The Chosen One by Carol Lynch Williams Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carol Lynch Williams
Tags: General, Juvenile Fiction
Will they follow me?
My whole walk, all the way into the middle of nowhere, I keep checking behind me. I keep looking.
When I can’t see the Compound behind me, when I’m sure no one follows, I run, stopping when I grow out of breath. Down the two miles of road, to that dot of trees that makes just about the only shade out here not on Compound property. There’s the Ironton County Mobile Library on Wheels.
Parked right there.
“Hey,” I say to Patrick when he opens the van doors. He’s in his seat, just waiting.
“Good afternoon, Miss Kyra.” He nods. Adjusts that ball cap of his.
I want to tell him everything. I want him to know what’s happening at home. That I’ve been Chosen. But I can’t. The words get caught right in my throat and refuse to come out. Instead, I plunk down Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone , turning it back in.
“I loved it,” I say, just getting the words out. “It was great.” There’s a rock in my throat. When I’m married will I ever be able to come here again? Will I still get books? Still read?
Patrick smiles and says, “My sisters love that book, too. It’s a series, you know.”
I make my way to the rear of the van and drop to my knees. I can’t even look at the titles, I’m so sad. Why did I think coming here would help me? Being here only makes me ache at the thought of never coming back.
“Looking for anything specific?” Patrick says from his seat.
I shrug, not even sure if he’s looking at me. “Not really,” I say. “Just hoping for something . . .” Just hoping . . . just hoping for what? I don’t know why, but somehow, all the sudden, it feels like I could get away in the Ironton County Mobile Library on Wheels.
In a far corner is a rack that has newspapers hanging from it, like quilts made of words. Newspapers from all over the state. And the states surrounding our state and even a New York paper. A New York paper right here.
I’ve read the newspapers when they have blown free from the garbage pile near the Temple and snagged on the fencing. They’re always yellowed and crisp, like the wind and sun has made them tougher.
But here in the Ironton County Mobile Library on Wheels, the newspapers smell of ink. They are new and soft almost.
“We’ve got company,” Patrick says all the sudden.
“What?”
“Hide,” he says. “And don’t look up. You’re not here.”
My blood turns cold, makes me feel all watery. How is that possible, to feel frozen and as unsteady as water at the same time? I’m not sure I could look out that window if I wanted to.
I slip behind the newspapers. Tuck my dress in close and wait, my heart slamming in my chest so hard I worry maybe whoever is out there might hear.
There’s a tap on the door. I hear Patrick swing it open, then heavy footsteps. The bus tips a little. Whoever this is, is a big person.
“Need to see your license.”
“Yes sir.”
Brother Felix! Oh no! I close my eyes, feeling like a baby. Like if I can’t see Brother Felix—one of The Chosen and our local sheriff and a member of the God Squad—Brother Felix might not see me.
There’s silence. Blood pounds in my ears. Then,
“What are you doing here?”
“I break here because it’s the middle of my day, middle of my route,” Patrick says, his voice low and calm. “I rest in the shade of trees.”
Again there’s quiet. In my mind I can see those eyes of Brother Felix, Sheriff Felix, the way he squints and makes you feel like you’ve done something wrong when you haven’t even had the chance. His squinting is not a thing like Mother Sarah’s. Not a thing like Laura’s. His squinting scares me.
“You might not want to be here too long,” he says.
“Won’t be,” Patrick says. And then, “Am I on private property?”
I keep my eyes closed.
“Close to,” Brother Felix says.
There’s a pause.
“Watch it,” Brother Felix says.
“I’ll watch it,” Patrick says.
The newspaper ink smells so strong I
My whole walk, all the way into the middle of nowhere, I keep checking behind me. I keep looking.
When I can’t see the Compound behind me, when I’m sure no one follows, I run, stopping when I grow out of breath. Down the two miles of road, to that dot of trees that makes just about the only shade out here not on Compound property. There’s the Ironton County Mobile Library on Wheels.
Parked right there.
“Hey,” I say to Patrick when he opens the van doors. He’s in his seat, just waiting.
“Good afternoon, Miss Kyra.” He nods. Adjusts that ball cap of his.
I want to tell him everything. I want him to know what’s happening at home. That I’ve been Chosen. But I can’t. The words get caught right in my throat and refuse to come out. Instead, I plunk down Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone , turning it back in.
“I loved it,” I say, just getting the words out. “It was great.” There’s a rock in my throat. When I’m married will I ever be able to come here again? Will I still get books? Still read?
Patrick smiles and says, “My sisters love that book, too. It’s a series, you know.”
I make my way to the rear of the van and drop to my knees. I can’t even look at the titles, I’m so sad. Why did I think coming here would help me? Being here only makes me ache at the thought of never coming back.
“Looking for anything specific?” Patrick says from his seat.
I shrug, not even sure if he’s looking at me. “Not really,” I say. “Just hoping for something . . .” Just hoping . . . just hoping for what? I don’t know why, but somehow, all the sudden, it feels like I could get away in the Ironton County Mobile Library on Wheels.
In a far corner is a rack that has newspapers hanging from it, like quilts made of words. Newspapers from all over the state. And the states surrounding our state and even a New York paper. A New York paper right here.
I’ve read the newspapers when they have blown free from the garbage pile near the Temple and snagged on the fencing. They’re always yellowed and crisp, like the wind and sun has made them tougher.
But here in the Ironton County Mobile Library on Wheels, the newspapers smell of ink. They are new and soft almost.
“We’ve got company,” Patrick says all the sudden.
“What?”
“Hide,” he says. “And don’t look up. You’re not here.”
My blood turns cold, makes me feel all watery. How is that possible, to feel frozen and as unsteady as water at the same time? I’m not sure I could look out that window if I wanted to.
I slip behind the newspapers. Tuck my dress in close and wait, my heart slamming in my chest so hard I worry maybe whoever is out there might hear.
There’s a tap on the door. I hear Patrick swing it open, then heavy footsteps. The bus tips a little. Whoever this is, is a big person.
“Need to see your license.”
“Yes sir.”
Brother Felix! Oh no! I close my eyes, feeling like a baby. Like if I can’t see Brother Felix—one of The Chosen and our local sheriff and a member of the God Squad—Brother Felix might not see me.
There’s silence. Blood pounds in my ears. Then,
“What are you doing here?”
“I break here because it’s the middle of my day, middle of my route,” Patrick says, his voice low and calm. “I rest in the shade of trees.”
Again there’s quiet. In my mind I can see those eyes of Brother Felix, Sheriff Felix, the way he squints and makes you feel like you’ve done something wrong when you haven’t even had the chance. His squinting is not a thing like Mother Sarah’s. Not a thing like Laura’s. His squinting scares me.
“You might not want to be here too long,” he says.
“Won’t be,” Patrick says. And then, “Am I on private property?”
I keep my eyes closed.
“Close to,” Brother Felix says.
There’s a pause.
“Watch it,” Brother Felix says.
“I’ll watch it,” Patrick says.
The newspaper ink smells so strong I