Free Slated by Teri Terry Page B

think,’ I say, trying to be vague.
‘She didn’t come home with you after you hurt yourself?’
‘Uh…’
Her mouth sets in a thin line.
‘Go up and change.’

I stay in my room, holding ice to my lip.
I was going to hit that girl on the bus; I know I was. There was no conscious thought or plan, it was in my muscles tensing up, my hand curling into a fist. My body reacting.
I’m not supposed to be able to do that. My Levo should stop me. Any trace of violence, and it is supposed to knock me out.
But nothing. Somehow I stayed near enough to 5 through the whole thing.
Ben and the others just sat smiling together as usual, even though they all knew one of them had been deliberately hurt. And it’s not like they don’t care. Ben came and helped me, didn’t he? More like in their happy little Slated brains it is not enough to create a ripple.
I’m nothing like them.
I don’t understand.

The front door opens below; I hear voices.
Heated voices.
Minutes tick past, then there are footsteps on the stairs. The door opens: Amy.
‘Are you all right?’ She crosses the room, tilts my chin up to look at my lip. ‘That’s got to hurt.’
I shrug. ‘A little.’
‘Good.’
She picks up her book by the spare bed, her robe on the back of the door. All her bits and pieces that have spilled into my room the last week of her staying with me so I won’t be alone at night. She crosses the hall and goes into her room, shutting the door behind her with a definite slam.
Like he knows by some feline empathy trick that he is needed, Sebastian peeks into the room, meows and jumps up next to me. Rubs his head against my arm until I pet him. A tear rolls down my cheek and hits my lip. It stings, and I lick it off.
Green trees blue sky white clouds green trees blue sky white clouds…

‘Dinner!’ Mum yells up the stairs.
I ease sleeping Sebastian from my knees on to the bed, and go down to the kitchen.
‘I made soup for you; easier to eat with that lip.’
‘Thanks.’
I sit.
Mum puts my bowl and two plates of pasta on to the table, then goes to the bottom of the stairs.
‘Dinner, Amy,’ she yells, then walks back into the kitchen. ‘Well, if Miss can’t be bothered to join us, she can go hungry.’ She plonks herself down at the table.
I look at my soup.
‘Well, try it. I made it just for you.’
I pick up the spoon.
‘Are you all right, Kyla?’ She grabs my wrist just as my Levo vibrates: 4.3. She sighs. ‘You didn’t just trip on the bus, did you.’
A mind-reading dragon.
‘Tell me.’
‘It’s not that.’
‘What, then?’
I don’t say anything; just stir the soup.
‘It’s Amy, isn’t it. What did she say?’
I let go of the spoon, slump in my chair. ‘She’s angry with me, and I don’t understand.’
‘Teenage girls, what a nightmare! Boys are so much easier. Wait here.’
She stomps up the stairs; moments later returns with Amy, and yanks her into the kitchen.
‘Sit!’
Amy sits.
‘Listen up, Miss. Kyla didn’t tell me anything, all right? About your silly little boyfriend, or driving in his insane car, or anything. I put it together all by myself. Now: you two sort yourselves out. I’m going to eat by the TV.’ And she picks up her plate and stomps off into the other room, shutting the door with her foot.
Amy looks at me guiltily. ‘I’m sorry. I thought you must have told her.’
‘She’s like a mind-reader,’ I say.
‘Somehow she tricked me into confessing. And you can’t keep secrets; your face is an open book no matter how you try. I should know that. I’m sorry.’
She starts on her dinner, doesn’t say much else. But I can see it in her eyes: she won’t tell me any more secrets.
I can’t be trusted.
And that night, she stays in her own room, leaving me to sleep alone.

The driver lays on the horn. Why, I don’t know. They aren’t going anywhere: it is gridlock. The road has become a car park, right in front of heavy brick buildings with a sign hanging in front: ‘London Lorder