Free UnBound by Neal Shusterman Page B

and opens her toiletry kit. Catching sight of Naomi’s sore neck, she asks, “What happened to you?”
    Naomi pulls on the neck of her T-shirt and mutters, “Nothing.” Now that Brooklyn is there, she’s not so quick to talk about it, and Brooklyn wishes Risa would just let it go—but she doesn’t.
    â€œNo, really.” Risa gently tugs Naomi’s collar aside. “That looks nasty. You should see the nurse.” Then Risa says in a low voice, “Was it one of the boys? You should report it.”
    Naomi jerks away and finally glares at Brooklyn. “ She just about strangled me for no reason—that’s what happened—but the nurse would have to report it, and I don’t want to get into trouble.”
    Risa looks at Brooklyn in astonishment. Brooklyn is aware that the room has grown quiet except for the sound of the showers. Everyone is staring at her.
    â€œWhy?” Risa asks.
    â€œIt doesn’t matter,” Brooklyn mumbles. She looks toward the entrance, hoping to make an escape, but there are too many girls blocking the way. All she needs is to push past them and send someone sprawling on the slippery tiles. They’d say she did it on purpose.
    â€œShe accused me of stealing her shirt,” Naomi says, “but it was behind the laundry hamper the whole time.”
    Risa looks between Naomi and Brooklyn and then bursts out laughing. “Not again!”
    Feeling heat rush into her face, Brooklyn says quickly, “Let’s just drop it—it was a mistake, okay?”
    Then a girl behind Brooklyn asks Risa, “What do you mean ‘again’?”
    Brooklyn’s heart is hammering. She can’t bear to hear the story and her shame spoken aloud.
    â€œWhen we were little, Brooklyn thought I’d taken a shirt of hers too,” Risa says with a gentle smile that might also be a little bit calculated. “She shoved me. I shoved her back. No biggie.”
    Don’t tell them. Brooklyn feels like she’s on fire, and she realizes she’s signing. A lot of good that will do. She balls her hands into fists, forcing them down to her side.
    And then another girl says what Risa doesn’t.
    â€œDidn’t you spit on her?” the girl asks.
    It’s like ants beneath Brooklyn’s skin.
    â€œYeah, I remember,” the girl says. “You pinned her on the ground, and you spit in her face. It was classic.”
    Risa cocks her head. “Yeah. I guess I did. What can I say? Kids do dumb things.”
    And the other girls laugh. The brainless, heartless twitter of birds. But it’s not their laughter that gets to Brooklyn. It’s the slow smile that creases Risa’s face. A mocking smile. A smile that says, I was better than you then, I’m better than you now, and I will always be one rung above you, ready to step on your face. Or spit on it.
    â€œIt was a long time ago, Brooks,” Risa says.
    â€œYeah, right, whatever.”
    Brooklyn turns to leave, this time not caring who she topples to get out. No one falls, because the curtain of girls parts for her.
    Minutes later she opens the computer lab door. Thor sits alone at the mainframe, no attendant in sight. The clock on the wall above him reads 5:41.
    He simply signs, Who?
    Brooklyn spells it out so there can be no confusion.
    R. I. S. A.
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    That evening, in the crowded playground, Brooklyn Ward eats ice cream standing near Logan. He snickers at something Kip says. While the ice cream is still being served, a messenger from the headmaster’s office emerges from the building and passes out notes to twenty-one wards.
    Brooklyn thinks, If I ran things here, I’d at least wait till they’ve finished their ice cream. But compassion doesn’t live in a StaHo.
    One of the kids who gets a note is standing near them. Samson. Brooklyn remembers that he’s number two on the harvest list. Supposedly