Front Lines by Michael Grant Read Free Book Online

exclusion of other boys.
    He’s touching me!
    His arm and hers share an armrest. There are four layers of fabric between them—her blouse, her sweater, Strand’s shirt, and Strand’s sports coat—and yet they are touching. It feels very awkward to Rio, but she definitely does not want to break off contact. She wonders what he is feeling—does he particularly enjoy the contact between their respective sleeves? Is he as aware, as she certainly is, of the body heat that crosses those fabric barriers? Is he feeling the muscle in her arm as she is his, and if so, is he thinking that she’s too muscular?
    She does a lot of physical work, and she likes it mostly. Maybe it’s not how she would choose to spend her whole life, hauling hay bales and milking cows and stacking bags of fertilizer at her father’s store, but she has never disliked hard labor.
    Well, if Strand thinks she’s unfeminine, well . . . Well, then that’s that. Maybe she isn’t Jenou, maybe she’s not the most girly girl, maybe her skin is too tan, but she is . . . well, again, she is what she is. Who she is.
    Whatever that is.
    Neither of them has spoken in a while, and Rio wonders if he feels as awkward as she does.
    â€œThat’s a great dress,” Strand says. He sounds as if he’s spent quite some time preparing the compliment.
    â€œThank you, Strand.”
    â€œI . . .”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œIt’s starting,” he says with obvious relief.
    The house lights go down, and the audience waits for the newsreel. First, though, comes the sales pitch for war bonds, followed by Daffy Duck taking on Adolf Hitler.
    Rio wonders whether—or maybe when—Strand will try to take her hand. Assuming he’s not actually disgusted by her and regretting this date. And she wonders how many sets of prying eyes will mark the event. Then again, what if he never does take her hand? Those same ever-observant eyes will note that fact as well. The news bulletin around the school will be “Strand and Rio!” Or, alternately, whispered reports, accompanied by head-shaking, that Strand is not really interested in Rio. Poor Rio.
    They’ll say it’s a pity date because of Rachel.
    â€œHow strange,” Rio whispers, not really intending to be overheard.
    â€œWhat’s strange?”
    â€œOh, nothing. Just . . . Just that life goes on, doesn’t it? Even with a war on.”
    As if reading her mind, Strand nods in the direction of Jasmine Burling, a high school junior who could have a great future in journalism, if her love of the very latest gossip is any indicator. Jasmine is three rows down and off to the right, whispering to her irritating milquetoast boyfriend while quite clearly looking at Rio and her definitely-not-boyfriend Strand. Jasmine’s boyfriend turns and looks, his face such a mask of boredom and despair that Rio laughs.
    â€œWhat’s funny?”
    â€œNothing,” Rio says, then amends, “People. Sometimes people are funny.”
    The newsreel starts in with the usual dramatic music followed by a stentorian voice narrating the footage. In this case it shows marines on some blasted, godforsaken island fighting the Japanese. The narrator uses terms like “hard-fought,” “slogging,” “slug match,” and “desperate.”
    â€œThat was depressing,” Strand whispers.
    â€œIt said we were on the march,” Rio counters. “That’s good, isn’t it?”
    The newsreel moves on to a story about a movie star, then a story about a very fast horse, concluding with a silly piece about two babies switched at the hospital eventhough one is white and one colored.
    Rio looks carefully at the little black baby. She’s never seen a black person in Gedwell Falls, only in movies—maids or butlers or comical tap dancers. It looks almost exactly like the white baby except for being darker.
    A second cartoon