I assume she still has hope—that much I gather from the fact that she doesn’t hate Tristan just because of who he is. The hopeless tend to be the hardest on the sun dwellers, particularly the ones in a position of power. I can also tell from her words that she harbors animosity toward her parents, presumably for something they’ve done, something that reflects badly on her. Maybe it’s all linked to why she’s in the Pen wasting her days away like me. But I’m only speculating.

I glance at Tawni and see that she’s looking toward the parade, so I turn back to watch. The lead car, in which Tristan is standing, is about to turn the corner. He’s waving to his adoring fans, smiling his mesmerizing smile, when he looks at me. Right at me, like his eyes are gun sights and I am their target. Despite the distance, they pierce me to my very soul, instantly warming my recently resurrected heart. I am captivated, frozen in place, like I’ve turned to stone. It’s as if there’s an invisible tether between our eyes linking us together. It’s not like I can read his mind or anything—nothing that farfetched—but I just feel something for him, like I know him. I don't know exactly—it’s hard to explain.

As I stare at him, his face changes. Gone is the smile. Gone are his piercing eyes. All swallowed up in a frown. At first I think I was rude, that I have stared too long, but then I feel a presence approaching from the side, a dark shadow.

I turn my head and see a guy.

I’ve seen him around the yard before. A teenager in a man’s body. Six-five, about two hundred and fifty pounds, covered in tats: he is one of the local gang leaders. Not a good guy.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says.

I ignore him and look at Tawni, hoping he will pass straight by me. He doesn’t. Tawni shrugs.

“Hey,” he says.

I keep ignoring him.

“I said ‘Hey,’” he repeats.

“I heard you the first time.” I still don’t look at him, not wanting to inadvertently extend an invitation with eye contact.

“You should watch your mouth,” he says.

“And you should keep on walking,” I say.

He doesn’t. “I haven’t seen you around before,” he says.

“You must be blind. I’m here every day.”

“Nah, I would’ve noticed you for sure,” the gang leader says.

Tawni shrugs again. I’m looking at her, but talking to the guy. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Leave me alone.”

I finally swivel my head and make eye contact with him, giving him my iciest stare. I know he’s not scared of me, but I want him to decide I’m not worth the effort.

“Not gonna happen,” he says, moving in close to me.

Something inside me snaps. I’m sick of people ruining my life, acting like they own me. He reminds me of the Enforcers who barged into our house and abducted my parents. Arrogant. Selfish.

I stand up, my teeth bared, my eyes on fire. My fire-eyes barely reach his chest. His sweat-stained tunic is right in my face and makes me nauseous. I push him as hard as I can, which doesn’t do much, but moves him back a couple of steps. My hands are knotted into fists. I hold them out in front of me, ready for the guy’s response.

“You’re a real bitch,” he says. “And you smell like filth. See you around.” He slowly turns and saunters off, chuckling to himself.

I take a deep breath, try to get control of my rage.

“That was amazing,” Tawni whispers from behind me.

I sit back down and try to relax my face as I look at her. Her eyes are wide. “He’s a jerk,” I say through clenched teeth.

“A scary jerk,” she says. “That was awesome how you stood up for yourself.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

Tawny shrugs for the third time. “Honestly, I probably would have tried to run away, or yell for help or something. Not fight—that’s for sure.”

Tawni’s eyes flick back to the fence and I follow her gaze. The parade. Tristan. I forgot all about him when the gang guy approached me.

But now Tristan is gone, the front of the parade having moved out of sight while I was dealing with the thug.

“That was pretty weird,” Tawni murmurs, still looking past the fence.

“What was?” I say, glancing at her furtively. Did she notice the way Tristan looked at me? Did she sense what I had? Had I imagined the look of concern on his face just before the confrontation with the gang guy, or had she seen it, too?

“I didn’t see many photographs being taken of Tristan during the parade. I thought the paparazzi would be out in full force.”

I roll my eyes at myself. Of course Tawni didn’t notice Tristan looking at me. Probably because he didn’t. He’d probably just looked in our general direction, past us. He was probably frowning at all of us—at the criminals. Disgusted by us. Clearly he wasn’t warning me about the approaching gangster. My mind has a way of playing tricks on me. My dad always said I have an overactive imagination. It’s gotten me into trouble more than once growing up. Like the time in Year One when I told everyone in my class about the swamp monster that was hiding in the janitor’s closet. Some of the kids freaked out, crying and screaming and stuff; one boy even peed his pants. Then Mrs. Windsor checked and discovered that my swamp monster was really a savage mop, clearly looking for a young child to feast on.

Yeah, in reality Tristan probably didn’t even look at me. I might have seen his head turn in my direction, perhaps a random glance at best, certainly not the laser-beamed, tethered gaze that I’d obviously imagined.

But still. There is no doubt I felt something for him.

I feel something for him.

“Helloooo? Earth to…What’s your name anyway?” Tawni waves her hand across my face—apparently I’ve spaced out, lost in my own random thoughts.

“Adele,” I find myself saying, to my surprise. Giving my name away so easily like that—what am I thinking? Tawni is penetrating my social defenses faster than a mine cave-in swallows a trapped traveler.

“Well, Adele, it has been a true pleasure meeting you and watching you handle that guy. Truly impressive, really. Would you like to dine with me and my friend Cole tonight?”

Dine? This girl has a funny way of speaking. Like she has no clue that we’re locked up in a juvenile detention center. And that we live underground. And that most of us will never get our freedom back. Certainly not me. Maybe she is just a few days from being released, which would certainly explain why she seems so cheery. I hope so. If I can’t get out, at least someone I know can.

“Uh, yeah, I guess so,” I say. “Thanks,” I add quickly, realizing how rude I sound.

“Great! Meet us in the northwest corner—we’ll reserve a table.”

There she goes again: speaking as if we’re going out to some fancy restaurant that accepts reservations. I shake my head and realize I’m smiling. Not my normal smile—no, I’m not ready for that yet—but slightly better than the crooked, awkward smile I attempted earlier. Maybe things are looking up for me. I’ve made a friend. At least, the closest thing to a friend I’ve had in a long time.

* * *

There are only two hours to kill before dinner, so I use the time to think. I start with the past—my happiest memories. My father coming home from a long day of work in the mines, filthy and dripping sweat, but bringing my sister and me a treat of some kind. Either a small gemstone that he’d smuggled out or a piece of candy he’d bought in town. He always seemed to have a twinkle in his eye and a bounce in his step, no matter how tired he was. Sometimes he even gave me a piggyback ride before he got cleaned up. My mother hated it when he did that, because then I’d have to take a bath before supper, too.

God, how I love my father.

I love my mother, too, but in a different way. She isn’t as playful as my father, is quicker to punish, and is less rebellious toward the sun dwellers. She says that it isn’t our place to tell the wise leaders—who’d gotten us through Year Zero, she likes to remind—how to run the government. I try to see her point, but it’s been nearly five hundred years since Year Zero, and all of the people from back then are long dead.