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Couverture rigide | 13 juin 2017 | anglais

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“Fresh, compelling—and timely.” —Veronica Roth, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Carve the Mark and the Divergent series
“Vividly conjured…positively chilling.” —The New York Times
“Spectacular.” —Buzzfeed

Set in a near-future Taipei plagued by pollution, a group of teens risk everything to save their city in this thrilling novel from critically acclaimed author Cindy Pon.

Jason Zhou survives in a divided society where the elite use their wealth to buy longer lives. The rich wear special suits, protecting them from the pollution and viruses that plague the city, while those without suffer illness and early deaths. Frustrated by his city’s corruption and still grieving the loss of his mother who died as a result of it, Zhou is determined to change things, no matter the cost.

With the help of his friends, Zhou infiltrates the lives of the wealthy in hopes of destroying the international Jin Corporation from within. Jin Corp not only manufactures the special suits the rich rely on, but they may also be manufacturing the pollution that makes them necessary.

Yet the deeper Zhou delves into this new world of excess and wealth, the more muddled his plans become. And against his better judgment, Zhou finds himself falling for Daiyu, the daughter of Jin Corp’s CEO. Can Zhou save his city without compromising who he is, or destroying his own heart?
Titre :WantFormat :Couverture rigideDimensions de l'article :336 pages, 9 X 6 X 1.1 poDimensions à l'expédition :336 pages, 9 X 6 X 1.1 poPublié le :13 juin 2017Publié par :Simon PulseLangue :anglais

Les ISBN ci-dessous sont associés à ce titre :

