Page 53 of Queen of Nothing

Finally, his attention homes in on a buggy, a sort of horse-drawn cart, and he gets a few pictures on that.

The parade is cheering and dancing down Main Street by the time we wander back.

But all the good spots are taken.

Over heads, ribbons are slashing and curving through the air, trumpets are blasting my eardrums. And it’s all very exciting to Sal.

It should be.

His childhood is actually dull most of the time.

So I crouch down and let him climb onto my shoulders. It’s something we’ve picked up in the krum world. The aristos would never.

But Sal sits on my shoulders to get a great view of the parade, and I slump against the brick façade of the local shops, keeping one hand gripped firm on his thigh.

I fish out my phone from the back pocket of my jeans.

Stiff jeans. Crispy, almost.

Before I ran, I owned maybe two pairs of jeans. Both black. These aren’t those. These are stiff, cheap jeans I picked out of a ‘bargain bin’ at a major store in the city.

I got a good deal on them.

But I feel the cheapness. That low-quality fabric scratching over my skin, like an unwanted, rough exfoliation on my legs.

Worse is the t-shirt.

It has some logo for a band I know nothing about, but it seems that’s custom in the krum world.

It’s hot under the t-shirt, it’s sweaty and clammy. Nothing breathable about polyester.

Same with the baseball cap.

Sweat gathers on my scalp with each passing second out here in the heat.

I keep the cap low over my eyes, welcoming the shade as much as I can, and wait it out.

The next while, Sal shouts and claps and laughs on my shoulders, and the parade is deafening.

Slumped against the brick wall, I scroll through news articles on my phone.

It’s the best I’ve got to entertain myself.

Social media isn’t something we can risk having—especially because Serena thinks I’ll start stalking everyone’s social media from back home.

And she’s right.

The urge to type their names into the search engine clutches me. It hesitates my thumb over the glowing screen for a heartbeat—

Then, as though she knows, Serena calls.

The name in my phone takes over the whole screen.

‘Mumma.’

I’m Auntie Em.

That was chosen when Sal started to talk more, and my cover name was Emily. Now, we stick to names beginning with M.