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  “Go with your friend,” said Fossick and handed Blossom the ziplock bag of market bucks. “I am going to have coffee and catch up on the news.”

  Turned out that Blossom took the same approach to shopping that Lynn did. She was thorough and tireless and orderly.

  They stopped at every stand. Apples, rainbow chard, filberts, fancy mushrooms, lettuce, honey, little yellow squash with necks, kale chips, jam, cheese, pink salt, chocolate cookies, woven bracelets, green onions, greeting cards made of felt, bread, scones, scarves, doughnuts and the Locavore Action Committee. Blossom chose with care, pulling market bucks out of the bag.

  They bought in quantity — boxes of berries, a crate of greens, rounds of cheese, a case of jam, a big bag of bread — making several trips back to the table.

  Lynn thought of those hanging wire baskets at the cottage.

  “Do you have room to store all this?”

  “Oh, we deliver most of it to friends on the way home. The bikes are heavier on the way back but it’s downhill.”

  “You give it away?”

  “Most of it. But first we have the best lunch. Look, here’s BeanMan. Do you like hummus?”

  When they ran out of money, they went back to their table. Behind it, Fossick was napping on the ground, his jacket folded into a pillow under his head.

  Lynn took the chance to stare. Awake, his face was so alive, so there that she hadn’t really wondered about his age. Sleeping, he looked older, but there was still a ghost of a smile on his lips, like one of those Buddha statues.

  The statue came to life with a snort when Blossom bounced an apple off his stomach. They sat behind the table and dipped into the snacks.

  The Underlanders had their own approach to eating, combining things every which way. Lynn had always prided herself on being brave on the food front, so she tried it all. Green onions and honey on scones turned out to be excellent. Also apples with a sprinkle of salt.

  The thing that surprised her most, however, was Fossick’s approach to lettuce. He bit into it as though it was a large, leafy apple. Lettuce shards flew around.

  He reached into the shopping bags, searching. “Are there more of those doughnuts?”

  “No,” said Blossom. “All gone. Should I go get some more?”

  Fossick turned over the ziplock bag and waved it in the air. “No more bucks.”

  Lynn felt a flicker of self-consciousness. She had been chowing down with gusto and she had money.

  “Um, I think I ate the last one. I can go get some market bucks at the front there and buy some more. ”

  “Goodness me, no,” said Fossick, lacing his hands across his stomach. “We have plenty of food here and doughnuts won’t travel home very well to Larch. But thank you.”

  Lynn looked at the empty ziplock bag and felt the bulk of her wallet in her pocket. All morning she had felt like one of the gang and now she felt like an outsider, like a tourist to the Underland.

  “Can I ask a question about, like, about money and all that? I don’t want to be rude.”

  “Wait not upon your asking,” said Fossick, sitting cross-legged on the ground.

  “Do you always spend all the money you make while you’re here? Don’t you cash any market bucks in for real money so you can save it?”

  Blossom shook her head. “No. Not usually.”

  Fossick tossed some dried blueberries into his mouth.

  “It’s better to leave money in the place you find it. Keeping it, hoarding it, transporting it — that’s when it starts to cause problems.”

  “But what if something comes up and you need to buy something. Something you can’t make or find or trade for? Like, oh, I don’t know.” Lynn did a quick reckoning of all the things you needed money for and came up with a blank.

  “Once we figured out dentistry, there wasn’t that much else. Toilet paper we need to buy, and underwear. A few bus tickets. But we have money from returns for that.”

  “But wouldn’t it be better just to work for money? I mean, money you can use for anything. It’s not like you don’t work. You seem to work all the time.”

  “No. It wouldn’t be better to work for money. The game’s not worth the candle.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It’s from card games from long ago. The chances of winning are not worth the cost of burning a candle to light the game.”

  “I don’t get it. What’s the card game and what’s the candle?”

