Isle of Night by Verónica Wolff Read Free Book Online Page A

ridiculous, I had to turn in my seat to steal a glimpse of her. I smirked, wondering if anyone had ever broken it to Miss Thing that her leather ankle booties had once been, in fact, the skin of some unwitting creature.
    Ronan furrowed his brow at her question, and then recognition dawned. “Ah. Your oilies aren’t really skin. They’re made of canvas. For inclement weather.”
    Lilac stared blankly.
    â€œHe’s saying oilskin is another word for raincoat , Einstein.”
    Lilac curled her upper lip in a dead-eyed sneer, and it made my skin crawl. The girl looked like she might fillet me and have me for a snack later. She made the Dale R. Fielding High School Cheer Squad look like Barney and Friends , and I vowed to give her a wide berth.
    â€œYou’re to change and leave all your old clothing on the plane,” Ronan instructed us. I tuned back in, tensing, thinking of my smuggled goods. I couldn’t do anything about it with Ronan next to me, and it wasn’t like I could tote this ginormous bag into the airplane lavatory.
    The attendant knelt at Ronan’s shoulder, and I startled. “Shall I administer refreshments?”
    He gave her a brisk nod, and before I knew it, we all had crystal tumblers filled with a thick, dark red liquid.
    â€œWhat is this stuff?” I sniffed. It managed to smell both cloying and sour, like a kid’s sweaty palm after holding a fistful of pennies. My stomach lurched, and I wondered again at the location of the airsick bags.
    â€œIt’s what you’re being served,” Ronan said sternly.
    I contemplated the glass. “Can’t I just have, I don’t know, a Perrier or something?”
    â€œYou must drink it.” He tossed his back in one gulp. “No questions.”
    I forced myself to follow suit. It was viscous, like syrup, the last of it dribbling down my throat slow and thick, like I’d just done a shooter of ice-cold Robitussin. I shuddered.
    But then a strange thing happened. A buzzing began at the backs of my legs, crackling up my spine and out to my fingertips. Was it some sort of weird Viking alcohol? Whatever it was, it made me feel alive . Like I could breathe more deeply, and there were new scents all around.
    From the hideous hurling sounds erupting from the rear of the plane—not to mention Lilac’s shrieks—it seemed as though the drink wasn’t having the same effect on Mimi.
    Ronan stood, watching wordlessly as the attendant handed the girl a damp towel. Mimi must’ve shown some warning signs prior to throwing up, because she was already chin deep in a white airsick bag. So I guess they did have them hidden somewhere.
    Ronan wasn’t aware I watched him, he was so preoccupied with Mimi, scrutinizing her with a strange look in his eye. Almost like he was angry. But then he told her, “It’s all right, love,” in such a kindly tone of voice.
    Mimi raised her head, wiping her chin with the towel. She spat one last time into the bag. “We don’t drink mierda like this in Cuba.” She wore an angry snarl and pronounced her country Coo-ba .
    I began to mutter a sassy retort, but then I realized everyone was distracted. I’d never get a better chance to deal with my photo and iPod.
    Besides, my limbs were really tingling now. I had to act. I was hot and alive with the sense that I was becoming aware of each individual cell in my body. That there was some epiphany within my reach, if only I’d just move . I felt empowered, capable, and it made me brave.
    â€œI’d like to get changed and ready.” I grabbed a stack of gray clothing and slipped by Ronan. I didn’t look back to see if he’d protest.
    Keeping my hoodie balled at my stomach, I snuck into the bathroom, hoping the pile of wool in my arms amounted to a complete outfit. Sliding the lock shut, I began to undress, taking off my hat, clothes, socks, everything. The prospect of being barefoot