Read Online So Yesterday by Scott Westerfeld - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Scott Westerfeld
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handwriting."
"Didn't think so."
"They know my name."
"Of course they do. They
called a friend of yours, who saw the ID and answered, 'Hi, Hunter.' And the
next number they call, they say, 'Hey, I'm a friend of Hunter's,' and maybe ask
for your home number, and so on."
I nodded. Piece by piece, my identity would be sucked
out of the phone. Those Finns had done such a terribly good design job, making
it the center of my life, filled with my friends' names and numbers, my
favorite MP3s, pictures of my sock drawer.
I handed the tickets back. "So what are these
about?"
"Search me. Have you ever heard of Hoi Aristoi?"
A vague memory of prelaunch buzz trickled into my
mind. "I think it's the latest magazine for trendies with too much money.
A waste of trees. I think that Hillary Winston-hyphen-Smith did PR for
them."
Jen plucked one from my hand, turned it over, and
nodded.
"I guess they're exactly what they say they
are."
"Which is?"
"An invitation. And I suppose we should go."
Chapter
12
“GO?”
"We've got to, Hunter."
I stared at Jen in bewilderment.
"Look, they already know your name; they could
probably find out a lot more if they tried."
"Gee, that makes me feel better."
"But these tickets show they haven't yet. Because
what they really want to know is how far you're willing to go to find them."
"What are you talking
about?"
Jen pulled me deeper into the empty building, pointing
to a spot my unadjusted eyes couldn't see.
"They left the envelope there, right where the
boxes were. They knew that if you really gave a damn about all this, you'd come
back here, looking for Mandy and the shoes. So they left you a message: 'Want
to know more? Show up tonight.'"
"And save them the trouble of finding me."
She nodded. "Very clever of them. Because it's
the best way to find out who they are."
"It's the best way to wind up missing, like
Mandy."
Jen crossed her arms, staring at the blank expanse of
wall. "True, which would suck. So we have to do this in some way they
don't expect."
"How about not at all? They won't expect that, I
bet."
"Or maybe ..." Jen turned and touched my hair, pulling a strand of my longer right-side bangs
aside. She touched my cheek, and I felt my own heartbeat there beneath her
fingertips.
"That guy only saw you for a few seconds,"
she said. "Do you think he'd recognize you if he saw you again?"
I tried to ignore what Jen's touch was doing to me.
"Yes. Didn't we just learn that human beings are machines for turning
coffee into facial recognition?"
"Yeah, but it was pretty dark in here."
"He also saw us upstairs in the sunlight."
"But it was blinding up there, and you didn't
have your new haircut."
"My new what?"
"And the party invite says, 'Dress for
success—black tie preferred.' I bet you look completely different in a
tuxedo."
"I bet I look completely different with my face
caved in."
"Come on, Hunter. Don't you want a
makeover?"
Jen's fingers moved to my jaw, gently turning my head
so that she could see my profile. Her gaze lingered, so intent 1 could almost
feel it. I turned and looked into her eyes, and something sparked between us in
the darkness.
"I think shorter and blond," she said,
holding my gaze. "I do a mean dye job, you know."
I nodded slowly, so that her fingertips brushed along
my cheek. She dropped her hand and looked up at my bangs again. Like any
serious Logo Exile, Jen no doubt cut and colored her own hair. I imagined her
fingers massaging my wet scalp and knew the argument was over.
"Well," I said, "if they want to,
they'll find me sooner or later anyway."
Jen smiled. "Might as well look sharp when they
do."
************************************
"What would you usually wear to a formal
party?"
"Formal? Anything without a tie. I've got this
Nehru collar shirt. That and a black jacket, I guess."
"Right, sounds very you. So for the non-you we'll
go for a bow tie."
"A what?"
"They're over here, I think."
We were in a certain well-known store
"Didn't think so."
"They know my name."
"Of course they do. They
called a friend of yours, who saw the ID and answered, 'Hi, Hunter.' And the
next number they call, they say, 'Hey, I'm a friend of Hunter's,' and maybe ask
for your home number, and so on."
I nodded. Piece by piece, my identity would be sucked
out of the phone. Those Finns had done such a terribly good design job, making
it the center of my life, filled with my friends' names and numbers, my
favorite MP3s, pictures of my sock drawer.
I handed the tickets back. "So what are these
about?"
"Search me. Have you ever heard of Hoi Aristoi?"
A vague memory of prelaunch buzz trickled into my
mind. "I think it's the latest magazine for trendies with too much money.
A waste of trees. I think that Hillary Winston-hyphen-Smith did PR for
them."
Jen plucked one from my hand, turned it over, and
nodded.
"I guess they're exactly what they say they
are."
"Which is?"
"An invitation. And I suppose we should go."
Chapter
12
“GO?”
"We've got to, Hunter."
I stared at Jen in bewilderment.
"Look, they already know your name; they could
probably find out a lot more if they tried."
"Gee, that makes me feel better."
"But these tickets show they haven't yet. Because
what they really want to know is how far you're willing to go to find them."
"What are you talking
about?"
Jen pulled me deeper into the empty building, pointing
to a spot my unadjusted eyes couldn't see.
"They left the envelope there, right where the
boxes were. They knew that if you really gave a damn about all this, you'd come
back here, looking for Mandy and the shoes. So they left you a message: 'Want
to know more? Show up tonight.'"
"And save them the trouble of finding me."
She nodded. "Very clever of them. Because it's
the best way to find out who they are."
"It's the best way to wind up missing, like
Mandy."
Jen crossed her arms, staring at the blank expanse of
wall. "True, which would suck. So we have to do this in some way they
don't expect."
"How about not at all? They won't expect that, I
bet."
"Or maybe ..." Jen turned and touched my hair, pulling a strand of my longer right-side bangs
aside. She touched my cheek, and I felt my own heartbeat there beneath her
fingertips.
"That guy only saw you for a few seconds,"
she said. "Do you think he'd recognize you if he saw you again?"
I tried to ignore what Jen's touch was doing to me.
"Yes. Didn't we just learn that human beings are machines for turning
coffee into facial recognition?"
"Yeah, but it was pretty dark in here."
"He also saw us upstairs in the sunlight."
"But it was blinding up there, and you didn't
have your new haircut."
"My new what?"
"And the party invite says, 'Dress for
success—black tie preferred.' I bet you look completely different in a
tuxedo."
"I bet I look completely different with my face
caved in."
"Come on, Hunter. Don't you want a
makeover?"
Jen's fingers moved to my jaw, gently turning my head
so that she could see my profile. Her gaze lingered, so intent 1 could almost
feel it. I turned and looked into her eyes, and something sparked between us in
the darkness.
"I think shorter and blond," she said,
holding my gaze. "I do a mean dye job, you know."
I nodded slowly, so that her fingertips brushed along
my cheek. She dropped her hand and looked up at my bangs again. Like any
serious Logo Exile, Jen no doubt cut and colored her own hair. I imagined her
fingers massaging my wet scalp and knew the argument was over.
"Well," I said, "if they want to,
they'll find me sooner or later anyway."
Jen smiled. "Might as well look sharp when they
do."
************************************
"What would you usually wear to a formal
party?"
"Formal? Anything without a tie. I've got this
Nehru collar shirt. That and a black jacket, I guess."
"Right, sounds very you. So for the non-you we'll
go for a bow tie."
"A what?"
"They're over here, I think."
We were in a certain well-known store
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