Read The Maze: Three tales of the future for Free Online Page B

he schooled them into a bland expression.
    “Ah, Mrs. Mortarri? I think I’ve found her.”
    He nodded at Lexia, and she had no choice but to enter her room.
    “You’re not in that much trouble,” he whispered as she passed.
    If he thought that, then he didn’t know her mother.
    “There you are!” Her mother whirled, hands on hips. “Where have you been?”
    “Nowhere. A walk.” Her voice sounded strained, shaky. She clutched the ribbon handles of the bag and willed herself not to search for Amie. Don’t move . Don’t glance around . Don’t breathe .
    Her mother raised an eyebrow. “Shopping?”
    Lexia cringed. Of course. No one cared if she spent hours in the educational modules on her console, but the second the charge at the gift shop went through, the system must have alerted her mother.
    Her mother held out a hand. Lexia pulled the wig from the bag and dropped it into her mother’s waiting palm. A year ago, she could have purchased three new wigs, and her mother would have laughed—and tried them all on herself.
    “Really, Lexia? You shouldn’t cheapen yourself with such trash, not to wear and not to associate with.”
    The words felt like a blow to the throat. No, she really didn’t like Paulo—at least, not in the way he wanted her to—but the boy wasn’t trash. He simply had to work and wanted to dance and drink when he wasn’t. And the wig that was oh, so pretty? And would look so nice on Amie? Well, that wasn’t trash either.
    “And what is that?” Her mother pointed at the Mars station and the replica of Amie’s village she’d built around it.
    “A model,” Lexia said, and how the words found their way from her throat, she didn’t know. “I like building them.”
    “I’m not sure it’s the best use of your time.”
    “It’s just a hobby.” Casual, not plaintive. Don’t let her see how much it means.
    Her mother shook her head. “You’re just so ... just so ... well, I simply don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”
    In earlier times—better times—her mother might have tried to understand. She’d sit on the floor with Lexia, both of them surrounded by building blocks, and laugh when her own constructions inevitably collapsed while Lexia’s remained standing.
    “You must get it from your father,” she’d say, “because clearly you didn’t get it from me.”
    Soft words no longer came from her mouth. Not since last year, since her last, awful marriage. She never spoke of Lexia’s father. It was as if she wished both of them would simply fade away. They no longer shared quarters. Lexia was never invited to her mother’s dinner parties; not that she wanted to eat with a bunch of adults. But eating alone, in her quarters, made everything taste the same, like salt, even the desserts. Especially the desserts.
    As if she had no more words for Lexia, her mother left, without a goodbye, a kiss, a hug. Lexia stared at the shut door. Oh, that she could burn a hole into it with just her eyes.
    “I’m what, Mother? Just because you don’t care about the things I do, doesn’t mean I’m—”
    A pair of thin arms wrapped around her, a soft sigh bathing her neck. Lexia spun, mouth wide open in wonder.
    “Where did you—?”
    Amie pointed to the bed, or rather, the platform it sat on. Lexia knelt, rapped her knuckles against the side, and listened to the hollow sound. She eased back the panel and peered inside. Beneath the bed, there was just enough room for an Amie-sized girl.
    “You’re smarter than I am,” she said. “I don’t even have your wig, and now we can’t—”
    Amie pressed a finger against Lexia’s lips.
    “I talk too much, don’t I?”
    Amie simply drew her to the console. There, she scrolled through the fashion channels until the display landed on turbans.
    “Oh, but those are for old ladies.” Lexia wrinkled her nose. “Like my mother.”
    Amie opened her mouth in a silent laugh. Then she pointed to Lexia’s collection of nail