothes.”
“What?”
“Hurry up! Just take them off. We need to trade.” Fabric rustles. A warm mass is dropped into my lap. Her clothes.
I pull my shirt over my head, and after taking the concealer out of the pocket, slip off my shorts, holding them in what I assume is her direction. She snatches them away.
“But first,” she whispers, “you need to wrap this around your … you know whats.” She drops something else in my lap, a long, thin strap of fabric.
“Wrap this around my what?” I ask, baffled.
“How dense are you? Do I seriously have to spell it out?” When I don’t answer, she blurts, “Around your knockers, Fo. No one’s going to believe you’re a boy if they get a look at those. Even if they are small. Sheesh.” She mutters under her breath as I struggle to bind my breasts, tying the fabric into a knot below my left armpit.
When I’m done, I fiddle with her clothes until I find the shirt. As I pull the stiff, greasy-feeling fabric over my head, I gag. The stench is unreal—sweat, urine, dirt, sewage. I pull on the pants, barely manage to squeeze them over my hips, and, sucking in my stomach, force them to button.
“You are so fat,” Arrin whispers, her voice filled with wonder. “It’s a good thing these shorts have a drawstring.”
I press on my bony hips. “I’m not fat.”
“Don’t you know a compliment when you hear one? You’re lucky. Even with the drawstring, your shorts will barely stay up on my bony butt.” Arrin inhales deeply. “And you smell like flowers, I think. I can’t quite remember.”
Flowers. I remember how they smell. Beds of lavender and forget-me-nots lined my driveway. Lis put lavender in matchless socks and stuck them in her drawers. She always smelled like lavender.
“It’s almost time to go,” Arrin whispers.
“Where?”
“Up. You’re going to pay me back. Double. Tonight. Remember?”
My heart starts drumming. Something in her voice makes me wonder what I have gotten myself into. “How am I paying you back, Arrin?”
She chuckles, and goose bumps shiver down my arms. “You’ll see.” The air shifts, and then she pulls me to my feet. “Now, someone is stalking my tunnel. You’ve got to walk behind me and hold on to my shirt. And don’t let go! Even if we have to run. Especially if we have to run.”
I nod and blindly run my hands over her bony body until I find the back of her shirt. And then we start walking through the black tunnels, and all I can think of is the person who was watching us, who might be about to pounce. Her shirt grows damp from my hand, and my feet squelch no matter how I tiptoe.
Chapter 5
“Why’s the ground so squishy?” I whisper.
“You’re walking on dried-up human sewage. Only it’s not completely dry,” she says, her voice barely audible.
I shudder.
“Haven’t you ever been down here, Fo?”
“No,” I say without thinking. And surely I’d remember a place like this. Wouldn’t I?
“Lucky you. It used to be worse—a canal of slime that reached up to my knees. I had to hide in it once, buried up to my nose.” She says it like she’s bragging.
I cringe and wonder if the clothes I’m wearing are the clothes she wore in the sewage.
“Don’t you wanna know why?” she asks.
“Why?”
“The militia was hunting me. Almost caught me, too. One of them waded right past me and didn’t see me because he didn’t look down.” She laughs under her breath.
“What happened?” I ask.
“They all got sick—the militia. They’re a bunch of wimps, can’t stand the smell down here, I guess. They started barfing up perfectly good food. A total waste. And then they left.”
“What is the militia?” I ask. Arrin stops walking.
“Seriously?” she says.
“Yeah.”
“You don’t know what the militia is?”
I search my muddled brain, trying to put