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clothes—a sports jacket, nice pants. Leather shoes that would be useless if he had to run. Most of all, he’s clean. Rich kids exist, I know, but I’m not used to seeing them outside, alone, with no grandparents around. Once in a while they’ll race by in their fancy cars, speeding through our neighborhood. This is a pretty nicearea, farther north, so maybe that explains the presence of this rich Starter.
    Callie and the guy stand on the sidewalk in front of a small house with rosebushes. An Ender watches them from his wicker chair on the porch. Callie nods and listens to the rich kid as if his words were gold.
    His face seems familiar. Maybe I drew him once? It happens a lot; I draw a stranger and later feel like I know him somehow. That’s it—I did draw this guy. He used to live in our building. On the first floor. That was several months ago.
    He looks a lot better now. Where’d he get those clothes? Either he made some hot score or some long-lost relative claimed him. That could be why he left our building. Sure wish that would happen to me. Some distant great-aunt I’ve never heard of, with a big warm house and a kitchen stocked with chips and candy and jars of peanut butter and jelly. A freezer stuffed with endless pizza.
    The guy looks around. I pull back behind the porch. I don’t care about him seeing me, only Callie. I don’t think she did.
    I peek out and see they’re walking away. Together.
    I cross the street and get a better look at his face. I blank on his name, but I remember he had a long scar under one eye. I can’t see it now. I’m not very close, but from this distance I should be able to see it. Maybe the rich great-aunt paid for his laser surgery. Maybe she thought she could erase his street past.
    I watch him and Callie from the back. He puts his arm around her shoulder and I feel my face get hot.
    She doesn’t shrug it off. She just keeps walking, like it’s nothing. Or she knows this guy?
    Don’t they realize how weird this looks, a well-dressed rich kid and a street Startertogether?
    Marshals go by in a patrol car and stare at me, then at Callie and the guy, before cruising by.
    Where is she headed? Is this some kind of date? Is that why she wouldn’t tell me where she was going?
    She’s allowed to go out. It’s not like we’re dating. How do you take someone out when you have no money, no car, no home? Maybe if I had those things I’d take Callie out. I guess that was what it was like before the war. I was just thirteen then, what did I know?
    Callie and the guy stop in front of a coffee place. He goes in.
    She almost sees me. What would I say if that happened? That she forgot something, so I brought it to her? Except I don’t have anything of hers on me. Maybe I could tell her she needs to get back to Tyler, that’s he’s upset she’s gone. Except he’s not, and she’d find that out once she got back. Guess I just need to be sure she doesn’t see me.
    The guy comes out holding two cups of iced coffee topped with mountains of whipped cream. My mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. They pull out heavy patio chairs, scraping the concrete. I quickly duck into a doorway.
    My doorway leads to a small dry cleaner’s sandwiched between two boarded-up shops. Even here, in Beverly Hills, it’s tough for business. But somebody has to clean the clothes of all the working Enders.
    One of those Enders, a woman wearing a red suit, walks up to me, holding an armful of clothes to be dropped off. She spots me and freezes. She’s scared. Of me. I smile and flatten myself against the wall, put my arm out, showing it’s all right to pass.
    She trembles slightly as she squeezes past me and goes inside. Her heavy perfume hangsin the air like funeral flowers.
    I take a peek at Callie. She’s smiling, hanging on every single word that comes out of this guy’s mouth. She takes a sip of the coffee and he reaches out and wipes some whipped cream off her lip.
    My stomach tightens. I