Hold-Up by E. B. Duchanaud

Author:E. B. Duchanaud
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BookBaby
Published: 2019-03-05T16:31:57+00:00

8. PEG

Wednesday

Jeb twists around in his seat to talk to Rachel, who sits behind him and is clearly not interested. Her head is buried so deeply in her paperback that her nose is practically touching the page, but Jeb is unstoppable. Or blind. Or just doesn’t care that his chosen listener has no intention of doing so.

“You lost power last night, right?” His voice is jittery and his eyes are red.

Rachel slowly shrugs, her gaze never leaving the page I know she’s not reading. Jeb is Rachel’s Becky Bartholomew, and as hard as it is for me to imagine, I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that compared to Rachel, I’ve got it good.

The second hand on the clock above Mr. Ditman’s desk seems to be ticking in slow motion. My eyes drift closed literally every two seconds, and only with the shuffle of another student entering the classroom are they startled open. Even Jeb loses his entertainment value when up against a sleepless night. Another shuffle of feet and I open to find Becky in her blah, skin-colored coat. As soon as she slips behind her desk, she starts up, just like Jeb.

“Never slept better,” she mutters. “Contrary to popular opinion, no connection with the outside world isn’t so bad.”

I know Becky’s talking to me, but I pretend to be asleep because normal people leave you alone when you’re asleep. The problem is, of course, that Becky’s not your typical person. I feign being asleep anyway, but my shoulders are tight and the hair on my arms is standing on end, waiting for her spiderlike index to scratch my shoulder.

After a while, however, the hubbub of whispers and zippers and rustling paper gets me drifting off. I breathe in deep and exhale hard. My neck muscles loosen and my forehead droops heavily into my woven fingers. My eyes are rolling to the back of my head. My stomach dives inward toward my spine. A tingle buzzes through my shoulders as my body approaches relaxation, and I shiver. And right as dream images begin to form, Becky’s sinister finger taps. Tap, tap, tap. Her signature three. There is an element of genius in her timing. Becky would make a much better torture chamber consultant than editor in chief.

Mr. Ditman walks in looking scragglier than usual.

“Let’s get started, people.” He throws his leather jacket onto the back of his chair and clears his throat. “I know we’re all surprised that school is on time today after the storm,” he says. “But let’s focus.” He clears his throat again. “Now open your books to page 467.”

This textbook, My World and Yours, is as heavy as a brick but not quite as interesting as one. Today, when I pull it to the desktop from the floor, it feels more like a cinder block. Pain shoots through my lower back as I heave it upward. I turn to the right page and stare at the title, “Cold War and Postwar Changes,” and my eyes close. For good.

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