Monument 14: Savage Drift (Monument 14 Series) Read Free Page B

“I knew you two were trouble! Nobody chooses to be in here!”
    Venger pushed through the crowd and grabbed Mario’s frail arm.
    And VRAAAH, my rage amped up. Like a car getting on the highway, zooming up to speed.
    “Don’t touch him!” I spat.
    He poked me, hard, in the center of my chest with his nightstick.
    I grabbed it.
    “You little black poodle skank!” he snarled.
    Then he raised up his stick to hit Mario. Not me, Mario.
    I raised my arm and took the blow to my forearm.
    I shoved myself between them and felt Venger’s body warm and tall and powerful up against me. And I caught his eye.
    I saw euphoria there. The delight of using your body to hurt others. Swinging an arm, breaking a skull.
    Venger may be O or he may not be. But he knows the joy of the kill.
    Of course, it was a huge mistake, to defy Venger.
    I don’t know what bothers him most, that I’m young, that I’m a girl, or that I’m black.
    But I kept him from cracking the skull of an eighty-year-old man.
    Now I’m his favorite target.

 
    CHAPTER THREE
    DEAN
    DAY 31
    I stormed up toward the housing tents.
    The leaves on the trees that bordered the golf course were in the final stages of falling. Red, gold, and many browns, from ochre to chocolate.
    It was hard to stay mad in the presence of that kind of boastful, exuberant natural beauty. But I managed.
    “Dean!” Alex called. “Wait up!”
    I turned and watched him sprint up the incline to me.
    “Jake was really laying it on,” he said. “It seems like it’s getting worse between you two.”
    “He’s such a jerk!” I said. “He acts like he’s still her boyfriend! It’s insane.”
    “I agree,” Alex said. He had to walk double-time to match my strides.
    “Jake always acts so entitled. Like he deserves her—like I don’t.”
    “But she’s really into you, right?” Alex asked me. “Astrid?”
    I nodded.
    Trust Alex to cut to the chase.
    “Yeah,” I said. “I think so. I mean, I’m her boyfriend. That’s clear. But … sometimes I feel like she holds me at a distance.”
    “That’s just her personality though. She’s not a real showy kind of person,” Alex offered.
    “She’s not showy at all,” I said. And I probably sounded as miserable as I felt.
    “Jake’s just messing with you. You know that. He sees that you’re worried about Astrid and he’s playing you.”
    I shrugged.
    “I heard him telling Astrid that he and his dad are going to go back to Texas soon, and saying she should go with them,” I told Alex.
    “That’s harsh.”
    We walked.
    “Look,” Alex said. “Remember what Mom always used to say? About, like, manifesting reality?”
    I looked at him.
    His face was changing, it seemed to me. Growing leaner.
    “Yeah,” I said.
    “Well, think about what you’re manifesting with all this fighting and the self-doubt.”
    “You mean if I spend time worrying about Astrid turning to Jake, she will?” I asked.
    “I mean, if you spend a lot of time being afraid of it, you could make it happen.”
    I took that in.
    “Because who wants to be with a guy who’s afraid all the time, you know what I mean?” he continued.
    “Yes,” I sighed. “I know exactly what you mean.”
    “Cheer up,” Alex said. “There could be some good surprises headed your way.”
    He had a kind of a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile lurking around the side of his mouth.
    “That’d be a change,” I said.
    *   *   *
    It was good to be alone in Tent J for a while. Well, alone in our five-person cubicle bedroom. The massive tent was divided down its long center by a corridor. Off the corridor were little “rooms” made by low, dividing screens. Two bunk beds stood on either side against the screens, and one single bed was set under the plastic window.
    That bed, we had all decided, was Astrid’s.
    Other orphaned teens were messing around in their rooms, but I had ours to myself—this was the refugee camp definition of alone time.
    I wrote in my journal. Always