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PROLOGUE
LUCIAN
Silky blonde hair, in two perfect pigtails, coast down the back of the girl in front of me as she grasps the bar of the jungle gym. She shakes it hard, as if testing its strength.
Always so careful, this one.
Is she afraid the metal won’t hold? Jeez, what a scaredy-cat.
That thought makes me itch to yank one pigtail.
Iwillyank it.
Make her squeak.
Make her turn around and glare at me with her dark eyes, so different from the cheery, bright yellow of her hair.
I like the black sparks in her eyes when she looks at me like she hates me.
I like it less when I shove her to the ground, but that’s the way it ends between us sometimes.
That’s how it will end today.
I push her.
She falls on her hands and knees, crying out as she scrapes her palms and knees against the pebbled concrete of the schoolyard. There’s black rubber underneath the jungle gym, but she fell just passed it on the hard, rough ground.
Oh well.
I tried to be nice once. Once. But she ignored me.
No one looks down on me, so I hit her and screamed at her, and called herstupidandugly girl.
She cried, but I felt much better after.
“You took too much time climbing up that thing,” I blame her, pointing at the jungle gym. “Slow and stupid, that’s what you are.”
I don’t mean it, but I started this and I need to see it to the end. That’s how things are between me and her. That’s how they always are, and I’m okay with that.
She glares at me over her shoulder. Her eyes are red. Her cheeks are pink from shame, but she doesn’t cry. She’s cried before, but this time, she won’t give me the satisfaction. I don’t mind. I like her mad better anyway.
“Hey,” says Crina, stepping into my space. She’s the boldest of the girls, a tomboy. “Leave her alone.”
I shove Crina hard. She stumbles back, her arms flailing like windmills. Her rump slams down hard on the black rubber.
Marku hovers nearby. He’s torn because I’m his best friend, but Crina’s like a sister. I give him a look, telling him I’m not here for Crina.
My gaze returns to Star. I want to see what she’ll do next.
She scrambles to her feet, coming up to protect the girl who stood up for her. Her tights are torn at the knees. Her palms are scraped and bleeding. A crumpled, dry yellow leaf rolls past her feet like a tumbleweed.
I feel a twinge of something in my chest, but I slap the sore spot and shove the feeling down.
Kids have stopped playing and stand to watch the drama.
My muscles are loose ’cause I know I’ll win this battle. Even if she stands up to me, I always win. There’s no choice since Daddy got sick.
“Stop it,” she speaks low, almost too low to hear.