ISBN - 10 :1481489224

ISBN - 13 :9781481489225

Convient aux âges : 14

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Want CHΔPTER ONE THE KIDNAPPING I watched the two you girls from the corner of my eye as the crowds surged around me. Eleven o’clock on a balmy June evening and the Shilin Night Market in Taipei was spilling over with mei shoppers looking for a way to cool themselves. Stores lined both sides of the narrow street, and music blared in Mandarin, Taiwanese, and English. The road was closed to traffic, overtaken by vendors with carts selling noodles and oyster omelets, cold juices and shakes. Others spread their merchandise on the ground over blankets, hawking cheap toys and knickknacks. I slouched lower on the plastic table, faded black boots planted on a stool beneath, taking in the stench of cigarette smoke, stale beer, and sweat. I flipped my butterfly knife rhythmically between my fingers, enjoying the feel of cold steel and the sound of blade and handles snapping in my hand. Men glanced at me warily, touching the places where they hid their own weapons. Girls clustered closer as they edged past, chattering. One mei girl, barely fifteen, raised her kohl-smudged eyes from her heap of chua bing smothered in red beans and smiled at me, electric blue bangs brushing against her lashes. Most teens were maskless tonight, wanting to have fun and pretend that they led lives from some other era, when going barefaced was normal. Pretend that they breathed good air. The mei girl’s friend elbowed her and loudly uttered something about delinquent mei boys hiding their faces behind face masks. She cast a pointed glare in my direction. They sashayed past, legs bare beneath short, ruffled skirts, the friend with her nose in the air. Smiling girl’s pink mouth was now pursed in a pout. “Hey,” I called. She half turned, careful not to spill her iced dessert. Her black brows were raised, widening her dark eyes. I winked at her, spinning my knife, then tossed it in the air before catching it in one swift motion. She blushed, and her giggle carried to me even as her friend tugged her away, disappearing into the throngs. But I never lost sight of the two you girls bent over a round tub, trying to toss plastic balls into floating dishes. The prize was a koi—genetically engineered to never grow beyond two inches—in iridescent oranges, reds, and greens. Hell, they probably glowed in the dark. The girls were flanked by three bodyguards, beefy mei boys with muscular arms crossed against their bulging chests. I had volunteered to do this, because if I were caught, I alone would be prosecuted. I would be the only one to be put to death. My friends would be safe. They all had family, or someone who loved them. I was the dispensable one, and I would give my life to protect them. A you boy strutted toward the girls, his features obscured by his glass helmet from this distance. We called them “bowl heads” in derision, as their helmets looked like fishbowls. His sleek suit was black, with an indigo dragon breathing orange flames woven down one long sleeve. The suit ensured that he got the best oxygen available, that his temperature was regulated, that he was always plugged in to the you communication system. The taller girl in the white-and-silver suit ignored him, intent on winning a koi in a jar, but her petite friend nodded to the bodyguards, and the you boy swaggered through. I snorted under my breath. They chatted, probably pulling up info on their com sys, assessing weight, height, and genetic makeup even as they exchanged first names. This was what it meant to be you, to have. To be genetically cultivated as a perfect human specimen before birth—vaccinated and fortified, calibrated and optimized. To have an endless database of information instantly retrievable within a second of thinking the query and displayed in helmet. To have the best air, food, and water, ensuring the longest possible life spans as the world went to rot around them. Me, I’m like the other 95 percent of the meis in this country—without. We want and are left wanting. I’d be lucky if I lived to forty. I’m almost halfway there. The you boy fiddled with his collar, then took his helmet off, handing it to one of the bodyguards with studied nonchalance. He coughed for a long time into his sleeve, attempting to adjust to the filth we breathed every day. What a rebel. Without his helmet, I got a better look at him. His blond hair was chin-length, streaked in red, his features Asian. He looked about seventeen. He pulled a cigarette from a sleeve pocket and lit it, inhaling deeply, tilting his head to blow the smoke out. He leaned toward the petite you girl, his expression flirtatious. I watched as the taller girl threw them a glance, then turned back toward the tub. She was broad-shouldered yet slender, her suit decorated in neon pink lines with a jeweled Hello Kitty sewn above her heart. Real gemstones, no doubt. The way she tensed her shoulders told me she wasn’t pleased by the you boy’s intrusion. I’d been studying the suits for my task. Victor had gotten his hands on all the relevant info. “You don’t want the more square helmets,” he had said, showing me images on the screen. “That’s an older model from two years ago. Any embellishment like jewels would be real. Nothing but the best for Jin’s suits. So the shinier the suit, the richer the you.” Although the shorter girl’s purple suit was more eye-catching, the taller girl had probably $100K worth of diamonds stitched to her chest. I tucked the knife away and retrieved two small items from a pouch strapped to my side. I wore a sleeveless black tee and black jeans to match. Not only did I blend in, but it allowed me to move with ease. I jumped off the table and stretched my arms overhead, flexing my shoulders. Now or never. I cut a quick path through the crowds, moving diagonally, thumping