
well-lit streets. She put her fingers up to her face, felt the wide nose and thin lips, the too-high forehead
and tangled mass of frizzy hair. One step out of the underbrush and she’d be spotted. Her face seemed
to burn as the light touched it. What was she doing here? She should be back in the darkness of
Uglyville, awaiting her turn.
But she had to see Peris, had to talk to him. She wasn’t quite sure why, exactly, except that she was
sick of imagining a thousand conversations with him every night before she fell asleep. They’d spent every
day together since they were littlies, and now…nothing. Maybe if they could just talk for a few minutes,
her brain would stop talking to imaginary Peris. Three minutes might be enough to hold her for three
months.
Tally looked up and down the street, checking for side yards to slink through, dark doorways to hide in.
She felt like a rock climber facing a sheer cliff, searching for cracks and handholds.
The traffic began to clear a little, and she waited, rubbing the scar on her right palm. Finally, Tally sighed
and whispered, “Best friends forever,” and took a step forward into the light.
An explosion of sound came from her right, and she leaped back into the darkness, stumbling among the
vines, coming down hard on her knees in the soft earth, certain for a few seconds that she’d been caught.
But the cacophony organized itself into a throbbing rhythm. It was a drum machine making its lumbering
way down the street. Wide as a house, it shimmered with the movement of its dozens of mechanical
arms, bashing away at every size of drum. Behind it trailed a growing bunch of revelers, dancing along
with the beat, drinking and throwing their empty bottles to shatter against the huge, impervious machine.
Tally smiled. The revelers were wearing masks.
The machine was lobbing the masks out the back, trying to coax more followers into the impromptu
parade: devil faces and horrible clowns, green monsters and gray aliens with big oval eyes, cats and dogs
and cows, faces with crooked smiles or huge noses.
The procession passed slowly, and Tally pulled herself back into the vegetation. A few of the revelers
passed close enough that the sickly sweetness from their bottles filled her nose. A minute later, when the
machine had trundled half a block farther, Tally jumped out and snatched up a discarded mask from the
street. The plastic was soft in her hand, still warm from having been stamped into shape inside the
machine a few seconds before.
Before she pressed it against her face, Tally realized that it was the same color as the cat-vomit pink of
the sunset, with a long snout and two pink little ears. Smart adhesive flexed against her skin as the mask
settled onto her face.
Tally pushed her way through the drunken dancers, out the other side of the procession, and ran down a
side street toward Garbo Mansion, wearing the face of a pig.
Best Friends Forever
Garbo Mansion was fat, bright, and loud.
It filled the space between a pair of party towers, a squat teapot between two slender glasses of
champagne. Each of the towers rested on a single column no wider than an elevator. Higher up they