Among the Nameless Stars

held up his hands. “I was just helping him with this instrument.”
    “That’s what they all say.” She looked him up and down. “You don’t look like you have money, anyway.”
    Kai blinked at her in shock. He raised his head and looked over her shoulder, at the building she’d come from. There on the porch stood several other girls dressed in the same peculiar fashion. Some of them were leaning on the rails, watching the commotion. Others were lounging on the steps or the benches. Almost all had shadows under their eyes and garish colors smeared across their mouths.
    “What are you doing here?” the woman asked, narrowing her sunken eyes.

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    “I—” He looked at the girls on the porch, at the one in front of him. “I was looking for work, actually.”
    She laughed, but there was no mirth in the sound. “There’s only one kind of work on this street.”
    Understanding swept through Kai. “I didn’t come here … I didn’t know. . . .”
    “No?” she said. “Well, then, you’re more stupid than you look.”
    “I was just trying to help your son with his string box—”
    “My son !” she cried. “How old do you think I am? That’s my brother !”
    Kai backed away a few steps, his mouth open in dismay. “I’m sorry. I —” What? He was too hungry to see straight? He was too famished to pay much attention to what she looked like? His legs would probably give out underneath him if she gave him so much as a halfway decent push?
    Suddenly, the air was filled with the sound of a string box chord. Both Kai and the girl looked down at the little boy, who had finished stringing the rest of the box and was playing. The sound was heavy and blunt from the thickness of the strings, but the boy played well despite it.
    He looked up at Kai, his smile the first true one Kai had seen in days. Possibly longer. “I fixed it!” the boy exclaimed. “Thanks, mister.”
    The girl stared at him, and her expression softened just a tad. “Do I really look that old?”
    Kai shook his head. “No.” Now that he had a chance to look, he could see that she was probably no more than a year or two older than he was. “I’m just not thinking clearly right now. I haven’t eaten in a while.”
    “Hmph.” She regarded him for a long moment, then sighed. “Come back tonight, after sunset. I’ll meet you by that tree.” She pointed. “But get out of here now. I’ll get in trouble if I talk too long to anyone who’s not a paying customer.” Then she put her hands on the boy’s Among the Nameless Stars by Diana Peterfreund
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    shoulders and steered him back toward the house. The kid held tight to the string box, still playing.
    Kai felt the eyes of every girl on the porch boring into his back as he walked away.

    Dear Elliot,
    I’m beginning to wonder if there are worse things that could happen than working for Pen.
    Starvation’s the one I think about the most, but I know there are others. I ate tonight, because a girl that’s worse off than me gave me some food. In five minutes of talking to her I knew that she was smart, she was caring, and she was way better than what she’s doing for a living. But it doesn’t make a difference. Once, she was desperate, too, and now she looks on every new day with dread. And she can’t run either. She has a brother to look after.
    Do you know what she told me?
    She said she envies me. If I take the job Pen offers, I’ll be a mechanic, which is a good job, an honest job. Even if it’s for Pen. This girl never had a choice like that. Not when she was on her estate and not now.
    I’ve been worried that if I take this job, I’d lose myself. But today I saw what losing yourself looks like. She lives for her brother now. Who will I have if I lose myself?
    So I think she might be right. I’m good at the job Pen wants me to do, and it’s one I’ve always liked.
    If I remember that, perhaps I’ll be all right.
    But I’m still glad I’ll never send you this letter. I’m glad you’ll never know.
    Yours,
    Kai

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Seven
    If Kai had money like Pen, he’d live in nicer quarters than Pen did. He’d surround himself with fine art and comfortable furnishings. And books. Miles and miles of books. From what he could tell of Pen’s gloomy house, there were no books at all.
    Perhaps the bully couldn’t read.
    He was ushered into a large room where many Posts milled