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"Because you're his biggest threat."
"Me?"
"You're a fighter—everyone knows that. And they also know that you don't take crap from anyone. Have you heard kids mumbling about how someone oughta do something about Roland?"
"Yeah."
"They only say that when you're close enough to hear. They're expecting you to do something about him—and Roland knows it."
He tries to wave her off, but she gets in his face.
"Listen to me, because I know what I'm talking about. Back at StaHo there were always dangerous kids who bullied their way into power. They were able to do it because they knew exactly who to take down, and when. And the kid they took down the hardest was the one with the greatest potential for taking them down."
She can see Connor curling his right hand into a fist. She knows she's not getting through to him. He's getting the wrong message.
"If he wants a fight, he'll get one."
"No! You can't take the bait! That's what he wants! He'll do everything within his power to pull you into a fight. But you can't do it."
Connor hardens his jaw. "You think I can't take him in a fight?"
Risa grabs his wrist and holds it tight. "A kid like Roland doesn't want to fight you. He wants to kill you."
23 Connor
As much as Connor hates to admit it, Risa has been right about a lot of things. Her clarity of thought has saved them more than once, and now that he knows to look for it, her take on Roland's secret power structure is right on target. Roland is a master of structuring life around him for his own benefit. It's not the overt bullying that does it, either. It's the subtle manipulation of the situation. The bullying almost acts as cover for what's really going on. As long as people see him as a dumb, tough guy, they don't notice the more clever things he does . . . such as endearing himself to one of the Fatigues by making sure the man sees him giving his food to one of the younger kids. Like a master chess player, every move Roland makes has purpose, even if the purpose isn't immediately clear.
Risa wasn't just right about Roland, she was also right about Lev—or at least the way Connor feels about the kid. Connor hasn't been able to get Lev out of his mind. For the longest time he had convinced himself it was merely out of a desire for revenge, as if he couldn't wait to get even with him. But each time a new group of kids shows up and Lev isn't among them, a sense of despair worms its way through Connor's gut. It makes Connor angry that he feels this way, and he suspects this is part of the anger that fuels the fights he gets into.
The fact is, Lev hadn't just turned them in, he had turned himself in as well. Which means that Lev is probably gone. Unwound into nothing—his bones, his flesh, his mind, shredded and recycled. This is what Connor finds so hard to accept. Connor had risked his life to save Lev, just as Connor had done for the baby on the doorstep. Well, the baby had been saved, but Lev had not, and although he knows he can't be held responsible for Lev's unwinding, he feels as if it is his fault. So he stands there with secret anticipation each time there's a group of new arrivals, hoping beyond hope he'll find that self-righteous, self-important, pain-in-the-ass Lev still alive.
24 Risa
The Fatigues arrive with Christmas dinner an hour late. It's the same old slop, but the Fatigues wear Santa hats. Impatience rules the evening. Everyone's so hungry, they crowd noisily around, like it's a food delivery in a famine, and to make it worse, there are only two Fatigues there tonight to serve the meal instead of the usual four.
"Single line! Single line!" yell the Fatigues. "There's enough for everybody. Ho, ho, ho." Rut tonight it's not a matter of getting enough, it's a matter of getting it now.
Risa's just as hungry as the others, but she also knows that meals are the best time to have some privacy in the bathroom, without someone bursting in through the unlocked door or simply pounding repeatedly to get you out faster. Tonight, with everyone clamoring for their holiday hash, there's no one at the bathroom at all, so, putting her hunger on hold, she moves away from the crowd and across the warehouse toward the bathroom.
Once inside she hangs the makeshift OCCUPIED sign on the door knob, and pushes the door closed. She takes a moment to examine herself in the mirror, but she doesn't like the straggly-haired, ragged girl she's become, so she doesn't look at herself for long. She washes her face and, since there are no towels, dries it with her sleeve. Then, before she even turns for the toilet, she hears the door creak open behind her.
She turns and must stifle a gasp. It's Roland who has entered the bathroom. And now he closes the door gently behind him. Risa immediately realizes her mistake. She should never have come here alone.
"Get out!" she says. She wishes she could sound more forceful in the moment, but he's caught her by surprise.
"No need to be so harsh." Roland moves toward her in a slow, predatory stride. "We're all friends here, right? And since everyone's eating dinner, we've got some quality time to get to know each other."
"Stay away from me!" Now she's scanning her options, but realizes in this tight a space, with only one door, and nothing she can use as a weapon, her options are limited.
Now he's dangerously close. "Sometimes I like having dessert before dinner. How about you?"
The second he's in range, she acts quickly to hit him, to knee him, to inflict any kind of pain that would distract him enough for her to fly out the door. His reflexes are simply too fast. He grabs her hands, pushes her back against the cold green tile wall, and presses his hip against her so that her knee can't reach its mark. And he grins, as if it was all so easy. His hand is on her cheek now. The shark tattooed on his forearm is inches away, and seems ready to attack.
"So, whaddaya say we have some fun and make sure you don't get unwound for nine months?"
Risa has never been a screamer. The way she always saw it, screaming was a show of weakness. A sign of defeat. Now she has to admit defeat, for although she has lots of experience warding off creeps, Roland has even more experience being one.
So she screams. She lets loose a bloodcurdler at the top of her lungs. But her timing is as bad as it could possibly be, because just then a jet roars by overhead, shaking the walls and completely swallowing her scream.
