Sister Assassin. Kiersten White

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СКАЧАТЬ all the way toward me, he nods. His face is open and innocent, and I know he couldn’t lie if he tried. “You saved my life, Fia. Or spared it. Whichever. I’m not going to do anything that would risk yours.”

      I smile tightly. “I’m glad you stopped to pet the dog.” Then I get out. The wind hits me and makes my arm hurt even more as we get out and pass around the front of the car. I peel off the shirt and hand it to him with an apologetic shrug. I can’t show up in it. I don’t look down at my arm (the blood, I hate the blood, at least it’s mine this time).

      “So, I’ll talk to you soon, then?”

      “If I’m not dead,” I answer brightly, then, on impulse, which is how I live my life, I go on my tiptoes and kiss him on the cheek. It feels . . . nice. Really nice. I wish I could keep that emotion, treasure it up inside, try to figure out what it means to me. But it’s not a safe emotion to bring home.

      I get back in the car and drive toward the single most dangerous place in the world for me right now. I should be terrified. I should turn around and go anywhere else. I should curl up in a ball and cry. Instead, I think about everything in the whole entire world that makes me angry—there is a lot, oh, there is a lot—and I start singing Justin Bieber at the top of my lungs.

      I can do this.

      “IT’S NOT FAIR.” I STAND, FEET PLANTED, ARMS crossed. I will not be scared of Ms. Robertson. I don’t care how broad her shoulders are, how tight her bun is, how many students whisper that she knows you’re cheating without even looking at you. She doesn’t scare me (she does, and I hate it).

      “What’s not fair?” She raises a thin eyebrow at me.

      “Why is my test all essays? Everyone else has multiple choice!”

      She smiles; it doesn’t touch her eyes. It is a lie of a smile. She is a liar. Everyone here is a liar. I hate this place, I hate it, it’s wrong, every day it’s wrong and I feel sick all the time. I hate the two postcards Aunt Ellen has sent us in the three months since we came here, saying she’s in Egypt and isn’t it great that the school will do all holidays and summer breaks for us. I hate the beautiful dining room with the fancy food, I hate the laundry room with the spinning washing machines, I hate the classrooms with too few students and too much attention.

      Annie loves it all. She has a private tutor. They’ve talked with a geneticist about her eyes. She is happy.

      “Well, Sofia, part of our goal at this school is to challenge our students. And you have demonstrated that you excel at multiple choice. You never miss a question. Ever. On any test in any subject.”

      “Are you accusing me of cheating?” I don’t break eye contact. I won’t. I have never cheated in my life.

      “Of course not. I’m simply saying you have an uncanny knack for answering multiple-choice questions. If everything comes easily, how will you ever learn?”

      I barely hold back my eye roll. Annie wouldn’t approve. She tells me to roll them as much as I possibly can and makes me tell her when I’m rolling them at her. But Annie doesn’t understand. She’s not sick all the time, doesn’t have these thoughts bouncing around in her skull making her crazy. She doesn’t feel like the bottom has just dropped out of the room, like she can’t quite get enough air to breathe. I do, ever since we came here. I’m crazy. But I am not a cheater.

      “Fine. Whatever.” I stomp back to my seat, my stupid plaid skirt swishing. The girl I share a table with, Eden, scowls. There are only five of us in the thirteen-year-olds’ class. I don’t get to know them. I don’t want to. I wish I had classes with Annie.

      “Stop being so angry all the time,” she whispers. “It’s distracting.”

      “Why do you care?” I hiss. “I’m not mad at you!”

      “No, but it’s . . . I don’t like feeling that way. Just calm down.”

      Everyone here is insane. I am the insanest of the insane. I’m going to run away tonight. I’m sick of the way the staff stares at me like they’re seeing straight into my head, and I’m sick of the bizarre classes they’ve “designed” specially for me that have me picking stocks instead of learning math, and practicing self-defense instead of gym. And I am so sick of feeling sick all the time.

      But Annie is happy. She loves her staff mentor, Clarice, and the loads of braille texts and the pamphlets of information from the doctor I have to read out loud to her over and over again. She’s bonded with Eden and they hang out constantly; you’d think they were sisters. She’ll be happier here without me dragging her down. Maybe Eden is right—maybe I am so angry that other people can actually feel it.

      I’m going to leave. I have no money. Whatever. I’ll figure it out. Just planning to leave tonight I feel better already, lighter, not as jittery in my own head. There’s a camera and an alarm and a security guard at the main entrance to the huge school building. But a window on the second floor has a balcony under it. Ten-foot drop. I can do a ten-foot drop. Then I’ll climb the rest of the way down. The brick is old and uneven. I can do it.

      I know I can.

      I’m going to get out of here tonight, and I’ll never come back. I’ll walk back to my aunt’s house if I have to. I’ll live there by myself. I’ll send Annie stupid postcards, and maybe they’ll fix her eyes and she’ll even be able to read them by herself. I don’t want to be without her—that idea makes it even harder to breathe—but I can’t stay here.

      I look up to see Ms. Robertson smiling at me, and this time the smile isn’t a lie. It’s a challenge. Like she knows what I’m planning.

      But she can’t know.

      She knows. It’s a physical reaction in me, a certain quivering, empty feeling in my stomach, that tug of my gut. I know she knows. How does she know? I have to go now. NOW. I stand, knocking my chair over with a clatter into the table behind me. “I feel sick,” I say, leaving my stuff as I run out the door. Down the long hall, all tile and dark wood. Into the residence wing. Up the stairs that smell like lemon furniture polish. Straight to the window, the one I opened last week to see how far the drop was.

      It’s nailed shut.

      Screw this, I am gone. I sprint up another flight of stairs to the dorms with their warm yellow lights and plush red carpet. I will grab everything I own and I will run straight out the front doors. I will run into the sunshine and I will never come back here where everything is wrong for no reason. I burst in, and Annie’s there, on the couch, and she’s crying.

      “What’s wrong?” I ask, out of breath. “What happened?”

      She looks up, but she’s smiling. Why is she crying and smiling at the same time?

      “I’m not the only one,” she says. “Fia, it’s not just me! Clarice can do it, too. Clarice sees things before they happen. And she’s going to help me learn to do it better, to control it. Oh, I knew this school was the right choice.” She stands and holds her hands out for a hug and I stumble forward, letting her wrap me up because I never stay away when she wants me close. “Think about it, Fia. If I had known СКАЧАТЬ