"Scott Westerfeld - Uglies 03 - Specials" - читать интересную книгу автора (Westerfeld Scott)

of noise drifted through her ears: screams from a girl dancing next to Tachs, a rumbling beat from where
Ho stood close to the speakers, and under it all the distracting things Shay was whispering in her random
boy's ear. It was like being five people at once, as if Tally's consciousness were smeared across the
party, sucking in its energy in a blend of noise and light.
She took a deep breath and headed toward the edge of the clearing, seeking the darkness
outside the hoverglobes' light. She could watch better from out there, keep better hold of her clarity.
As she moved, Tally found it was easier to dance, going with the crowd's motion rather than
forcing a path through it. She allowed herself to be pushed randomly through the throng, like when she let
high wind currents guide her hoverboard, imagining herself a bird of prey.
Closing her eyes, Tally drank the bash in through her other senses. Maybe this was what being
special was really all about: dancing along with the rest of them, while feeling like the only real person in
the crowd…
Suddenly, hairs stiffened on the back of Tally's neck, her nostrils flaring. A scent, distinct from the
human sweat and spilled beer, sent her mind reeling back to ugly days, to running away, to the first time
she'd been alone out in the wild.
 She smelled smoke—the clinging reek of a campfire.
Her eyes opened. City uglies didn't burn trees, or even torches; they weren't allowed to. The
party's only light came from the strobing hoverglobes and the half-risen moon.
The scent must have come from somewhere Outside.
Tally moved in widening circles, casting her eyes over the crowd, trying to find the source of the
smell.
No one stood out. Just a bunch of clueless uglies dancing their heads off, arms flailing, beer flying.
No one graceful or confident or strong…
Then Tally saw the girl.
She was slow-dancing with some boy, whispering in his ear intently. His fingers twitched
nervously across her back, their movements unconnected to the music's beat—the two looked like littlies
on an awkward playdate. The girl's jacket was tied around her waist, as if she didn't mind the cold. And
along the inside of her arm lay a pattern of pale squares where sunblock patches had been stuck.
This girl spent a lot of time outside.
As Tally moved closer, she caught the scent of wood smoke again. Her new and perfect eyes
saw the coarseness of the girl's shirt, woven from natural fibers, lined with stitched seams and giving off
another strange smell…detergent. This garment wasn't designed to be worn and then tossed into a
recycler; it had to be washed, lathered up with soap, and pounded against stones in a cold stream. Tally
saw the imperfect shape of the girl's hair—cut by hand with metal scissors.
"Boss," she whispered.
Shay's voice came back sleepily. "So soon, Tally-wa? I'm having fun."
"I think I got a Smokey."
"You sure?"
"Positive. She smells like laundry."
"I see her now," Fausto's voice cut through the music. "Brown shirt? Dancing with that guy?"
"Yeah. And she's tanned."
There was an annoyed, distracted sigh, a few mumbled apologies as Shay disentangled herself
from her ugly boy. "Any more?"
Tally scanned the crowd again, making her way around the girl in a wide circle, trying to catch
another whiff of smoke. "Not as far as I can tell."
"Nobody else looks funny to me." Fausto's head bobbed nearby, winding his own path toward
the girl. From the other side of the bash, Tachs and Ho were closing in.
"What's she doing?" Shay asked.
"Dancing, and …" Tally paused, her eyes catching the girl's hand slipping into the boy's pocket.
"She just gave him something."