  “The card game is citizen life, working for money, using all your time and energy and creativity to earn money so that you can accumulate more and more things that you think will make you happy. Sofas and cellphones and — oh, I don’t know — collector plates. Then you just throw those things away. The candle that you burn is your soul.”

  Lynn thought of her new boots. “But I like things. They do make me happy.”

  “Me, too,” said Blossom.

  Fossick looked a bit startled. “They do?”

  Blossom nodded. “Sometimes.” She held out her wrist. “Like my bracelet.”

  “But there are so many things in the world already. Did you know that there is a billion square feet of self-storage in America? That’s a billion square feet of stuff that nobody is using. There are already enough things without making new ones. We can just use what we’ve got. Fix it and use it. All this racing around earning and shopping and saving. It’s all just dancing for doughnuts.”

  “But I like donuts,” said Blossom.

  “Me, too,” said Lynn.

  Fossick put the back of his hand to his forehead. “Woe is me! Rebellion in the ranks! Getting and spending we lay waste our lives! Doughnuts are not the goal of human existence. Doughnuts are not the endpoint of evolution. Doughnuts do not give our lives meaning.” With each sentence his voice got louder.

  Lynn glanced sideways. Several people were standing at the table, staring.

  Fossick cleared his throat and grinned. “Oh, all right. I concede. End of sermon. I like doughnuts, too. Obviously. It’s human to like doughnuts. I’ve changed my mind. If you would like to buy us three more doughnuts, Lynn, we would enjoy that very much, especially if they are the kind with jam in them.”

  As she and Blossom stood in the doughnut line, Tron reappeared.

  “It’s on,” he said. He was bouncing on his toes. “Wednesday night. Want to see something amazing, citizen girl?”

  What was it about Tron that seemed to drive words away?

  “Uh. Sure.”

  “Okay, Blossom will fill you in on the details.”

  “We’re getting doughnuts,” said Blossom. “Want one?”

  “No. No refined sugar. My body is a temple.” He walked away, graceful as a lion.

  Blossom shook her head. “Wednesday. Wait till he tells Fossick. Come on. Doughnuts.”

  The market bucks kiosk was crowded. “So, fill me in on the details.”

  “It’s going to be late. Very late. It probably won’t start until after midnight, so you’ll be out all night.”

  “Yes, but what’s it?”

  “It’s more fun if you don’t know.”

  Out all night. Shakti had been so out of it lately that it had been easy to keep her happy with vague mentions of homework, the library, school stuff and seeing a friend, all backed up with regular texts. But out all night was a different challenge.

  This was getting complicated.

  TWELVE

  Make Like a Squirrel

  Wednesday morning. Math. Triangulation: Triangulation is the process of determining the location of a point by measuring angles to it from known points at either end of a fixed baseline.

  Lynn rested her chin on her hands and read the definition. It must make sense to somebody. It probably was clear as crystal to Celia. Heck, it was probably clear as crystal to Blossom.

/>   She glanced over at Kas, who was bent over her textbook.

  It was great having the Diode back. They’d devoted Sunday to gossip and beauty. It was tricky keeping Blossom a secret. She’d almost tripped up a couple of times. But she could manage it.

  She stared at the side of Kas’s head, willing her to look up. How come that never actually worked?

  Was the hum of the lights in the resource center louder than usual? Did her math text smell? She flipped to the inside of the front cover. An archeology of labels. Spiro Browning. Tartan Wong. Joe Snot ha ha. Which one of the previous mathematical geniuses had left this smell?

  If you started to think about where your math text had been, you could totally gross yourself out.

  She doodled a small equilateral triangle on the top of Joe Snot ha ha. Surely triangulation must have something to do with triangles.

  Three points for tonight. Point number one. Evening as usual. Dinner with Shakti. Watch a little TV. Phone Kas and/or Celia to discuss Alexis’s reappearance back at school this morning. “She’s acting like Juliet,” said Kas. Then sleepybyes under her tropical fish duvet.

  Point number two. The story she had told Shakti. At Kas’s house for a study intensive and sleepover and, yes, it was a school night, but they had so much to catch up on, seeing as how Lynn had missed the choir trip. Guilt, guilt.

