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R.J. hangs up.

CHAPTER 9

MADDY IS ABSOLUTELY certain of one thing: R.J. is not going to break her. She’ll prove that she’s the best thing that ever happened to the New York City public defender’s office.

She downloads a Temporary Release form on her handheld, forwards it to the NYC Judicial Procedure Office, and, within a few minutes, receives approval to accompany Belinda on a “necessary departure and absence” release for two hours.

When Belinda changes out of her prison uniform and into her “work” clothes, Maddy is surprised to see someone who actually looks like… well, not a woman but a middle school student who’s late for geometry class—backpack, blue polo shirt with the alligator insignia, black skinny jeans.

Maddy can’t help but say, “Wow. Not what I was expecting.”

Mistake. Belinda snarls a tiny bit and speaks.

“What were you expecting? A T-shirt that says,IDEALDRUGS,BOGOTODAY?”

Maddy says, “My mistake, sorry. Just tell me where we’re going.”

Where they quickly end up is a badly lit parking area beneath Second Avenue and the 59th Street Bridge.

What Maddy sees are three other girls, all of them dressed and groomed like Belinda. As a group they could be waiting for the school bus.

“You understand this yet?” Belinda asks.

“I’m beginning to,” Maddy answers.

Then she sees one of Belinda’s friends, a girl who is actually dressed in a navy-blue jumper over a white blouse with a Peter Pan collar, looking like the Catholic school girls she’d see in books and movies from a hundred years ago. The girl is talking to a very ordinary middle-aged guy. The guy is chubby. A significant glob of belly hangs over his belt. They talk for a few minutes. The guy nods. Then they disappear behind a filthy NYC Sanitation truck, the girl glancing over her shoulder as they go.

A black Lexus pulls up and stops. Another “coworker” of Belinda’s approaches the driver’s side and begins talking to the driver. Maddy steps a little closer. What surprises her is the driver’s good looks—college type, early twenties, not unlike the finance guys from dinner the other day.

“I just don’t get it,” Maddy says. “That guy looks like his dealer should be wearing a three-piece suit and deliveringto his door. He’s not the kind I expect to see on the street, buying drugs.”

“It’s real simple, lady. He wants to feel like a badass, he wants to take the risk of getting caught. For some people, the drugs aren’t even the point. They like thefeelingof doing something bad. Others, they like to come down here and see how the other half lives, then go back to their high-rise, taking what they bought with them.”

“Poverty tourism,” Maddy says, shivering.

“Yep,” Belinda agrees. “And some of them get it in their heads that they’re actually helping us, you know? Like I had one of my regulars apologize to me because he bought off someone else, in a nicer part of town. And I’m like, bitch, you think I didn’t sell that shit to someone else?”

“Wow,” Maddy says, watching as the girl and her customer emerge from behind the sanitation truck. He pulls on her elbow, stopping her from walking out onto the street until a car passes. “They really do think they’re helping you, don’t they?”

Belinda snorts. “What they don’t know is, nobody can help girls like us.”

CHAPTER 10

JESSICA, MARGO, MADDY, and I are seated in front of our Communication Vector, a massive screen dedicated solely to watching events outside the United States.

Today we are watching the Oberon Awards for Literacy and Peace. The ceremony takes place in Copenhagen, Denmark. I was on the voting committee. Actually, I was chairperson of the committee, but I’ve been sworn not to blab. It’s hard not to spoil the winner for the others, but we’ve had so little clean, good fun recently that I’m sitting on it—not that everyone appreciates that.

“In five minutes we’re going to know who the winner is anyway,” Margo says. “So why don’t you just tell us now?”

I shake my head no and stay focused on the lavish ceremony on the screen. The only thing I say is, “Maddy, you can stop trying to intercept my brain patterns. I’ve enforced a mental barrier that prohibits you from entering. Maybewith another year of training you’ll be able to connect to me. But you’ve got a long way to go.”

Then Jessica says, “Everybody quiet down. The guy who runs Denmark…”

“Sometimes called ‘the king,’” Margo says with a wry smile.

“Is about to announce the winner,” Jessica goes on, ignoring the interruption.

The translation at the bottom of the screen tells us what the king is saying: