Assured Destruction by Michael F. Stewart Read Free Book Online

more closely.
    Jonny tucks his hair behind his ears and fiddles in Flash with various forms of ellipses. I complete the task Chippy set for the class in thirty seconds flat. Jonny looks over at mine and watches it repeat in a loop. I shrug, open a new window, and set about building a small city that will wake with the dawn as the sun rises and cars rumble past. That takes me fifteen minutes.
    “Hmm … hmm …,” Chippy says as he looks at it blandly and turns to Jonny. “Good, Mr. Shaftsbury.” And to me: “Keep it simple, Miss Rose. Try again.”
    I sigh and show him my first attempt. He squints at me, and I see his hands ball into fists before he nods. “Good, you may leave.”
    That’s the one thing I like about Chippy’s classes. If I do it right, he doesn’t waste my time.
    I pack up and leave close behind Jonny; now seems like a good opportunity to determine what his drawings of me are all about. He’s walking quickly, wearing these really ratty, old shoes. One of the soles has peeled back and slaps the floor as he walks. The more I look at him, the more I see how tired his clothes are. Frayed pant cuffs, mended hole in his T-shirt. I think back to his mother with her fox stole and high heels and can’t help but hate her a little more. Why was she recycling a three-year-old computer if they’re so dirt poor? Maybe Jonny just likes to dress like an urban prophet. Who knows?
    “Jonny?” I ask, but he’s got earbuds stuck in his ears and is nodding to the music. I jog after him as he pushes through the outer doors. In my peripheral vision I take in the rather large hump of Hannah who cries on a bench. Her hands clench the side of her face. I look from Hannah and back to the escaping Jonny. I run after him, leaving Hannah behind.
    As he clears the stairs, Jonny’s pace quickens. I already look like an idiot, so I run faster, taking the steps down from the school entrance two at a time. I’m gaining as his hips start to sway like a speed walker’s. He stops suddenly and I bowl into him. Lying on the ground, he’s got one hand still on the shoelace he’d bent to tie. From one dangling earbud thumps The Eminem Show . I love Eminem.
    “Sorry,” he says.
    He’s sorry? I swallow.
    “Where are you going?” I ask and he looks away. Is he skipping? Maybe he’s a smoker. My view of him dims.
    His backpack lies on the ground; spray cans have rolled from the open zipper. Cans with white, black, orange, gold, and red caps are scattered over the pavement. I grin at the sight, realizing now why Jonny is wearing ripped clothes. I can make out the paint on them now. He doesn’t want to ruin anything.
    He just opens his mouth but nothing comes out.
    Maybe it’s the terrible essay in my backpack that I’m supposed to turn in, or all the drama at school; maybe it’s the way his teeth gleam. I don’t know, but I blurt: “Can I come?”
    Jonny blushes scarlet and his scraggly hair reminds me of one of those shaggy dogs.
    “Sure.”
    I start to reach out to touch his hair, but his eyes widen and I stop. Instead I crawl over to him on my knees and tie his shoe. I kneel with his foot between my thighs, and the world goes silent except for the pounding of blood in my ears. I triple knot the laces to give my heart time to slow. His foot presses into my legs and I don’t want to move.
    After I stand up, he’s recovered too, and we stuff the spray cans back in his pack before walking together, not talking about much. I’m wondering what the hell just happened and my mind’s having trouble catching up with what’s going on in the rest of my body.
    “Harry, eh?” he asks.
    “I know, right?”
    “Crazy.”
    “Sad.”
    “Poor Astrid,” he says, and I smile, liking him more. “Do you think Harry did it?”
    I clear my throat of the lump of remorse lodging there. “No, can’t see him doing that. You like rap?”
    “Not really, just Eminem.”
    “Poetry then.”
    “Yeah, and a ripping beat.”
    “And you