Free By the Time You Read This, I'll Be Dead by Julie Anne Peters

coming. I don’t care if he’s early or late. I don’t want him springing out of nowhere is all. With a rat.
    “For me to know. And you—”
    “To find out,” Maggie Louise finished.
    No one ever found out what was happening inside me. How the pain was eating me away. No one ever came to my rescue, or stood up for me.
    I smell licorice. It alerts me.
    I’m at the ready as I read fast, Jean-Jacques bowed. Maggie Louise caught the teasing glint in his eyes. The game was on.
    No movement around me. No presence. Phantom scent of licorice. It’s my paranoia. I’ll never lose it.
    I wish I was Maggie Louise. Trusting, desirable, loved. Maggie Louise had lovers everywhere because she loved herself. Even if she wasn’t the most admirable person—always cheating on Charles, expecting his forgiveness—Maggie Louise saw what she wanted and took it. She’d never allow people to treat her like dirt. Charles, on the other hand . . .
    Who cares about him? He’s weak and powerless in her hands.
    I tear out the page.
    A footstep sounds behind me and I brace. The jangle of keys. A thud. Turning my torso slightly, I spy the UPS man heading into the building. The truck idles right in front of me.
    My vision blurs. Where was I? On the bench, with the book. In the body of someone I’ll never be. I rip out this page and the next.
    I’m only on page 59 and there are thirteen days left. Thirteen days to finish this book and the next, Desire in the Mine . I rip out a fistful of pages.
    For a while I sit and stare into space. At the truck, a passing car. A slight longing seeps in and I can’t will it away.
    I wish I could drive. I’ll never reach my sixteenth birthday.
    Where would I go, anyway? To the mall with all my friends?
    When Kim pulls up, I stand. Desire on the Moor flutters to the ground. I think to leave it, but I don’t want him finding the book. Leaving me a message.
    “Where’s Santana?” Kim asks.
    Like I know or care.
    * * *
    A total of thirteen people are on the DOD list tonight. I shouldn’t think of them as people. What are they now? Spirits? Energy? They’re happy; that’s all I know. They’re free.
    It’s Chip’s turn to invade my privacy. At least he knocks first, which gives me time to power down. “What are you doing?” he asks.
    I just look at him. He wanders over to my desk. Instinctively my hand raises to cover the monitor.
    “What were you working on?” He hitches his chin at my PC. “Just now.”
    I should’ve thought to open textbooks on my desk or something. Think, think. I retrieve my book bag and take out a spiral. I find a pen.
    I print, “I’m writing a story. For English.”
    Chip reads my note. “I saw you Google, then nothing.”
    I take back the spiral. I’m not sure what to say. Chip touches my shoulder and I flinch. When did I start to cringe at his touch? He goes, “Can I read your story when it’s done?”
    I print, “It’s boring.”
    Chip chuckles. “I doubt that.” He stays too long, checking his watch. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”
    After he’s gone, I log back on. For Chip’s sake, I Google “Shakespeare.” I choose “Collected works.” In another window I’m back at Through-the-Light.
    I touch WTG .
    Explosives
    Effectiveness: 4–5 if detonator works properly.
    Time: 10 milliseconds (approximately).
    Availability: 1.
    Pain: 4–5, but quick.
    Notes: Difficult to acquire effective explosives and a detonator. Do NOT use gunpowder or other “slow” or homemade explosives. Use dynamite or “plastique.” Strap it to your forehead with the detonator. Taping a grenade to your head will work as well.
    Oh, right. Where would I get a grenade? Kim, next time you pass through airport security, could you see if anyone’s confiscated a wad of plastique and a detonator?
    I link back to DOD. Three more. It’s comforting, somehow, to know I’m not alone.
    Too bad I’ll never see my name on this list. Unless you can access Through-the-Light from the