Pretties by Scott Westerfeld

CRIMINAL
    Getting dressed was always the hardest part of the afternoon.
    The invitation to Valentino Mansion said semiformal, but it was the semi part that was tricky Like a night without a party “semi” opened up too many possibilities. Bad enough for boys, for whom it could mean jacket and tie (skipping the tie with certain kinds of collars), or all white and shirtsleeves (but only on summer afternoons), or any number of longcoats, waistcoats, tailcoats, kilts, or really nice sweaters. For girls, though, the definition simply exploded, as definitions usually did here in New Pretty Town.
    Tally almost preferred formal white-tie or black-tie parties. The clothes were less comfortable and the parties no fun until everyone got drunk, but at least you didn’t have to think so hard about getting dressed.
    “Semiformal, semiformal,” she said, her eyes drifting over the expanse of her open closet, the carousel stuttering back and forth as it tried to keep up with Tally’s random eyemouse clicks, setting clothes swaying on their hangers. Yes, “semi” was definitely a bogus word.
    “Is it even a word?” Tally asked aloud. “‘Semi’?” It felt strange in her mouth, which was dry as cotton because of last night.
    “Only half of one,” the room said, probably thinking it was clever.
    “Figures,” Tally muttered.
    She collapsed back onto her bed and stared up at the ceiling, feeling the room threaten to spin a little. It didn’t seem fair, having to get worked up over half a word. “Make it go away,” she said.
    The room misunderstood, and slid shut the wall over her closet. Tally didn’t have the strength to explain that she’d really meant her hangover, which was sprawled in her head like an overweight cat, sullen and squishy and disinclined to budge.
    Last night, she and Peris had gone skating with a bunch of other Crims, trying out the new rink hovering over Nefertiti Stadium. The sheet of ice, held aloft by a grid of lifters, was thin enough to see through, and was kept transparent by a horde of little Zambonies darting among the skaters like nervous water bugs. The fireworks exploding in the stadium below made it glow like some kind of schizoid stained glass that changed colors every few seconds.
    They all had to wear bungee jackets in case anyone broke through. No one ever did, of course, but the thought that at any moment the world could fall away with a sudden crack kept Tally drinking plenty of champagne.
    Zane, who was pretty much the leader of the Crims, got bored and tipped a whole bottle onto the ice. He said that alcohol had a lower freezing point than water, so it might send someone tumbling down into the fireworks. But he hadn’t poured out enough to save Tally’s head this morning.
    The room made the special sound that meant another Crim was calling.
    “Hey”
    “Hey, Tally.”
    “Shay-la!” Tally struggled up onto one elbow. “I need help!”
    “The party? I know”
    “What’s the deal with semiformal, anyway?”
    Shay laughed. “Tally-wa, you are so missing. Didn’t you get the ping?”
    “What ping?”
    “It went out hours ago.”
    Tally glanced at her interface ring, still on her bedside table. She never wore it at night, an old habit from when she’d been an ugly, sneaking out all the time. It sat there softly pulsing, still muted for sleeptime. “Oh. Just woke up.”
    “Well forget semi anything. They changed the bash to fancy dress. We have to come up with costumes!”
    Tally checked the time: just before five in the afternoon. “What, in three hours?”
    “Yeah, I know I’m all over the place with mine. It’s so shaming. Can I come down?”
    “Please.”
    “In five?”
    “Sure. Bring breakfast. Bye.”
    Tally let her head fall back onto the pillow The bed was spinning like a hoverboard now, the day just starting and already wiping out.
    She slipped on her interface ring and listened angrily as the ping played, saying that no one would be admitted tonight without