Mayday by Jonathan Friesen Read Free Book Online

long, plain-view strut in front of every window. Fashionably late, Crow practically screamed, We’re tardy. What are you going to do about it?
    My purpose clarified. The second year of middle school, I had no disciples. They came later, drawn out of fear. But here and now, I was Crow’s first little follower.
    I’m nobody’s little follower. Not even my own!
    â€œCrow, you go on to math. I’ll catch you after you break out of special ed.”
    She slowed. “Okay, how do you know my schedule?”
    My eyes widened. “It, uh, it was tucked away in Tolstoy, in the tree house.”
    Crow took a step closer to me. “Shane, you’re freaking me out. You’re either the first person who understands, or you’re some clone kid planted by the government, you know, who knows my whole life.” She poked my arm and my neck. “You’re not one of them, are you?”
    I swatted her hand away. “You watch way too many movies. Listen, after I found the knife, I thought special ed was a safe bet.”
    I laughed and relaxed when she did, too.
    â€œOkay.” Crow winked. “Until then . . . sis.”
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    I walked through the front door of the middle school, my mind fixed on home. Mom’s place had looked similar, but the feel was foreign. And it wasn’t just the smaller trees and shrubs. Home drew me, despite the gathering storm, and it hadn’t done that in a long time. From the outside, Mom’s house felt warm, right. Then again, Mayday hadn’t arrived.
    The school’s office, however, was exactly as I remembered it.
    I walked in and approached Ms. Wiggle—an unfortunate name for a middle school secretary—and rang the bell on the desk.
    She set down her
Good Housekeeping
. “Yes, dear.”
    Dear? Are you kidding?
    â€œI need to enroll in school.”
    She glanced toward the door and frowned. “Your parents? Or guardian? I need their signatures and quite a bit more information.” She slapped some papers down in front of me. “Are you new to the area?”
    I shook my head. “Listen, you’ll never get my dad in here. You won’t get my guardian either. Here’s the shot paper.”
    I reached it to her and she read aloud, “Shane Owen Raine.” She handed it back to me. “I’m sorry. I need a parent or legal guardian.”
    â€œCrow’s my half sister. I live with her now.”
    â€œHorrors!” Ms. Wiggle rubbed her eyes, hoping, I think, that I would disappear in the process. “One Crow’s enough. Tell me there’s not another half floating around.” Ms. Wiggle clapped her hand over her mouth. “Wait here.” She vanished into the principal’s office.
    I glanced around. Powder blue. Every wall was powder blue: the color of jail cells designed to drive prisoners insane. It works. Beneath the buzz of fluorescent lights, powder blue makes a person want to jump off a cliff.
    Or register for school.
    Wiggle returned. “Just fill out the forms as best you can, and we’ll make a call.”
    An idea, quick and crafty, weaseled in, and I stared down at the enrollment sheet. I fiddled with the pen, rubbed my eyes, and fiddled some more.
    â€œOh, for the love of heaven, not you, too. Crow barely sounds out, and you can’t read either?”
    I blanked my face, but my thoughts replayed the first time I’d played this game.
    In school, I had been a master of deception, and no ruse proved my brilliance more than feigned idiocy. I quickly determined that my lack of sleep would not accommodate a middle school workload. Enter special education, a beautiful place where expectations and homework were nonexistent.
    My present plans do not accommodate a middle school workload either.
    â€œLet me walk you down to Mrs. Herbert. She’ll be your homeroom. Room 145.” Wiggle rose and peeked at me sideways. “Can you