  Point number three. The real plan, the “something amazing” that Tron had promised. Connect the dots.

  ≈≈≈

  “Eight, take a chance.” Fossick picked up an orange card. “Redistribute all property equally and stop charging rents.”

  Blossom reached over and grabbed the card. “You lie.”

  “Like a rug,” said Larch.

  Blossom read out the directions. “Advance to nearest railroad. Oh, look. I own it. Pay up.”

  Lynn threw the dice and moved her little iron three spaces. Should she buy Ventnor Avenue?

  “Always buy property when you land on it,” said Larch.

  “Nice color and close to Waterworks,” said Blossom.

  “Buy it and turn it into a park,” said Fossick.

  Monopoly in the Underland was a long game, as each move involved plenty of discussion. That was good, because time was moving like a glacier. They had to stay awake until 2 a.m. for the “event.”

  Lynn passed on Ventnor. She had cash-flow problems.

  Blossom landed on Park Place and began a complicated series of remortgages and private loans to swing the deal.

  Lynn counted her money yet again and admired her vampire red nails. The earlier part of the evening was spent on fingers and toes. There had been a big find behind a going-out-of-business mani-pedi store, and they all went nuts with Vermillionaire and Barefoot in Barcelona, even Larch and Fossick.

  After nail salon they spent time critiquing Blossom’s choice of outfit for the evening. She finally decided on black leggings and a black hoodie. Lynn had broken it to her that all-black was a better citizen disguise than her private school outfit.

  “Lynn?” Oh, was it her turn again already? She wasn’t entirely focused on the game. A worry from the back of her mind kept creeping forward.

  Shakti had been fine with the plan for a sleepover at Kas’s, even on a school night. Eager, even. There was probably something up with Brandon. She was probably just as glad to be rid of her. And it wasn’t as if she was doing something dangerous or bad. At least, she didn’t think so.

  But there was the lying thing. Like a rug.

  She moved a few spaces, paid rent to Larch and glanced at her phone. There was no reason for Shakti to phone Kas’s place. It was all good.

  “Do you have any idea what Tron’s planning?”

  Blossom smiled and rearranged her cash.

  “As usual, I’m the last to know,” said Fossick. “Something horizontal. He’s been practicing holding onto poles and pushing himself out sideways. Whatever it is, I’m just relieved that he’s letting us in at all.”

  “Yes. He’s come home again.”

  “Visitor’s turn,” said Larch.

  “Oh, okay.” Lynn kissed the dice. “Free parking coming up. Seven, seven, seven. Oh. Five. But where exactly are we going?”

  “The grid,” said Blossom.

  “You mean downtown?”

  “Yes. We don’t go there often. There isn’t much room for us. Every bit of space in the grid is spoken for. If there’s a blade of grass it’s a trespasser. But then Tron said that we’re wrong. It’s not all claimed. Not all the air is claimed. He said we forgot about 3-D and we should think about squirrels. Whatever that means.”

  “But to answer your question,” said Fossick. “We’ve got a downtown intersection and a time. Apart from that, who knows?”

  “Are we biking?” said Lynn.

  “No. Transit,” said Blossom. “Something about a quick getaway.”

  “Sounds like a bank robbery.”

  “I don’t think he would have invited his family to a bank robbery,” said Fossick. “Oh, by the way, looks like game’s over. The banker just fell asleep.”

  He pulled a blanket over Larch.

  “I would have won,” said Blossom. “I was just about to triumph.”

  ≈≈≈

  The train platform was empty and quiet. A plastic bag danced in circles on the concrete, then whooshed onto the track as the train pulled in. The car was empty as they entered but then, just at the last minute, a young man appeared and jumped through the closing doors.

  “Hey,” said Fossick. “That was a close call. Worth it, though, eh? Trains don’t run that often at this hour.”

  The man paid no attention but walked to the end of the car. He had a jittery walk. He stood facing the door.

