something about bacon, her voice a deep grumble. I try to block her out by focusing on the rhythm of dripping water—a liquid metronome. My fingers move to the beat, tapping out the notes to the second movement of Beethoven’s Seventh against my thigh, and as I play the silent music, I cry myself to sleep.
Chapter 4
“First thing we have to do is cut your hair.”
I still hear the rhythm of water dripping onto water. Beethoven’s Seventh still haunts my groggy brain, keeping time with the dripping.
“And then we’ll make you dirty. Really filthy. You stand out, and not in a good way. Sad fact about cleanliness—it makes you a minority if you’re on the wrong side of the wall. Who are you, anyway?”
I open my tear-crusted eyes, and the music in my head jolts to a stop. A glowing candle flashes against Arrin’s close face. She sits cross-legged beside my head, holding a rusty dagger in one hand, tugging my hair out of the neck of my shirt with the other. I push against the cement floor and sit. “What are you doing?” I croak, staring at the knife.
“Waking you up, idiot. The early bird always gets the worm. And I have a mighty big worm that needs getting.”
“What time is it?” I wonder aloud, looking at my empty left wrist. I always wear a watch. Correction—wore.
“There is no time down here,” Arrin says, rubbing a strand of my hair between her thumb and finger. “So, what are you doing on the wrong side of the wall?”
I think about the meaning behind her words. At least I try to. But I don’t know what she’s talking about. “You mean, what was I doing out in the street? Last night?”
“Duh.” She rolls her eyes.
My brother’s face wavers in my mind. A younger face, smiling, gentle. Not how he was yesterday—if that was yesterday. But there’s no way I’m going to tell Arrin that I was running from my own brother. “I was running from … something.”
“Yeah, I got that. You caught the attention of the raiders. What’d you do to make them come after you?”
“Them?” I think of the shadows running down the street toward me just after sunset and shrug. “Nothing.”
“Whatever. I totally saved your butt. They never let anyone get away, especially girls. And now you’ve got to repay me. Double. As soon as possible, because I can’t have you depending on me for anything. Including water.” She glares at the pot I drank from the night before. “And if you want to succeed in that payment, you gotta look like a boy, and you gotta be dirty.” She lifts the dagger, and candlelight flickers against the rusty blade. I lean away and press a hand to my neck.
“I’m not going to kill you, idiot. You’re worth too much alive. The knife’s for your hair,” she says.
I grab my hair and wind it around my hand. It hangs down to my hips—longer than I remember it ever being in my life. And thicker.
Arrin rolls her eyes. “Yeah. So it’s glossy and smooth and the color of wheat. You’d be in a shampoo commercial if we still had television. Thing is, no one but the lice can appreciate it down here. Just hold still.” She holds the knife toward me, and I flinch. “Look, Fo. You’ll be thanking me for getting rid of it. Trust me.”
I hug my knees to my chest. The knife saws against my hair, tearing it from my scalp more than cutting it. But then I feel a release, and my sheared hair falls around my shoes in a shiny, honey-gold pile. Arrin takes a chunk of the hair still attached to my scalp and hacks it even shorter, until she’s moved around the entire back of my head. Until I imagine I look just like her—short, uneven hair on the back and sides of my head, chin-length hair in front that covers most of my face. Totally ugly. My mother would be mortified. The thought makes my heart ache. Where is my mother?
Arrin grins, a flash of teeth as dingy as her skin. “Perfect,” she says, eyeing my hair. Her breath smells like the tunnels. “Are you rested? Because the sun is going to set in a couple of hours. And that’s when you are going to pay me back. Double.”
“Right.” My stomach growls, and I remember the half-eaten pack of crackers from Jacqui. I take them from my pocket and slide one into