"Scott Westerfeld - Uglies 02 - Pretties" - читать интересную книгу автора (Westerfeld Scott)

 THE RUINS
FACES
DAMAGE CONTROL
COLD WATER
TRACKER
SPECIALS
BOGUS DREAMS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR



Part I
SLEEPING BEAUTY


Remember that the most beautiful things in the world are the most useless.
тАФJohn Ruskin, The Stones of Venice, I


CRIMINAL


Getting dressed was always the hardest part of the afternoon.
The invitation to Valentino Mansion said semiformal, but it was the semi part that was tricky.
Like a night without a party, "semi" opened up too many possibilities. Bad enough for boys, for whom it
could mean jacket and tie (skipping the tie with certain kinds of collars), or all white and shirtsleeves (but
only on summer afternoons), or any number of longcoats, waistcoats, tailcoats, kilts, or really nice
sweaters. For girls, though, the definition simply exploded, as definitions usually did here in New Pretty
Town.
Tally almost preferred formal white-tie or black-tie parties. The clothes were less comfortable
and the parties no fun until everyone got drunk, but at least you didn't have to think so hard about getting
dressed.
"Semiformal, semiformal," she said, her eyes drifting over the expanse of her open closet, the
carousel stuttering back and forth as it tried to keep up with Tally's random eyemouse clicks, setting
clothes swaying on their hangers. Yes, "semi" was definitely a bogus word.
"Is it even a word?" Tally asked aloud. '"Semi?" It felt strange in her mouth, which was dry as
cotton because of last night.
"Only half of one," the room said, probably thinking it was clever.
"Figures," Tally muttered.
She collapsed back onto her bed and stared up at the ceiling, feeling the room threaten to spin a
little. It didn't seem fair, having to get worked up over half a word. "Make it go away," she said.
The room misunderstood, and slid shut the wall over her closet. Tally didn't have the strength to
explain that she'd really meant her hangover, which was sprawled in her head like an overweight cat,
sullen and squishy and disinclined to budge.
Last night, she and Peris had gone skating with a bunch of other Crims, trying out the new rink
hovering over Nefertiti Stadium. The sheet of ice, held aloft by a grid of lifters, was thin enough to see
through, and was kept transparent by a horde of little Zambonies darting among the skaters like nervous
water bugs. The fireworks exploding in the stadium below made it glow like some kind of schizoid
stained glass that changed colors every few seconds.
They all had to wear bungee jackets in case anyone broke through. No one ever did, of course,