“They’re awful because I don’t have one. They’re awful because I’m sixteen, and a sixteen-year-old shouldn’t envy a twelve-year-old.”

A face appears in the window next to hers, the ghostly reflection of a girl with bushy red hair and big ears. When Iris glances at her, she discovers that the redhead is wearing Tell-Me-Anything. Iris knows because she is seized by a sudden desire to blurt out the truth, that she lied about being part of their group so she could get a free glass of Sparklefroth. She quickly directs her stare back to the clouds, a turmoil of red and gold smoke.

“The sun is pretty dumb, huh?” says Tell-Me-Anything. “I mean, so it’s really there. So what?”

“Boring,” Iris agrees. “Maybe if it did something. But it just floats there making light.”

“Yeah. I wish it was hot enough to set fire to something.”

“Like what?”

“Like anything. The clouds. Some birds or something. Oh, well. After we get done with the stupid scenic part of the party we’ll have fun. After the stars come out, we get to ride in Drop Bubbles. I know a secret about you.” She says this last with no change in tone and waits with a sly smile for Iris to register it. Tell-Me-Anything continues, “The waiter thinks you’re part of our group. He asked if I wanted to bring you a slice of cake, and he called you Ms. Paget, but you aren’t Sydney Paget. She’s at a funeral. She couldn’t be here today. Here’s your cake.” She offers a saucer with a tiny round chocolate cake on it.

Iris accepts. She thinks, I’m having cake at the top of the Spoke while the sun goes down, just like I wanted. It is, oddly, even more delicious knowing she doesn’t belong.

“Are you going to ride down in a Drop Bubble? Sydney’s bubble is all paid for.”

“I guess if no one is using it,” Iris says cautiously.

“But if I tell, they won’t let you. What will you give me not to tell?”

A bite of cake sticks in Iris’s throat. It requires a conscious effort for her to swallow.

“Why would they let a Drop Bubble go to waste if it’s paid for?”

“They’re expensive. They’re so expensive. Mr. Danforth is going to ask about a refund when he goes downstairs. But if you wait and go right after us, you could float down and land and walk out before he can get his money back. He has to talk to customer service, and it’s a really long line. What would you do to keep me from telling?”

Iris hums to herself. “Tell you what, kid. Want a mermaid?” Lifting the aquaball under one arm to show it off.

The redhead wrinkles her nose. “Ugh. No thank you.”