Free Inquest by DelSheree Gladden Page B

knuckles
on perfect cheekbone echoes in the sudden silence. Even though I
was careful to hold back any talent-born power from my punch,
Pretty Boy Reporter has likely never been hit before and drops like
a wet noodle. The throbbing in my hand is oddly exhilarating.
    “I thought you
weren’t going to hurt anyone,” a brave but quietly muttering voice
from somewhere in the middle of the pack says.
    The liar I
just made of myself stings more than I would have expected. Is this
what Howe meant? Even if it is, I can’t back down from these
leeches. “Keep your hands off me and I won’t,” I say as calmly as
possible.
    The entire
group takes a collective, unconscious step back.
    “I don’t have
anything to say to any of you. Now leave me alone.”
    I turn away
but a redheaded woman steps forward and I pause. She looks straight
at me, and asks, “Do you really just expect people to go about
their business like their own murderer isn’t walking around free as
a bird? Nobody is going to stand for that, Libitina. People are
already calling for you to be locked up.”
    “They can’t do
that,” I say in a panic. “I’ve only been named to the Destroyer
class. I’m not anything until I turn eighteen. You can’t touch me
until then.”
    The redhead
cocks her head to the side as she considers that. “So when you do
turn eighteen…”
    “Lock me up,
kill me, do whatever you want,” I say, shocking everyone, even
Milo, “if…if you still think I’m going to hurt anyone.”
    “If?” she
asks. “What makes you think anyone will be willing to take that
risk?”
    Forcing every
bit of confidence and strength into my voice that I can manage, I
say, “Because by the time I turn eighteen, I’ll have proved to
everyone that I’m not the Destroyer.”
     
     

Chapter 7
    Hero
     
     
    I watch the
horde of retreating news vans in relief. I don’t think they ever
would have left if Principal Andrews hadn’t come out and banished
them from the premises. She stormed back to her office right after
looking angrier at me than them. My knees are shaking, and all I
want to do is flop down on the pavement and bang my head against
it. I might have if Milo hadn’t been staring at me. Despite the
fact that he sat in that same irritating, slouchy position during
the entire attack with an expression of detached curiosity, I
stagger over to his car and plop down next to him. Jen would have
hugged me. Lance would have kissed me and rubbed my shoulders until
he felt the tension dissolve. Milo just sits there.
    “Thanks for
the help,” I say, my annoyance blatantly obvious.
    “I thought you
did great. Especially when you clocked that guy in the mouth. You
can bet that bit makes it on the evening news,” Milo says
casually.
    A frustrated
groan slips through my teeth. I was so focused on keeping them off
me and trying to make them believe I wasn’t some mutant, terrorist
freak hell-bent of annihilating the world that I had barely even
thought about how everything was being taped before I hit that guy.
“I can’t believe I did that,” I moan.
    “It’s not like
it’s going to make people have a worse opinion of you,” Milo
says.
    “How so?”
    “Because they
already hate you. What’s stronger than hate?” he says.
    My head feels
like it’s going to explode. I hope the fragments of my skull bash
right into Milo’s face when it does. “You suck at cheering people
up, do you know that?”
    “That’s only
because I wasn’t trying to cheer you up.”
    I sigh and
laugh weakly. “Well, then let me say, you’re fantastic at making
people feel even worse than they already did.”
    “Yeah, well,
it’s just one more thing to love about me, I guess,” he says, “but
I wasn’t trying to make you feel worse, either.”
    “Too bad,
because it worked.” With the adrenaline beginning to wear off, my
hands start shaking. I stuff them under my legs to hide them.
    “I was merely
stating the obvious. People are going to hate you