Hellraisers Read Free Page A

class like nothing had ever happened.
    Yeah, right.
    There was more chance of him sprouting wings and flying into Harvard. He wiped the sweat from his face, sweat that had less to do with running and more to do with the terror of not being able to breathe. He’d been lucky this time. His asthma was a constant threat, always doing its best to kill him.
    When he’d been a kid, lying in his bed, writhing back and forth and going blue while his mom called for the ambulance, he’d seen it as a monster, something that wrapped invisible fingers around his throat, whose tongue wormed its way into his windpipe, sealing it tight. Even though he was fifteen now he still carried that beast around with him; it was always on his back, waiting to attack. When it was bad, really bad, it was a battle to the death. The inhaler lost its power. Even the nebulizer he had at home didn’t work. It had been close today. A couple more minutes, maybe, and the principal would have been calling 911 and giving him mouth to mouth.
    Maybe that would have been better. You couldn’t exactly expel somebody who was dying on your office floor.
    Marlow shook his head. What was he going to tell his mom? Please, Marlow, he heard her say, as clear as if she were standing next to him. There had been enough Bacardi on her breath that day to make his eyes sting. Please, just this once, be good. I can’t stand it, I can’t stand the trouble. I need you to do this for me, stay in school.
    And he had been, he’d been doing okay. It was just that douche bag principal, riding him every day. This was all Caputo’s fault. Maybe he should go back and teach the man a proper—
    Footsteps, hard and fast, rising up from the end of the alleyway. Marlow pushed himself off the wall, fists clenched. Please, not the school cop . He’d half turned, not sure if his lungs could stand another sprint, when Charlie’s face appeared. When he saw Marlow he flinched. Then he broke into a sweaty grin, skidding to a halt with his hands on his knees. Marlow swore.
    â€œJesus, Charlie, where’d you come from?”
    â€œThey were all so busy chasing after you, I couldn’t resist slipping out behind them.”
    Then they were both laughing, sniggering nervously, just in case somehow the cops could hear them half a mile away. “Man, you should have seen it back there, it was utter chaos. I can’t believe you punched Yogi!”
    â€œI didn’t punch him,” Marlow said. “His fat ass just fell over. What happened?”
    â€œIt sounded like all hell had broken loose in there, I had to go look. Yogi was on the desk and the desk was on the floor ; the whole thing had snapped in two. He was rolling around like a turtle, funniest thing I ever saw. Then they were after you.” Charlie had to stop to catch his breath he was laughing so hard. “Best part is, Yogi came out of the office so hard he nearly knocked me over, ran straight into one of his guys and ended up flat on his face. And he was rolling around all over again. Took the other cops and Caputo to pick him up. Man, I almost died laughing.”
    â€œThey come after you too?” Marlow asked.
    Charlie shook his head. “Nah. Don’t exactly look like a threat, do I?”
    Understatement of the century. Charlie was a year older than Marlow but five foot three and stick thin. The phrase “can’t punch his way out of a wet paper bag” was invented for him, although anyone who thought that would be wrong. Charlie was a pit bull. He wouldn’t just tear his way out of a wet paper bag, he’d shred it, set fire to it, then stamp the ashes into oblivion. Spending three-quarters of your life in foster care would do that to you.
    â€œBesides, Caputo loves me. I’m one of his model students, turning my life around, getting back on track. They used me in the brochure, remember? You, though…” Charlie shook his head, sighing.