Dark Parties Read Online Free PDF Page A

it.”
    The theater goes black. I hold my breath and try not to panic in the seconds it takes for the screen to illuminate. Music
     crackles from the old speakers and two young, scantily clad bodies wrap themselves around each other, sweating and kissing
     and groping. The government has created new 16+ rated movies that are steamy tales of romance and lots and lots of sexy scenes
     spliced together from old movies. Sanna calls them “joy of sex” flicks. The government can’t just say “procreate for Homeland”
     so they try to arouse us and hope we can’t control ourselves. We squirm in our seats, laugh nervously, and try not to look
     at the movie screen.
    I check my watch and notice that almost everyone in my row has done the same. The first two teams peel off and sneak out,
     first to the bathroom, out the windows, and then to one of four quadrants of the City. Delia has agreed to stay in the cinema
     in case something happens we should know about. The films sometimes break. Or maybe the kids get thrown out during a big kiss
     scene. We tried to think of everything.
    Sanna nudges me. It’s time for me to move out. The movie flashes in the whites of her eyes.
    I turn to Nicoline, my partner in crime. She was one of the first in our class to create an identity mark. When she was seven
     she drew a red star with a permanent marker like a beauty mark on her cheek. Her star faded. Now she re-draws it every few
     days.
    Once Nicoline and I climb out the bathroom window, we pull up the hoods of our sweatshirts. The bag of paint is tucked in
     the front pocket of mine. We weave our way through the City to the embankment. I’m careful to use side streets that still
     have streetlights. I race from one pool of light to the next, but the darkness seems to chase me.
    “Now what?” she asks when we arrive at the riverside.
    “You keep the lookout and I’ll do the painting.” I take a slow turn. The promenade is empty. The moonlight glistens on the
     river and keeps the darkness at bay. I knead the bag and look around again.
    “I think we’re okay.” Nicoline gives me a weak smile.
    I bend over and hesitate before tearing the tiniest tip off one corner of the plastic bag. The bloodred paint beads likea pinpricked finger. I steady my hand and write N O P ROTECT U S F EAR ! in capital letters on the grayish concrete. The letters almost sparkle. Adrenaline surges through me and something else:
     pride. It’s not much, but I’ve made my mark. Neva was here.
    The water laps at the riverbanks, as if it’s applauding. I run to a wooden bench and write the same thing on one of the slats.
     God, I feel a-maz-ing!
    Nicoline and I crisscross paths as we find unsuspecting billboards for our message: the base of a streetlight, encircling
     a manhole cover. Nicoline races ahead and scouts out a spot. She wants to try. I hop up on a bench and scan the landscape
     while she loops the slogan together in artistic cursive, not like the wobbly sticks of my printed slogan. I check the time
     as she darts off.
    I catch up to Nicoline, who is squeezing out the last few drops of paint and writing one word on ascending steps that lead
     to the street above. Her fingers are tipped with red. “I think we need to get going.”
    Nicoline twirls on her toes and shouts to the Protectosphere, “This feels incredible.”
    “Shhhh,” I hiss, but I feel it too.
    “God, don’t worry so much.” Nicoline pauses and looks around. “We’re almost home free.”
    “Almost,” I repeat, and grab the gooey plastic bag from her. I rush to the river’s edge and lean as far over the railing as
     I can. I catapult the bag into the water, a girlie throw, Ethan would say. The wind catches it and the bag floats in a zigzag
     pattern into the murky water below. I watch it float,bobbing on the low waves, until it’s pulled under and sinks out of sight.
    Nicoline tugs on my sleeve. “Listen.”
    Over the sound of the river, I hear it—measured heavy