  Several stations went by, cold and bright. Nobody else got on the car.

  “I like your jacket,” said Blossom. “The way the white fox goes all the way around it.”

  “Actually, it belongs to Shakti. Tron said wear dark clothes and this was the darkest jacket I could find.”

  “Do you always share clothes with her? That would be nice, to have another girl in the family.”

  “You’re always welcome to share my clothes,” said Fossick with a grin. “I have excellent fashion sense.”

  Bam, bam, bam. Lynn twisted around to look toward the end of the car. The jittery man had started to kick the door. A soft, rhythmic kick.

  She twisted back and met Fossick’s eye. He gave a small shrug.

  Then the man yelled. It was one loud syllable, like a gunshot. What followed was a stream of words. Swear words popped out from the background of seamless ranting.

  Fossick leaned forward in his seat and motioned the two girls close.

  “What do you think?” he asked Blossom.

  “We should get off,” said Blossom.

  Fossick nodded. “Next station. But don’t stand up before the train stops. Stick close, Lynn.”

  They rushed off between the door-closing pings. Lynn caught sight of the man’s glaring face as the train pulled out of the station.

  Blossom headed straight to the security phone. “What’s the time?”

  Fossick consulted his watch. “2:17. You good to call?”

  Blossom picked up the phone. Fossick put his arm around Lynn’s shoulders. “You okay?”

  Lynn nodded, although she wasn’t exactly sure that she was. The station seemed very empty.

  Blossom did not sound scared. “Yes, left the station at 2:17. Westbound. Red and gray hoodie. Agitated and ranting. No, we’re fine. Bye.”

  Fossick sat down on the bench and waved them over.

  “That was too bad. Poor guy. One of the sad and angry ones. Blossom, what else could you have done in that situation?”

  “Press the silent alarm strip,” said Blossom.

  F
ossick nodded. “And then get off?”

  “Depends on where there are more people, train or station.”

  “Right. That would be a judgment call. Look. We’re just one stop away and we’ve got extra time. Shall we just walk?”

  Lynn didn’t want to get back on the train. “Sure.”

  As they walked, across a deserted sports field, past humming office blocks and the open mouths of car parks, Fossick whistled. He had a loud, fancy whistling style. The mannequins in display windows looked as though they might start to dance at any minute.

  “This is it,” said Fossick, looking at his watch. “Right on time. What do you think? Should we buy this corner and put up some houses?”

  “Always buy property when you land on it,” said Lynn.

  Tron materialized from behind a bus shelter. He was dressed in a tight-fitting jumpsuit thing, like an undecorated Spiderman, with a complicated harness of straps and clinking buckles.

  “Good. You made it. Follow me.”

  Down one alley, they arrived at a steel door in the back of a tall building, one of many tall buildings, each much like the other. But this door was propped open with a chunk of wood.

  “Go around to the front. Find somewhere you can see the top of the building and then look up. I will see you after.”

  He fist-bumped Blossom, then slid through the door. They heard him call out, “Launch minus five.”

  “Wait!” said Fossick.

  The wood was kicked out and the door clanged shut.

  Fossick shook his head. “I think I just figured it out. 3-D. Squirrels. Oh, this doesn’t seem like a good decision for Tron. I don’t want to see it. I have to see it.” He reached out and grabbed Blossom’s hand. “Just for the moment, though, I’m hanging on to you.”

  They found a place to stand where they could blend into the shadows and still have a good view up to the building’s top. Lynn looked up and down the street. The grid seemed to be pausing, turning tide, the latecomers gone to their daytime sleeps and the earlycomers still at home, stumbling in the dark for their shoes and their coffee.

  The building was made of black glass, like a hole into nothing. In front there was a large plaza. At the center was a fountain made of metal rods. A small knot of boys appeared and began to stare up into the sky, pulling out cameras. A few of them nodded at Blossom. As the tallest boy tipped his head back, his hood slipped off, revealing dreadlocks.