Free The House of the Scorpion by Nancy Farmer

dare he be friends with her! How dare she be friends with him. If Matt had another wormy orange, he’d hurl it again, no matter what.
    El Patrón sat in a wheelchair with a blanket over his legs. The burly men Matt had seen before guarded him. Willum stood nearby, dressed in a gray suit too warm for the day. His face was shiny with sweat. Of Rosa, there was no sign.
    â€œCome here, Mi Vida,” said El Patrón. The old man’s voice was clearly audible over the sounds of birds and fountains. It had a quality that commanded attention in spite of its weakness. Celia put Matt down.
    Matt walked to the wheelchair eagerly. He liked everything about El Patrón—his voice, the shape of his face, and his eyes,which were the color of the dark pond with the fish lurking in its depths.
    â€œShow him to the family, Willum,” the old man said.
    The doctor’s hand was damp. Matt felt a revulsion to him, but he allowed himself to be led around the porch. He was introduced to Mr. Alacrán, the fierce man who had thrown Matt out that first night and who was Benito’s, Steven’s, and Tom’s father. Benito, it was explained, was away at college and Matt would meet him another day. Mr. Alacrán looked at Matt with undisguised loathing.
    Felicia, Mr. Alacrán’s wife, was a frail woman with long, nervous fingers. She had been a great concert pianist, the doctor said, until illness forced her to retire. Felicia flashed Willum a quick smile that disappeared when she looked at Matt. With her was Mr. Alacrán’s father, an old man with white hair who seemed unsure of why he was on the porch.
    Then Matt met—again—Steven, Emilia, María, and Tom. Tom gave Matt a scowl, which Matt returned. No one, except María, seemed pleased to meet him, but they all pretended to be friendly.
    It’s because they’re afraid of El Patrón , Matt realized. He didn’t know why, but it was very good that they were.
    â€œHas el gato —the cat—still got your tongue?” inquired the old man when Matt was at last brought back to the wheelchair. Matt nodded. “Celia will have to work on that. Listen, all of you,” El Patrón said in a slightly louder voice. “This is my clone. He’s the most important person in my life. If you thought it was any of you sorry, misbegotten swine, think again.” The old man chuckled softly.
    â€œMatt is to be treated with respect, just as though I were here in his place. He is to be educated, well fed, and entertained.He is not to be mistreated.” El Patrón looked directly at Tom, who flushed red. “Anyone— anyone —who harms Matt will be dealt with severely. Do I make myself clear?”
    â€œYes, mi patrón ,” murmured several voices.
    â€œAnd to be absolutely sure, I’m leaving one of my bodyguards behind. Which of you louts volunteers for the duty?”
    The bodyguards shuffled their feet and looked down.
    â€œOvercome with shyness, I see,” El Patrón said. “I picked up this lot in Scotland, breaking heads outside a soccer field. Always choose your bodyguards from another country, Matt. They find it harder to make alliances and betray you. Well, Matt, you make the choice. Which of these shrinking violets do you want for a playmate?”
    Appalled, Matt looked at the men. Anyone less playful could hardly be imagined. They were thick-necked and brutal, with flattened noses and scars wandering across their arms and faces. They both had curling, brown hair that grew low upon their foreheads, ruddy faces, and bright blue eyes.
    â€œThat one’s Daft Donald—he likes to juggle bowling balls. Tam Lin is the one with the interesting ears.”
    Matt shifted his gaze from one to the other. Daft Donald was younger and less battered. He seemed a safer person to have around. Tam Lin’s ears appeared chewed, they were so misshapen. But when Matt looked into Tam