into others as they scurried out of my way. Steam rose from the pot of the chou doufu vendor stirring her spicy broth, and my eyes watered from the scent. I was behind the bodyguards within a minute. Their massive backs blocked me from my target. I tapped the middle one on his shoulder. He twisted, fists clenched. “Move,” I said. “What?” I cocked my elbow and punched him hard in the nose, breaking it. The oaf roared, covering his face as blood spurted. I barreled past him and slammed into the you boy, who was gaping, bug-eyed. The other two bodyguards swiped at me with clumsy hands. I leaped out of the way, but not before one of them managed to grab my mask, pulling it off so it hung at my neck. No matter. Grinning at him, I smashed the vial I held to the ground. Noxious smoke billowed around us. The bodyguards and boy dropped like sacks of rice within five seconds. Bet that you boy would regret taking off his helmet tomorrow morning. The petite girl screamed shrilly beside me as passersby shouted, but everyone steered clear of the fumes. I lunged for the tall girl, pulling her tight to my chest, and plunged the syringe into her hand, the only exposed part of her body. The needle hissed as it dispensed the sleep-spell drug. She sank against me and I hefted her over my shoulder, dashing into the dark alley behind us, finally allowing myself to take a breath when I cleared the smoke. She wasn’t heavy, but all cumbersome limbs. “Eh, you!” a man shouted, his running footsteps echoing behind me. I cursed and spun around the corner into a black alley. My pursuer followed immediately. I stuck out my foot, and he tripped over it, thumping hard onto the uneven pavement. I ran without looking back, gripping the girl tightly by her legs, the streets’ layout etched in my mind. The distant din of the night market reached me, accompanied by the shriek of police sirens as they inched their way through the crowds. No one followed. I burst onto the main street at the far end of the market, hailing a taxi. It screeched to a stop, spewing foul exhaust. I slipped my mask back on before yanking open the door. “Take me to the end of the bus line,” I said. The driver nodded, raising an eyebrow as I gently lay my hostage on the backseat. “She drank too much,” I muttered. “I tried to warn her.” He flicked a cigarette butt out the window before merging back into traffic. “Those you girls have everything, but they always want more.” I stared out the open window as the driver zipped through the streets with expertise, honking at pedestrians and mopeds alike. “You her bodyguard?” he asked, catching my eye in the rearview mirror. I shook my head. “Ah, her boy toy, then.” He grinned. “Whatever pays the bills, right?” Right. My friends and I had decided the best way to gain info on Jin Corp was to get suited, infiltrating the yous by becoming one of them. Victor was perfect for the task—with his charm and good looks, he’d fit right in. But we needed funding. And who better to fund us than those who had a few hundred million to spare? Neon signs flickered in a kaleidoscope of colors, washing my vision in reds and blues, oranges and greens. I kept a hand on the you girl’s arm, so she wouldn’t tumble over with the taxi driver’s sudden braking. Her glass helmet reflected the lights around us, and I couldn’t make out her features. I swallowed, suddenly afraid. There was no going back now. I jerked my face away, loosening my grip when I realized I was squeezing her arm. She was unresponsive, her chest barely rising with each breath. She’d be out until tomorrow morning at least. The taxi slammed to a stop, and I threw my arms around the girl to keep her from falling onto the floor. “Here we are, end of the line,” the driver said. I handed him the cashcard tied to a fake identity and bank account Lingyi had set up. “Thanks,” I said. “Add five for tip.” He smiled, the corners of his eyes creasing with deep lines, and saluted me. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. I got out and lifted the girl from the seat, kicking the door shut with my foot. The driver blared his horn twice before tearing off. It was almost midnight, and I needed to be within Yangmingshan as soon as possible. The end of the bus line was near the mountain’s base. I shifted the girl so her head rested against my shoulder, her helmet smooth and cold against my cheek, and started my long climb home. The half-moon was wan, obscured by clouds and pollution. The Vox on my wrist provided scant light, but I navigated the muddied roads without trouble, stopping twice to catch my breath. Each time I laid my captive down, setting her head on my thigh, not knowing how else to place her. She seemed inhuman encased in her glass helmet. Alien. The neon pink lines of her suit glowed in the dark, and her exposed, soft hands lay limp at her sides. How had we drifted so far from what it meant to be human? I could remove her helmet, but it seemed too much of a violation. I smiled sardonically at the irony. I rose, throwing the girl over my shoulder. She no longer felt light—it was like hauling an elephant, and my arms were dead weights. Finally, I spotted the outcropping of jagged stones marking where I should turn off the path. Darkness enveloped me as I picked my way between thick brush and massive trees. Three years ago, mudslides after a bad typhoon season were followed immediately by a massive earthquake that swallowed teahouses, roads, and homes alike. Half of Yangmingshan went up in flames. Survivors fled, and due to the economic depression and rumors of the mountain being cursed, no investors ever bothered to rebuild. Now the once-scenic getaway was deserted, lush, and wild, its only occupants the dead in overturned graves. And me. If anyone else lived on Yangmingshan, our paths never crossed. I counted my steps, legs trembling with the effort. Near