Warcross Read Free Page B

later? I want it
now
. And you’re gonna need to add another hundred bucks to what you owe.”
    “
What?
”
    “Rent’s going up this month. On the whole block. You think this ain’t hot property?”
    “That’s not fair,” I say, my temper rising. “You can’t do that—you
just
raised it!”
    “You know what’s not fair, little girl?” Mr. Alsole narrows his eyes at me and folds his arms. The gesture stretches out the freckles on his skin. “The fact that you’re living for free in my building.”
    I hold both hands up. The blood is rushing to my cheeks. I can feel its fire. “I know—I just—”
    “What about notes? You got more than five thousand of those?”
    “If I did, I’d be giving them to you.”
    “Then offer something else,” he spits. He shoves a sausage-like finger at my skateboard. “I see that again, I’ll smash it with a hammer. You sell that thing and give me the money.”
    “It’s only worth fifty bucks!” I take a step forward. “Look, I’ll do whatever it takes, I swear, I promise.” The words stream out of me in a jumbled mess. “Just give me a few more days.”
    “Listen, kid.” He holds up three fingers, reminding me exactly how many months I owe him. “I’m done with pity checks.” Then he looks me up and down. “You’re what, eighteen now?”
    I stiffen. “Yeah.”
    He nods down the hall. “Go get a job at the Rockstar Club.Their girls earn four hundred a night just for dancing on some tables.
You
could probably pull five hundred. And they won’t even care about the red on your record.”
    I narrow my eyes. “You think I haven’t checked? I have to be twenty-one.”
    “I don’t care what you do.
Thursday.
Got it?” Mr. Alsole’s talking forcefully enough now for his spit to fly onto my face. “And I want this apartment cleared out. Spotless.”
    “It wasn’t spotless in the
first
place!” I shout back. But he’s already turned his back and is stalking down the hall.
    I let out a slow breath as he slams his door shut. My heart pounds against my ribs. My hands shake.
    My thoughts return to the homeless, with their hollow eyes and sloped shoulders, and then to the working girls I’ve occasionally seen leaving the Rockstar Club, reeking of smoke and sweat and heavy perfume, their makeup smeared. Mr. Alsole’s threat is a reminder of where I might end up if I don’t get lucky soon. If I don’t start making some hard choices.
    I’ll find a way to work some pity into him. Soften him up.
Just give me one more week, I swear, and I’ll get half the money to you. I promise.
I play these words in my head as I shove the key in the lock and open the door.
    It’s dark inside, even with the neon-blue glow from outside the window. I flip on the lights, toss my keys on the kitchen counter, and throw the crumpled eviction notice in the trash. Then I pause to look around the apartment.
    It’s a tiny studio, crammed full of belongings. Cracks in the painted plaster run along the walls. One of the bulbs in the room’s only ceiling light has burned out, while the second bulb is fading, waiting for someone to replace it before it dies, too. My Warcross glasses are lying on the fold-out dining table. I’d rented them forcheap because they’re an older model. Two cardboard boxes of stuff are stacked by the kitchen, two mattresses lie on the ground by the window, and an ancient TV and old, mustard-yellow couch take up the rest of the space.
    “Emi?”
    A muffled voice comes from underneath a blanket on the couch. My roommate sits up, rubs her face, and runs a hand through her nest of blond hair.
Keira.
She’d fallen asleep with her Warcross glasses on, and a faint crease trails across her cheeks and forehead. She wrinkles her nose at me. “You got some guy with you again?”
    I shake my head. “No, just me tonight,” I reply. “Did you give Mr. Alsole your half of the money today, like you said you would?”
    “Oh.” She avoids my stare, swings her legs over