The Night Market by Zachary Rawlins Page B

liked it even less the
second time.
    “I just might. Anyway, my turn again...”
    “What! No way! You just went!”
    “And then you asked me to explain myself,” Jenny crowed,
poking absently at the burning embers near the edge of the campfire with her
fingertip. “Which was a waste of a question, but that’s too bad.”
    Yael ran her fingers through her tired, greasy hair.
    “You are not as stupid as I thought, Miss Frost.”
    “Don’t give me any chances. I will disappoint you.”
    “Ask.”
    “What about your parents?”
    “What about them?”
    “You haven’t said word one about your dad, and barely
mentioned your stepmother. How do they fit into this?”
    “My father is busy,” Yael said, the words turning
bitter in the air in a way that took her by surprise. Yael did not think that
she resented him. It was something she had accepted long ago. “My stepmother forgot
her stepson and was probably pleased to do so. I would imagine neither of them
misses me too terribly. What more do you need to know?”
    “What about your mom? Your real mom?”
    The smile was perfect. Yael had many opportunities,
after all, to practice it, given the number of times she had been asked that
question. She might never feel good about the situation, but at the very least,
it didn’t have to show – a sentiment that she had learned, oddly enough, from
her stepmother.
    “She died when I was a baby. I don’t remember her at
all.”
    “Won’t your parents call the police? Put your face on
the back of milk cartons?”
    “What?”
    Jenny gestured in the air in the shape of a box.
    “You know, milk cartons. The paper kind that comes
with school lunch. Pictures of missing kids on the back. Any of this ring a
bell?”
    Yael shook her head slowly.
    “That seems weird; a world without milk cartons. Or,
maybe – hey, are you rich?”
    Yael might have been spending too much time wearing a
mask. Because her face didn’t seem to want to disguise anything.
    “Cool,” Jenny said with satisfaction, lying back on
her elbows. “Bonus answer. That must be great. I always wanted to be rich and
never have to try at anything.”
    “My turn,” Yael snapped defensively. “What about you,
Miss Frost? What did you leave behind?”
    Jenny blew a large pink bubble, then popped it, the
routine so graceful and thoughtless that it must have been the result of long
practice.
    “Bad experiences. That is just the kinda place I grew
up. Nobody stays in Lost Creek if they can figure a way out.”
    “And you ended up here by accident?”
    “I doubt it.”
    “That is pretty vague,” Yael said, yawning and taking
her own sleeping bag from her duffel.
    “You didn’t exactly write a novel yourself, Princess.”
    “Fine. I’m tired, anyway,” Yael said, scarcely able to
believe it herself as the lids of her eyes grew heavy despite her alarming companion
and her own anxieties. “Is it okay to sleep outside?”
    “You kidding? Oh, I keep forgetting you just got here.
In the Waste you wanna be undercover when the moon is full. Damndest thing, but
I would swear that it gets bigger as the month goes on. Anyway, no. We sleep
under there.”
    Jenny pointed, and Yael could barely see what appeared
to be an outcropping. The fire provided inconsistent light, so it took a moment
to make out the small tent made from a drab plastic roughly the same color as
the ground. The narrow end of the tent was wedged into a small space covered by
an angular ledge, hardly enough room to fit, so low she would have to crawl.
    “Might as well turn in,” Jenny grumbled, kicking dirt
over the ashes of the fire. “God I hate this place. So boring.”
    “Miss Frost, why do we have to sleep in there? It
seems warm enough, and I have my sleeping bag...”
    “You’ll see,” Jenny said grimly. “I couldn’t describe it if I tried.”

 
6. 
Cosmic Horror Slumber Party
     
    The night is very long and the dawn phosphorous bright,
like taking a bite from a lemon. Warm and