Icicles whipped past in glittering streaks, and moonlight silvered the world, like an old, colorless movie come flickering to life. She squinted against the cold, eyes watering, but the tears made her vision even sharper. Over its frantic beat Tally heard every twitch of her new monofilament-sheathed muscles. Fausto was pumping dance music straight through her skintenna, but that was silent to the world outside. The cold air seemed to make sounds crisper: The loose tail of her dorm jacket cracked like a wind-whipped flag, her grippy shoes squeaked against the hoverboard surface with every turn. She breathed in the forest, tendrils of pine coating her throat and tongue, thick as syrup. Tally felt everything with an icy clarity: the brittle, freezing wind across her bare hands, the shifting gravities that pressed her feet against the hoverboard. In their wake glowed a crystal rain, tiny icicles shaken from the pine needles to fall behind, aflame with moonlight. The riders ducked and weaved among ice-heavy branches, laughing, knees bent and arms outstretched. The six hoverboards slipped among the trees with the lightning grace of playing cards thrown flat and spinning. By plucking her petals you do not gather the beauty of the flower.
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