Robyn Arrow
I'm standing in front of a brick wall. A glowing sign is spinning in front of me. It looks like a trident, kind of. Shouldn't be a problem, right? Graffiti is pretty common downtown. Wrong. I saw this sign on the back of the ringleader's jacket. The ringleader who vaporized the passerby five years ago. I shake it off and head home. Just for a second I glance into Rina's room, nearly barfing at the sight. She's glopped on at least forty pounds of hot pink glittery lipstick and is dusting on purple eyeshadow to her lids. An open bottle of glitter stands by. To avoid getting sick all over her plush pink carpet, I practically sprint down the hall to my room. Slamming the door shut, I relax as I flick on my energy-saving LED lights and grab a black leather-bound notebook. On an empty page, I sketch the sign. You never know when this stuff might come in handy. It's not my best, but it'll do. Fifteen minutes later, Rina sticks her head into my room.
"We're going out for dinner tonight," she says. "Mom says I have to help you get ready." She steps into the room and looks through my closet while I slam my book shut and throw it in a drawer. After getting dressed in my black silk dress and flats, I hurry down the stairs to the car. On the way to the restaurant, more signs are appearing around town. Praying that my family doesn't notice them, I hurry ahead of them into the restaurant, distracting them with some stupid gushing over a swan ice sculpture. Dinner helps me nearly forget the signs: savoury rice with rose petals on top, cheesy spinach ravioli, angel hair with basil and sun-dried tomatoes, flat bread with cheese and tomato, tiramisu-chocolate sundaes with almonds, whipped cream, raspberry jam, and biscotti. I doze on the way home, but when I get back up to my room to take a shower, I find my book and flip open to the page. Frowning at the drawing, my mind whirling, I suddenly make a snap decision and grab my phone.
"Devin?" I say when he picks up. "What do you know about a sort of trident gang?"