Space and Time Issue 121 Read Online Free Page B

now.
    “Exactly,” she says. “It’s not just about sex.” She blows smoke and pushes her bangs back.
    My heart pounds. I place my hand over hers.
    “I completely agree, Natalie.”
    She arches an eyebrow. To my surprise, she leans closer and kisses me. Her lips are softer than I ever imagined. I run my fingers through her hair and slide my hands down her back. Bliss. The perfect moment I’d dreamt about for months.
    A loud crash from inside the apartment startles me. I bend down and poke my head through the window.
    “Freeze! Freeze!” a voice barks. “Get on the floor! Now!”
    A man shrieks. Naked bodies streak past the kitchen.
    “Don’t move! Everyone stay where you are! I said don’t move!” The voices draw closer.
    Natalie and I exchange a panicked glance.
    Together we lower the fire escape ladder and climb down its rusty rungs to the dark alleyway. When I drop the last six feet, I lose my balance in this taller body and stumble forward, scraping my palms on concrete.
    Natalie pulls me up and we bolt past overturned garbage cans. Rats scurry ahead of us and disappear into the shadows.
    “Hey! You two!” A gruff voice shouts from above and echoes around us in the narrow passage.
    We round the corner, racing away from the flashing red-and-blue lights of the police cars in front of the building.
     
    * * *
     
    Natalie and I crouch in the back seat of a speeding livery cab.
    “Shit, shit, shit,” I say. My boxers cling to my sweaty thighs. My chafed hands sting.
    Her hair whips around in the cross-breeze from the open windows. She futilely pulls it away from her face.
    “I can’t get into my apartment. I left my swipecard back there.” I slap the car seat. “I left my body back there. It’s probably in custody by now! Shit, if they have my wallet, they know who I am, where I live.”
    Natalie hasn’t spoken a word since our escape. I can’t blame her for being in shock.
    I stare at the stretch of rundown buildings and abandoned cars, squinting at the dark street signs as they zip past.
    “My sister lives near here,” I say. I lean forward and give the address to the impassive driver. Picking up two nearly naked passengers hadn’t fazed the man; he was probably just relieved we weren’t concealing weapons.
    Why hadn’t I listened to Lena? My sister had warned me about the increased raids on swapmeats, not to mention the risk of abusing my network privileges to snoop through Natalie’s personal e-mail. But when I found the swapmeat invitation in Natalie’s inbox, I’d downloaded it anyway.
    The cab pulls in front of Lena’s building and I punch my pin number into the backseat display to pay the fare. As we scramble out of the car in our underwear, a quartet of drag queens in platinum wigs and fishnet stockings stand in the entranceway and hoot and whistle at us: “Hey, babies. It’s hot, but not that hot.” Their raucous laughter trails us into the foyer.
    I ring Lena’s apartment, our special signal: two long, one short. I have to repeat it twice before the door buzzes open and we push into the cool lobby. Natalie wrinkles her nose at the stench of trash and urine in the elevator. Her expression, the shadows on her face in the flickering fluorescent light, make her look like a completely different person.
    I pound on the door of 14D.
    “It’s late, Drew,” Lena says in a groggy voice. Light shines through the peephole. “Who the hell are you?”
    “It’s me. Open up.”
    “I don’t know you.”
    “It’s Drew!” I lean closer and stage whisper, “I went to the swapmeat.”
    The locks clatter and the door partially opens, the chain still fastened.
    I speak quickly. “Your favorite color is lime-green. You like mustard on your French fries for sick reasons I’ll never understand. You twisted my arm so hard you dislocated it when I was in fifth grade.”
    “Drew? Oh my God, you’re such an idiot.”
    The chain slides off and the door opens.
    “This is Lena,” I say to