Love in Revolution by B.R. Collins Read Free Book Online Page B

forward, grabbed something off the bench and pushed it into my face. I felt a cold, damp mass hit my cheek and wetness trickle down my neck, and smelt ink. I pulled away. She tilted her head, smiled at me and dropped the wet mess of ink-soaked tissue paper on the ground. It landed in a flat, dark splat. I put my fingers up to the wet stuff running down my face and they came away black. When I looked down there was a long stain on my jumper, already starting to soak down into my skirt. My jaw dripped.
    ‘Now you look like one of us,’ Ana said. ‘Mourning suits you.’
    I went to wipe my fingers on my skirt, and stopped myself just in time. I wondered what Mama would say about the stains; ink didn’t wash out properly, not ever.
    I looked up at Ana. She was smiling, still, and her hair was falling over her shoulder in a perfect curve, as if she was posing for a photograph.
    I didn’t move.
    ‘Not very stylish,’ Ana added, ‘but then you always look a little bit scruffy, don’t you?’
    I knew that if I moved, I’d hit her. If I hit her, I’d be in even more trouble. I swung my hand back.
    Then, before I had time to change my mind, I turned on my heel and ran through the school gates, out into the street.
     
    I kept on running, with my satchel bouncing on my back and the sweat starting to run down my face. I wiped my cheek and the smear of moisture that came off on my hand was dark grey. I was shaking. The taste of my breakfast came back into my throat, mixed with something bitter, like lemons.
    It was so hot. I almost turned on to the high street, from habit, and caught myself just in time. I didn’t want anyone to see me, not when I should’ve been at school. Instead I went back the way I’d come and ducked into an alleyway. It was cool in the shadows between garden walls. I kept running.
    And came out into the square in front of the church, in bright sunlight, so suddenly I was dazzled. The church was on my left, and to my right was the pello wall. I looked down and saw that I was standing on one of the painted lines.
    There were a couple of old men outside the bar, but no one else. Everything was quiet.
    I reached out and touched the pello wall with my hand, tracing the mortar between the stones. My fingers left faint inky traces. Then I sat down, with my back against the wall and my knees up, and after a while I started to cry.
     
    I don’t know how long I was there, but what made me stop crying, in the end, was the feeling that someone was watching me.
    I looked up. My eyes stung in the light, and I felt the last drops of water slide down my face. My hands, where I’d been covering my face, were wet, the lines on my palms picked out in black.
    At first I thought I’d been imagining it. The space in front of me was empty. I turned my head, looking from side to side. I was being watched; I could sense it, like something crawling up my spine.
    There was a brief movement in the shadows in the doorway of the church.
    Skizi.
    When she saw me looking she raised her arm and waved at me. There was something odd about the gesture, something a bit clumsy, as though she’d never done it before. Then she dropped back into a relaxed, balanced stillness, as if she was made of the same stone as the church. I wasn’t surprised I hadn’t seen her standing there. She was like a hunter, waiting.
    I stood up, wiped my face again and walked towards her. She had her hands in her pockets, like a boy. She met my gaze, as if no one had ever told her it was rude to stare, and only smiled when I got close.
    ‘Hello,’ she said.
    ‘Hello.’
    ‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’ Her tone was mocking, and she looked me up and down, taking in my crimson, ink-stained uniform. I felt my cheeks flare.
    ‘Shouldn’t you ?’
    She grinned at me. I sniffed, squelchily, and shuffled my feet. I felt like a chocolate bar left in the sun, all sticky and oozing.
    ‘Are you being naughty?’ she said. ‘Did you escape?’
    As if rules