my four hundredth, I spotted the first garden light, glowing like a flower spirit. I had planted them for the last fifty steps leading home. Each light was solar-powered. Sweat stung my eyes, but I was too close to stop. The heavy wooden door to the laboratory clicked open by my voice command, and I stumbled inside, laying the girl on the cot in the small office that served as my bedroom. I slumped to the floor, arms draped over raised knees, and sat there until I caught my breath. Leaving her, I stripped and washed myself in the makeshift shower, wishing I had cold water instead of the lukewarm spray that pattered over me. Every muscle shook as I soaped myself, before drying off and pulling on some shorts. The front door could be activated by my voice alone, but I took no chances and rummaged through the green metal desk, finding the key that I needed. I locked us in, then slipped the key on a string and tied it around my neck. I didn’t even look in on the you girl again before crashing onto the worn sofa in the main room, falling immediately into an exhausted sleep. •  •  • Something prickled my consciousness awake; it wasn’t the brightness of day. My eyes snapped open to find the you girl peering at me, her bowl head not an inch away from my nose. I glimpsed her face for the first time. She’d had little work done that I could see: eyes halfway between almond-shaped and slender, a rounded nose, and a full mouth. Her eyes were a light brown, like the watered-down coffee I’d buy with fake cream. Her fingers were extended tentatively above my throat. The back of her hand was bruised where I had jabbed her with the needle. She jumped back when she saw that I had woken. I looked down and remembered the key, then cursed myself for not putting on any clothes the previous night. “It was only a precaution,” I said, my voice cracking. I cleared my throat and sat up. “You wouldn’t have been able to get out even if you’d gotten it.” She stood over me, appearing even leaner in the daylight, all long lines and sharp angles. “The back door’s blocked,” she said in perfect, educated Mandarin. Her voice surprised me. Rich, like dark chocolate—more womanly than she looked. “Mudslide,” I said. She nodded and drew her other hand from behind her back, revealing a pair of dull scissors I kept in the desk. “I could have killed you in your sleep.” “You would have had to try hard.” I rose, reaching for a clean shirt draped over the back of a wooden chair. It was black, like most of my clothes. “Those scissors are from another century.” I pulled on the shirt, then some blue jeans, and scrubbed a hand through my dyed blond hair, suddenly self-conscious. I had taken off my mask the night before, assuming I would wake up before she did. Now it was pointless, but seeing each other face-to-face like this felt odd. We’d become a society that barely showed our faces to strangers anymore. Now what? We stared at each other for a long moment. If she were a feline, her tail would be thrashing. “How much do you want?” she asked. I reached for the scissors, and she let go without protest but said, “They were still sharp enough to stab you in the throat.” I paused, surprised by her boldness. Maybe if I hadn’t woken when I did, I’d be bleeding out on the sofa right now. Game over. “Are you hungry?” I asked. Her eyes narrowed, and she shook her head. “I know you must be thirsty. The sleep spell will do that to you.” I crossed the spare chamber to the corner kitchen and pulled the refrigerator door open, grabbing a bottle of fancy you water, purified and enriched with gods knew what. A case of it cost more than most mei folks’ weekly salary. “Here.” I offered it to her. She sat down in the wooden chair, turning the bottle in her hand, examining it. “It’s not tainted,” I said. “The seal’s unbroken.” She raised her eyes. “How do I drink it?” Ah. “Haven’t you ever taken—” “No. Never in unregulated space.” “The air isn’t as polluted up here,” I lied. “I can’t call anyone in helmet.” “No.” I knew the first thing she’d try upon waking was to call for help. “I’ve jammed the signals.” She blinked several times, and her nostrils flared. I glanced away, tamping down my sympathy. The girl fidgeted with her suit collar, finally lifting her helmet. It came off with a low hiss. Her ponytail sprang free, black and uncolored. The scent of strawberries filled the air, and I took a step back, caught off guard. I had expected you girls to be scentless at best or to smell clinical at worst, like some specimen kept too long in a jar. Not like fresh, sweet strawberries. Her eyes truly watered now as she breathed our polluted air for the first time in her life. She doubled over, coughing. I grabbed the bottle from her hand and twisted it open. “Drink.” She did so, sucking down the water as if it would save her life. Finally, she wiped her mouth with a handkerchief that had been tucked in her sleeve, then pressed it against her eyes. “How do you live breathing this every day?” she asked in a weak voice. “We don’t have to live for very long,” I replied. She dropped her handkerchief and stared at me with red-rimmed eyes. “That’s not funny,” she said. I smiled. “I wasn’t trying to be.” I sat back down on the old sofa, so there was some distance between us. She was pretty in a way I wasn’t used to. Not like most you girls bowing to the latest beauty trends, indulging in temporary body modifications from reshaping their noses to plumping their lips, or hips, or rears, depending on what was in. You boys kept pace with pec implants and by buying new, chiseled jawlines. But fads came and went, and the yous altered their looks as often as the seasons. The meis, lacking the funds for such drastic changes, resorted to painting their faces in bright colors, using semipermanent tattoos, and dyeing their hair. Taipei’s youth had become chameleons. If we couldn’t change