"John Kessel - The Juniper Tree" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kessel John)

a mother. A father was of no consequence—everybody had a dozen fathers, or none at all.

Instead she met Carey. And, through dumb luck, it had seemed to work. Carey's grandmother, Margaret
Emmasdaughter, had known Nora Sobieski personally. His mother was Eva Maggiesdaughter, chair of
the Board of Matrons, by some measures the most powerful woman in the colony.

Some of the players started skating big circles on the oversized rink. She watched Carey build up a head
of steam, grinning, his blond hair flying behind him. On the next time round he pulled off his glove, skated
past the penalty box, winked, and gave her five as he flew by. The heavy gold ring he wore left a welt on
her palm; just like Carey to hurt her with his carelessness, but she could not help but smile.

The first time she had met Carey a check she threw during practice nearly killed him. Roz had not gotten
completely adjusted to skating in one-sixth G, how it was harder to start and stop, but also how much
faster you got going than on earth. Carey had taken the full brunt of her hit and slammed headfirst into the
boards. Play stopped. Everyone gathered around while he lay motionless on the ice.

Carey turned over and staggered to his feet, only his forehead showing above his shoulder pads. His
voice came from somewhere within his jersey. “Watch out for those earth women, guys.”

Everyone laughed, and Carey poked his head out from below his pads. His bright green eyes had been
focused on Roz's, and she burst out laughing, too.

When her father moved in with Eva, Carey became the brother she had never had, bold where she was
shy, funny where she was sober.

Coach blew her whistle and they did two-on-one drills for the rest of the practice. Afterward Roz sat on
a bench in the locker room taping the blade of her stick. At the end of the bench Maryjane flirted with
Stella in stage whispers. Roz tried to ignore them.

Carey, wrapped only in a towel, sat down next to Roz and checked to see whether the coaches were in
earshot. She liked watching the way the muscles of his chest and arms slid beneath his skin, so much that
she tried hard not to look at him. He leaned toward her. “Hey, High-G—you interested in joining the
First Imprints club?”

“What's that?”

He touched her on the leg. He always touched her, seemingly chance encounters, elbow to shoulder,
knee to calf, his forehead brushing her hair. “A bunch of us are going to meet at the fountains in the
dome,” Carey said. “When the carnival is real crazy we're going to sneak out onto the surface. You'll
need your pressure suit—and make sure its waste reservoir vent is working.”

“Waste reservoir? What for?”

“Keep your voice down!”

“Why?”

“We're going to climb Shiva Ridge and pee on the mountaintop.” He tapped the finger on her leg. His
touch was warm.