The Water Wars Read Online Free Page B

satchel on his hip. The jugs were stamped with a seal from the Water Authority, certifying that they contained real water from pure aquifers. He beckoned to me, and the guards stood by indifferently as I entered the compound. In a moment the black limousine appeared from an underground driveway, its powerful gasoline engine growling hungrily. It circled the interior courtyard and stopped in front of Kai. The bodyguard stepped from the driver’s side, machine pistol at the ready, mirrored glasses on the bridge of his nose.
    “Come on,” Kai said to me. “We’ll drive you.”
    “I have my cycle.”
    “Martin will bring it back after he drops us off.”
    I looked at the bodyguard, but his eyes were impassive behind the lenses. He stood there, alert, one hand holding open the door, the other on that machine pistol, head constantly scanning for threats.
    I climbed into the car and folded myself into the back seat. It smelled richly of leather and coconut—scents I knew only from chemo-washes. There was a glass divider between the front and back, and below the divider—incredibly—were a sink, a dozen small bottles of colored liquid, and six plastene liter bottles of water.
    “It’s a bar,” said Kai when he noticed me staring.
    “What’s it do?”
    “It doesn’t do anything.” He smiled at my ignorance. “You mix drinks for yourself.”
    Of course I knew what alcohol was, but no one I knew mixed it with anything. At parties sometimes shakers would pass around home-brewed stuff, and I had even seen my father take a glass every now and then, but no one had the money to mix real alcohol with other liquids. When I looked at Kai I had to remind myself to stop staring at his skin. It wasn’t calloused or dry like paper. A faint scent—real soap, I realized—emanated from his hair. It was all I could do to stop myself from touching him, and I felt my face grow hot from the thought.
    The ride was luxurious and smooth. I’d never been in a car like this. The limo’s big tires absorbed every jolt in the road, and its thick windows and doors (bulletproof, Kai said) blocked outside noise. We barely had time for a few words of conversation before we arrived at the front entrance of our building. Martin parked near the unmanned gate, then came around to unlock our doors. Kai gave him instructions for dropping off my cycle, and the man nodded wordlessly. He waited—gun at the ready—while we walked upstairs. My father opened the door. He was wiping his hands on his thighs, but when he saw the water, he stopped.
    “Thank you for having me to dinner,” said Kai.
    “You didn’t have to do that.”
    “Dad.” I scolded. “This is Kai.”
    “I’m sorry. Where are my manners?” He accepted the jugs. “Thank you, Kai,” he added. “It’s nice to meet you.” His voice sounded hoarse.
    Will appeared at his side, and his gaze went right to the water jugs. Without a word he took one bottle from our father’s hand and retreated to the back bedroom. Before Kai could ask any questions, I ushered him into the living room, where my father’s guacamole awaited. It was delicious, as always—the perfect blend of tangy salsa and creamy quasi-vocados. We had scooped up half the bowl when Will returned. His eyes were red-rimmed, but he was wearing a broad smile. “She drank a little,” he said.
    “This is Kai.” It had been rude of Will to leave without even so much as a nod, but if he noticed my sarcasm, he pretended to ignore it. He said hello, then spooned himself some guacamole. Soon the boys were sitting on the couch chatting about the latest YouToo! and We! uploads. I followed their conversation like it was a Ping match: from screen to screen to screen. They could have been brothers of different mothers: one blond and smooth, the other ragged and lean, both tapered and fine.
    Our father returned from the kitchen. Kai looked at his empty plate longingly. “I’ve never had guacamole,” he said.
    “It’s my