the dirty smog that smothered our city, we could at least control how we appeared, each metamorphosis more colorful and extravagant than the last. She finished her water and cast a wary glance my way. “What’s your name?” “Seriously?” I laughed. She lifted her shoulders. “I’d guess you’re one year older than I am. Eighteen. Born in the Year of the Horse.” She nodded at the black clothes strewn on the few pieces of furniture in the room. “Dark Horse, I’ll call you.” I almost smiled but instead pulled out my butterfly knife and began the familiar pattern of flipping it between my fingers and spinning it in my hand. It helped me to think. She tensed, clutching her thighs. She was afraid I might take advantage of her. I wouldn’t, and I had to fight the urge to reassure her, to explain. “Why so Ro?” Her throaty voice broke my reverie. Why so Romeo? She didn’t mean Romeo as in romantic; she meant Romeo as tragic. I took in my surroundings through her eyes. I lived in an abandoned laboratory that used to belong to Yangmingshan University, an experimental “home” run on sustainable energy. Back when some thought we could still salvage our planet by “going green.” We might have, if enough people had cared. But they hadn’t. The rich were too rich, the poor were too poor, and the middle class—let’s be honest—were only poor people with bigger houses, driving better cars. Now that the majority of us didn’t live past our forties, we cared even less. My current home consisted of just three rooms: the office, a bathroom, and this main chamber, which included the small kitchen. It held a large, round dining table with a couple of mismatched stools, the ragged turquoise-and-yellow sofa that was at least four decades old, a metal desk, and the wooden chair she sat in. Large windows flanked the southern wall, revealing a thicket of jungle beyond. I tossed my knife three times, savoring the snick and snap of the blade and handles, before shrugging. “It’s easier to kidnap in black.” Bad joke. I think her eyes actually smoldered. I jumped up and grabbed my ancient MacPlus from the desk, opening it. “Put your helmet back on,” I said. “Why?” “You’re calling your family.” She did as I asked, securing her helmet, then took such a deep, full breath, her breasts swelled against her suit. I pretended not to notice. “You have one minute.” I tapped the necessary commands into my laptop and nodded at her. We waited in tense silence, but their was no response to the call request. “My father’s not picking up,” she finally said. How was that possible? His daughter had been kidnapped. “Call your mom, then,” I ordered. Her mother accepted the call immediately. Thank gods. “Ma!” Her voice changed, sounding younger, helpless. Although her helmet had darkened slightly, I still glimpsed the tears brightening her eyes, seeing her mother’s face in the glass. I could follow the entire conversation from her one-sided replies. “Mei you, Mei you. Wo mei shi.” No, he hasn’t tortured or raped me. She clasped her hands in front of her face, fingers trembling as if she could keep her mother’s image there. “Tell her I want three hundred million,” I said. Her pupils dilated, then shrank, and she saw me again. “Now!” “Ta yao san yi,” she whispered. “Put it in this account.” I gave her the cashcard number for the ghost account that had been set up, and she recited it. “You have two hours.” “You liang ge xiao shi,” she repeated. Her mom began asking frantic questions. Who is he? “Wo bu zhi dao.” Where are you? “Bu zhi dao!” I typed a command and severed her connection. She leaned forward, disoriented, almost falling off of the chair, then tugged her helmet off, throwing it to the ground. It bounced on the bamboo rug and spun twice before I snatched it up. “Shit!” She had pulled her legs into her chest on the chair, burying her face between her knees. Her shoulders heaved. When she lifted her head, her pale face was mottled. “What if you had broken it?” I carefully placed her helmet on the dining table. “Three hundred million? Are you serious?” She had some nerve. I’d admire her for it, if her entitlement didn’t piss me off so much. “What? You probably have twice that waiting for you in your trust fund.” The yous didn’t lead the lives that they did without having a few billion to spare. “What do you want with it?” she asked, crossing her arms, assessing me. “What do you want with it?” I countered. We stared at each another, both our breaths coming too quickly. Hers because she was unused to our foul air; mine because I was rattled. Damn this


Paste Magazine’s Best YA Novel of 2017 A Junior Library Guild Selection “Vividly conjured…positively chilling.” —The New York Times Book Review “Fresh, compelling—and timely.” —Veronica Roth, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Carve the Mark and the Divergent series "An exciting, socially conscious futuristic thriller." —Kirkus Reviews "Pon excels as this society’s architect, constructing sights, sounds, and smells that make this Taipei come alive." —Booklist "A strong sci-fi novel that will entice an array of readers." —School Library Journal "A gripping, fast read that blends cultural elements, edgy tech, and a future coming out of a recognizable pollution-heavy current path." —BCCB “Cindy Pon's sci-fi debut envisions a world that could very easily become our own.” —Beth Revis, author of the New York Times bestselling Across the Universe series “A story brimming with high-octane action. What a rollercoaster!” —Marie Lu, author of the New York Times bestselling The Young Elites trilogy “You will not find a more plausible or terrifying dystopian future, and if you've always wanted to visit Taipei, this book is a first-class ticket.” —Ann Aguirre, author of the New York Times bestselling Razorland trilogy “Fast-paced, utterly engrossing, and highly recommended.” —Leah Cypess, author of Mistwood