Free Reboot by Amy Tintera Page A

out from under hers. Her skin was warm, much warmer than mine, and it made the tightness in my chest worse.
    “I still can’t believe you picked Callum,” she said, taking a bite of her oats.
    “It’s a challenge, I suppose,” I said.
    “But you always pick the highest number,” she said. “You always do things exactly the same.”
    I lifted my eyes to hers to find her staring at me intently. She’d been giving me that look since our conversation in the shower. She didn’t seem sure what to make of me.
    “He asked me to pick him.”
    “That’s it? He asked, so you did it?”
    “He needed me more.”
    Her eyebrows lifted and she slowly smiled at me. “True.” She popped a piece of bacon in her mouth. “Plus he’s pretty cute when he’s not being an ass.”
    “He’s . . .” I didn’t know where I was going with that. I couldn’t say not . That wasn’t true. Anyone could see he was cute. Anyone could see those eyes and that smile.
    I felt warmth on my face. Was I blushing? I’d never had those kinds of thoughts about a boy.
    Ever’s mouth dropped open. She’d been kidding about the “cute” thing. She clearly never expected me to agree. She burst out laughing, muffling it with her hand.
    I shrugged, embarrassed to have given myself away. Embarrassed to have those feelings at all.
    But it clearly pleased Ever. She looked happier than she had in days, and I returned her smile.
    “Softie,” she teased under her breath.
    I entered the gym to see Twenty-two standing in the corner by himself, his back to the other trainers and newbies. He still wore the same miserable expression.
    I started at the flash of rage that shot through my body. The sight of him made my heart beat funny, sent prickles of anger rushing over my skin. What right did he have to be miserable, when he was the one calling me a monster? I wanted to shake him and scream at him that he had no right to judge me.
    I wanted to bash his face in until he took it back.
    He looked up as I stomped over, his expression softening just slightly.
    “Wren, I—”
    “Shut it and get in position.”
    He didn’t get in position. He stood rooted to his spot and reached out to touch me. I quickly stepped away.
    “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
    “Get your arms up!” I yelled so loudly he jumped. I didn’t like the tentative smile he was giving me.
    He didn’t put his arms up, so I threw a hard fast punch straight into his face. He stumbled and fell on his butt.
    “Get on your feet and put your arms up,” I said tightly. “Block the next one.”
    He looked dazed, and blood trickled from his nose, but he stood up and stuck his arms in front of his face.
    I purposefully threw punches he couldn’t block. Hard, fast, angry. My chest burned in a way I had never felt before. My throat ached from the growing lump.
    He hit the mat for the tenth time, his face a barely recognizable bloody mess. He didn’t get up this time. He collapsed, breathing heavily.
    “You’re right,” I said. “I should have picked One-twenty-one. But now I’m stuck with you, so I suggest you quit your whining and pull it together. There are no more choices, rich boy. This is it, forever. Get used to it.”
    I whirled around and stormed out of the gym, the eyes of all the other trainers and newbies on me.
    “Nice work, One-seventy-eight,” a guard said to me with a nod.
    A sick feeling washed over me. I’d heard those words many times in my five years at HARC, but there was no pride or satisfaction on my part this time.
    I made a sharp turn into the showers and rushed to a sink. I smeared Twenty-two’s blood on the faucet as I clumsily turned the knob.
    The water ran red as it dripped from my fingers and I pressed my lips together and turned away. I’d never been squeamish at the sight of blood, but this was different. I saw his face in the red.
    I washed my hands four times. When I finished I looked up at my reflection. I couldn’t remember the last time I had