Socialpunk (Socialpunk #1)

Socialpunk (Socialpunk #1) ~ Steal (Chapter 18)

Cinder sat across from Nahum at Carvers, the fanciest restaurant she had eaten at in either The Dome or Silicon City. One of the richest, most prominent hashes in the city owned Carvers, named after the hash’s namesake. The interior of the restaurant had a wet look to it, like fingers had massaged clay into pillars and walls, erecting a hollowed-out space in which to dine.

Declan, the leader of the Carvers hash, had built it from the ground up several years earlier by recruiting people from other hashes. Most people either joined an established hash once they reached a certain age or formed hashes based on who they grew up with in the Belly Centers—where all population control was handled after sterilization became a common practice. But the Carvers didn’t accept any young hopefuls. Instead, Declan built by stealing, by finding weaknesses and discontent in other hashes and exploiting them.

At least, according to Nasser. The two of them had bad blood between them because a few months earlier, Declan stole two members of the Socialpunks, leaving Nasser’s hash in its current mess. Nasser, Ember, and Vaughn were banned from Carvers—not that it mattered, since the Socialpunks couldn’t afford the food anyway. That’s why they needed Cinder and Nahum. With a little luck, Cinder and Nahum could blend in at the restaurant and create a distraction. Or, at least, they could come across as visitors from another city if they looked and acted too bizarre.

Cinder looked down at the menu—despite the restaurant’s prominence, the food seemed strangely simplistic. One of the items, eight ounces of mac and cheese, cost 35,145 Clout; which, according to Cinder’s mind, translated to about $213 in 2052 US currency after accounting for inflation.

“Do you know what you want to order?” Cinder asked Nahum as politely as she could. She played with the laces on her corset nervously. She didn’t know exactly how to act in a fancy restaurant, especially one from the future. She looked to the couple at the table next to them for cues, but they seemed dressed down to Cinder, another oddity—in The Dome, a fancy dinner meant ties and cocktail dresses. The couple wore bright prints that Cinder’s mind identified as bohemian meets hipster meets ancient Egyptian.

Nahum gave her a grin that reminded her of a three year old, and picked up his fork like a shovel on a playground. “Spaghetti-ohs and miniature meatballs.” Cinder bit her lip, trying not to burst out laughing—she was glad she wasn’t the only one who thought the restaurant was a bit ridiculous.

A waitress with hunched shoulders wafted near their table. “Welcome to Carvers.” The girl, not much older than Cinder, spoke in a monotone and stared at the floor. “My name is Smolder.” She recited a long list of specials, ranging from tater tots to “East” eggs, which Cinder’s mind told her were hard-boiled eggs with dyed shells. The name had changed from “Easter” during the Religious Revolution in the early 2100’s, right after the ozone layer stabilized and cities took down their domes.

Smolder finally finished reciting and looked up. “What can I get you?” The bluish skin that lined the waitress’ eyes reminded Cinder of something from her past, but she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what.

“Chicken tenders.” Nahum pursed his lips, like he was holding back a smile.

The waitress looked at Cinder. “A rooftop hotdog, please.” The rooftops were the only places that got enough real sunlight to grow food or keep animals. That’s why most of the middle-class didn’t eat food anymore, except on special occasions. In between, they took the manufactured pills that provided nutrients and calories.

Smolder grabbed Cinder’s glass and poured water in it. When she returned it, her sleeve had hitched up her arm, revealing three bruises the size of grapes pressed into her wrist.

Smolder noticed Cinder staring and hastily pulled down her sleeve. “I’ll be right back.” Her voice sounded cheery, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.