It makes me want to kick them where the artificial Sun Realm sun don’t shine.
“Heyyy,” the center guy says again, raising a blue bottle. I notice they are all holding bottles, the girls’ pink, the guys’ blue. Then, speaking slowly, he says, “What are you all doingsh here?”
I wait for Tristan or Roc to reply. After all, this is their world. Instead, they’re silent. I glance from Tristan to Roc, and can almost feel the angry heat coming off of them. Evidently the way the guys were looking at Tawni and me pissed them off. I’m glad, but this isn’t the time for chivalry. Our position is precarious to say the least.
“We heard the best party is in this subchapter,” Trevor says, surprising us all.
The guys laugh and the girls titter, as if Trevor just made the funniest joke in the world. “Yoush got that right,” the spokesman says. “We were jusht about to havsh our own party. Wanna come?”
If the party involves slapping the drunken smiles off their faces, I’m in.
“Thanks anyway, man,” Tristan says, finally snapping out of his temper-induced haze. “We want to hear the band.”
“Are you sure, honey?” the blonde says to him. “We can make our own music.” Her flirting tone makes me dig my nails into my hands. Now I know how Tristan felt when the guy was undressing me with his eyes.
“Yes, but thank you all for the very kind offer,” Tristan says, using his most diplomatic voice.
“Hey, where’d yoush get those digs, anyway?” the guy asks, sweeping a hand across us, motioning to our battle outfits.
“It’s a new style coming out of subchapter one,” Roc says, lying easily. “I heard they’ll be selling them in every subchapter soon.”
“I gotsh to getsh me some of those.”
“You should,” Tristan says. “Well, we’ll see you all later. Have fun.” His voice is awkward and stiff, but the partygoers don’t seem to notice.
As we pass by them the blonde touches Tristan’s arm. “You look just as handsome as Tristan Nailin,” she says. “What’d you say your name was?”
Tristan goes beet red, but I know it’s not from the compliment. I’ve noticed he always seems uncomfortable with lying. I hold my breath, hoping he can overcome it now.
“I, uh, my name is…” Not looking good.
“Trevor,” he says finally, his face returning to its natural color as a smile crosses his face.
“All right, Trevor. I most certainly hope we see you later,” she sings. Ugh. If we weren’t about to get past them without a fight, I would relish knocking the bleach out of her hair and the fake tan off her skin. If only.
As if by some unspoken agreement, the five of us walk with our heads forward, forcing ourselves not to look back, which might appear suspicious. Just when we’re approaching the entrance to the subchapter and I think we’re home free, the guy yells behind us. “Hey!” We freeze, turn slowly, look at him. The alcohol has worn off, I think. He’s going to realize we don’t belong, recognize Tristan or one of us from the news, sound the alarm, give chase.
“I highly recommend the crowd-surfing,” he says instead. I smile, an easy smile that comes from a narrow, heart-pounding escape. I speak for the first time. “Thanks for the tip. We’ll do that,” I say.
My head’s spinning before we even slip through the entrance to the city. Our close encounter with the partiers, the pulse of the music slamming around in my head, the thrill of being thrust into the midst of the biggest celebration in the Tri-Realms: it all adds up to a muddled brain.
When we trot into the subchapter, all battle-clad and full of adrenaline, my jaw drops to the floor. A brilliant, yellow orb hangs high above the city, shooting shockingly bright light across everything beneath it. I try to look at the ball of light, but am instantly blinded, forcing me to use a hand as a visor. An artificial sun. Nothing could have prepared me for it. Compared to the dim, overhead lights of the Moon Realm, this subchapter is lighted as if by a thousand fires, and yet all that brightness comes from one big ball hanging from the cavern roof. After a few seconds the spots and stars clouding my vision dissipate, and I take in the rest of the scene before me, continuing to use a hand to shield my eyes from the artificial sunlight.
Although the other sun dweller city we passed through was beautiful and incredible—far surpassing anything I’d ever seen—it was empty of humans, the population getting a good night’s sleep before a day of fun and celebration. But this…this is just plain nuts.
The streets are wide and long and straight, jammed with thousands of people wearing the most colorful outfits I’ve ever seen. They’re moving their bodies in what I assume is meant to be dancing, but is more like convulsing, their hips gyrating to the beat while their arms flow over each other like waves. On top of the crowds are dozens of people doing what I’m pretty sure the drunk guy was referring to before: crowd-surfing. Hundreds of hands pass the bodies across the crowds, roaring with delight.
Everyone seems to have a drink of some sort in their hands. Some of them are blue and pink bottles like we saw before, while others hold crystalline mugs and conical glasses full of liquid of varying colors. Somehow most of them manage not to spill their drinks while they move like maniacs. I assume it must come from lots of practice.
The band, The Sun Rockers, is dead ahead, on a raised stage in the middle of the road. They’re wearing bright red, plasticky-looking outfits with pointed shoulders and knees. The lead singer’s black hair is sculpted into a red-tipped Mohawk. He’s clutching the microphone like a rope, using both hands, while he wails a melody about how he’s “gonna hit the party hard.”
“C’mon!” Tristan hisses, and I realize I’ve stopped and am just staring out at the crowd, while the others are moving down a ramp and into the fray.
“Act like the other sun dwellers,” I mumble to myself, recalling Tristan’s advice.
Jogging slightly, I catch up to the others, pushing in close to them as we form a little pod which we can hopefully use to push through the crowds. Tristan leads the way, slipping between the bodies, unafraid to bump and jostle his way through. I cling to Tawni’s back, while she clings to Roc, instantly feeling claustrophobic. Despite living underground my entire life, and having endured many tight crawlspaces and tunnels, this is far worse. Sweaty, churning bodies. Hands all over the place, unabashedly groping at me in all the wrong places. Cheering and screaming so loud I’m starting to worry I might lose a portion of my long-term hearing. I wasn’t prepared for this at all.
Hang on to Tawni. Just hang on. You’ll get through this just like everything else.
I can tell Tawni’s feeling the same way, unable to mask her horror as a tall, muscly, shirtless guy smacks her on the butt as she passes by.
“Just go to another place, Tawni,” I say, squeezing one of her shoulders. She glances back, manages a nod.