Hunted by Cheryl Rainfield Read Free Book Online Page B

anonymizer, and then my blog— Teen Para .
    Already there are 350 comments I haven’t answered since my last post. A few of them are the usual Para-hater crap—
    “You don’t deserve to breathe!” “Die Para-freak!”—but others are curious, thoughtful, even friendly. Mom would flip out if she knew what I was doing. But I think I’m helping some Normals, at least, realize that Paras are people.
    Real people who hurt and hope and dream.
    “Sorry for my absence, peeps,” I key in. “We had to move—AGAIN. Troopers were sniffing around our neigh-borhood. Someone must have snitched on us for the moola.
    Or maybe they think it’s their duty. But how is it anyone’s 60
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    duty to enslave another human being? Did we learn nothing from the Holocaust? From slavery?” I hover my finger over the “Publish” button. Some Normals will get all geared up over what I wrote. But what’s the point of speaking out if you don’t say the truth?
    I click the button.
    “Caitlyn!”
    John’s upset. He must have had a Google alert on my blog, set to tell him as soon as I posted. I sigh. I already know what we’ll both say. We’ve had this discussion so many times.
    “Stop taking such crazy risks,” John sends.
    “It’s not crazy if it makes a difference.”
    “You’re wasting your time. Normals are never going to get it. They don’t want to get it.”
    “Some don’t. But some do. I’ve seen a few change, become more pro-Para. And isn’t that worth it? We need all the support we can get.”
    “They’re only like that when they have nothing to risk or to gain. Put their own families on the line or offer them a reward and they’ll squeal on us like pigs.” I close my mind to John, ignoring him, though it hurts to shut him out. Hurts like slamming a door on my finger.
    But I wasn’t going to connect with anyone from the Underground anyway, not until I find out who the snitch is. If someone’s managed to overhear our conversations, then I’m not safe, not even being in contact with John. I’ve got to stay firm.
    e
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    Cheryl Rainfield
    When I get to school the next morning, I can’t stop looking for a friendly face—for Alex or Rachel—but I just see a lot of faces I don’t know, all of them shutting me out.
    Loneliness washes over me—loneliness and that familiar dread that I’ll never belong anywhere, that I’ll be an outsider for the rest of my life, looking in on what other people have. I clench my teeth, pushing the tears back down.
    Tears make the new girl stand out.
    Paul strolls toward me, smiling mischievously. Today his curls and rounded cheeks make him look like a Raphael angel. Cute, gifted—why can’t my heart flutter for him?
    “Hey, pretty girl. What’s there to be sad about? The sun’s shining, we’re alive, and—” His fingers brush my ear.
    I feel his power surge, see his lips tighten in concentration. A chocolate bar rises out of his backpack and flies into his hand as he reaches for it.
    “Here’s something sweet for someone sweet.” He draws his hand in front of me and offers me the chocolate bar.
    I want to scream, “What are you doing? Don’t you know how dangerous that is?”—but at the same time, there’s a part of me that delights in his use of his power, and how he’s getting away with it.
    “Thank you,” I say softly, taking the chocolate. I can’t hold back a smile.
    “You just moved here,” he says, and it’s not a question.
    “Yep. How long have you lived here?”
    “All my life,” he says proudly.
    Wow. It’s hard to believe that someone who’s as out-spoken as Paul has lived here that long undetected.
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    Pain splinters through me. Why does Paul—who takes so many risks with being a Para—get to have a home , a community even, while I am forever on the run?
    Paul winks at me and walks off.
    I want to chase after him, ask why he took such a crazy risk to give me a bar of chocolate. But I think I know the answer. You don’t feel