“They’re awful because I don’t have one. They’re awful because I’m sixteen, and a sixteen-year-old shouldn’t envy a twelve-year-old.”
A face appears in the window next to hers, the ghostly reflection of a girl with bushy red hair and big ears. When Iris glances at her, she discovers that the redhead is wearing Tell-Me-Anything. Iris knows because she is seized by a sudden desire to blurt out the truth, that she lied about being part of their group so she could get a free glass of Sparklefroth. She quickly directs her stare back to the clouds, a turmoil of red and gold smoke.
“The sun is pretty dumb, huh?” says Tell-Me-Anything. “I mean, so it’s really there. So what?”
“Boring,” Iris agrees. “Maybe if it did something. But it just floats there making light.”
“Yeah. I wish it was hot enough to set fire to something.”
“Like what?”
“Like anything. The clouds. Some birds or something. Oh, well. After we get done with the stupid scenic part of the party we’ll have fun. After the stars come out, we get to ride in Drop Bubbles. I know a secret about you.” She says this last with no change in tone and waits with a sly smile for Iris to register it. Tell-Me-Anything continues, “The waiter thinks you’re part of our group. He asked if I wanted to bring you a slice of cake, and he called you Ms. Paget, but you aren’t Sydney Paget. She’s at a funeral. She couldn’t be here today. Here’s your cake.” She offers a saucer with a tiny round chocolate cake on it.
Iris accepts. She thinks, I’m having cake at the top of the Spoke while the sun goes down, just like I wanted. It is, oddly, even more delicious knowing she doesn’t belong.
“Are you going to ride down in a Drop Bubble? Sydney’s bubble is all paid for.”
“I guess if no one is using it,” Iris says cautiously.
“But if I tell, they won’t let you. What will you give me not to tell?”
A bite of cake sticks in Iris’s throat. It requires a conscious effort for her to swallow.
“Why would they let a Drop Bubble go to waste if it’s paid for?”
“They’re expensive. They’re so expensive. Mr. Danforth is going to ask about a refund when he goes downstairs. But if you wait and go right after us, you could float down and land and walk out before he can get his money back. He has to talk to customer service, and it’s a really long line. What would you do to keep me from telling?”
Iris hums to herself. “Tell you what, kid. Want a mermaid?” Lifting the aquaball under one arm to show it off.
The redhead wrinkles her nose. “Ugh. No thank you.”
“What then?” Iris asks, not sure why she’s indulging her pint-size extortionist.
“Have you ever seen a sunset before? A real one?”
“No. I’ve never been above the clouds before.”
“Good. You aren’t going to see this one either. You have to miss it. That’s the deal. Liars don’t get to have all the goodies. If you want a free ride in a Drop Bubble, you have to close your eyes until I say. You have to miss the last of the sunset.”
Cake sits in Iris’s stomach like a lump of wet concrete. She opens her mouth to tell the little blackmailer to take a long walk out an open window.
Chip speaks first. “I have an alternative suggestion. I have recorded this conversation. How about we play it for Mr. Danforth? I wonder how he’ll feel about you tossing around threats and trying to cheat him out of his refund.”
Tell-Me-Anything totters back a step, blinking rapidly. “No,” she says. “You wouldn’t. I’m only twelve. You wouldn’t do that to a twelve-year-old. I’d cry.”
Iris turns and for the first time looks Tell-Me-Anything right in her false new face, lets herself be swept up by the full psychotropic force of her mask.
“If there’s one thing prettier than a sunset,” Iris says, “it’s seeing little shits cry.”
9.
The clouds shimmer, piles of golden silk. Chip registers 1,032 variations in the light, ranging from canary to a hue the color of blood stirred into cream. There are shades here he’s never witnessed, lighting up optic sensors that have not been tested since he was assembled in Taiwan. They watch until the sun drops into the slot of the horizon and is gone.