The Summer Prince by Alaya Dawn Johnson

ago, remember? Everyone will think I’m just imitating her.”
    “And the graffiti? We both know you’re great at that.” He flashes me a smile and I catch myself wondering how much the bots can hear, and if anyone could possibly put together his cryptic statement with the painting that interrupted the royal tour six days ago.
    “Not so great,” I say way too casually, and then Gil finally realizes that maybe we should be more careful.
    The truth is, I am good at graffiti, but I’m not sure I’m better than the big grafiteiros from the verde, and I don’t know how the Queen feels about it as an art form. It’s not technically illegal in public spaces, but the bots sure do get rid of it quickly.
    “Oh, God,” I say, burying my head in my hands, “I have no idea! I swear, I could kill Auntie Yaha.”
    “You’d rather not be a finalist?”
    I glower at him, because he knows I wanted this more than anything. It’s more than a second chance: It’s the only chance.
    Gil rubs my arm. “When they see what you can do, no one will care who your stepmother is.”
    A moment later, the lights dim to a cool twilight. Auntie Isa walks onto the stage, wearing her official red turban.
    “Thank you, all,” she says when she reaches the podium. “Tonight marks the beginning of a very special time for all citizens of our great city. We Aunties and the Queen are incredibly pleased by the election of Enki as our new summer king, and we have full confidencethat he will fulfill the duties of the position as befits the royalty of Palmares Três.”
    She waits for dutiful applause, while Gil and I look at each other meaningfully. “Looks like Enki has already pissed off the Aunties,” I say.
    “I bet they’re even sadder they didn’t rig it for Pasqual.”
    “And now, I present to you our summer king!”
    Auntie Isa steps to the side of the podium, clapping her gloved hands politely. Gil and I go crazy, along with about half the audience. Now that I’m here my heart pounds and my lights flash and all I can think is how much I want to see his face again. Gil is so lucky.
    Enki walks out. He wears all black this time, and it reminds me of my hunting outfit. But who would he have to hide from, up on that stage?
    He waits for the noise to subside, though it takes a while. In the meantime, he nods politely at a few familiar faces in the audience: Gil, a few of the Aunties, the ambassador from Tokyo 10. His eyes slide over me like water. I had wondered if he even saw me, suspended in the air above Gil. I suppose I have my answer.
    Eventually we grow quiet and Enki smiles. Gil groans a little.
    “Thank you,” he says, as though he means it. “Here’s something I thought you might like.”
    I have time to catch Auntie Maria glancing at the woman next to her, and then there’s a noise like a rainstorm and the whole world disappears.
    For a moment, I think I’ve gone blind. Then someone two rows away flashes a portable light and I realize what’s happened.
    The lights — the famous lights of Palmares Três — have gone out.
    “June?”
    That’s Gil, groping for my hand. People are shouting. Nearby, someone prays.
    And then, as abruptly as they went out, the lights come back on.
    The room goes eerily silent. We look around. It’s not hard to see what’s changed.
    There are about thirty wakas onstage instead of Enki. They’re dressed in fraying sackcloth and their feet are bare. From the back of the audience, the drums start.
    It’s a mad rhythm, reminiscent of what Enki did for the Queen, but wilder. The wakas onstage move as if they might die if they sit still. Beside me, Gil is gaping. His hips twitch. A camera bot comes too close and bounces off my forehead. The audience seems torn between laughter and outrage. En masse, the Aunties leave their seats in the first two rows and head deep into Royal Tower for damage control.
    It takes me a moment to recover from my surprise and understand what this means. The wakas are