The Lost Saint by Bree Despain Read Free Book Online Page A

again, even though charcoal had always been my specialty, with Daniel’s tutelage I was really getting the hang of oils. I’d gotten two A-pluses from Barlow this semester, and he saved those only for projects he thought were truly special. And Barlow had said it himself: he wouldn’t have given me this application if he didn’t think I stood a chance.
    As the shock wore off, I felt tears well in the corners of my eyes. I brushed them away. This was a happy moment, but I’d never been a fan of crying.
    Daniel left Katie’s table. He smiled at me as he carried his application back to our table. Even without superpowers, I could hear Lana Hansen andMitch Greyson whispering from the table behind us. Apparently, Mitch had an issue with a couple of Barlow’s choices for the applications. I shrugged and picked up my Trenton envelope and tucked it into my backpack for safekeeping.

C HAPTER F IVE
Helpless
FRIDAY EVENING
    Our last-period class was cancelled because of the whole not-having-a-religion-teacher thing, and since I’d already spent an hour in study hall instead of gym class earlier in the day, I headed over to the market with Daniel to help out with the cleanup.
    I was surprised by how little it seemed had been accomplished while we were gone, but then as we dug into it, I realized just how devastating the destruction was. Almost every window had been broken; there were gaping holes in the walls; and every single shelf and display had been emptied and most everything smashed. It seemed like it would take a week to sort through it all to find what was salvageable.
    Daniel talked excitedly about our Trenton applications at first—showing his to Mr. Day and Chris, and telling me which of my paintings I should submit for myportfolio—but as the hours dragged on, he grew quiet and sullen like everyone else and just concentrated on clearing one foot of space at a time. The sun had long set and the Dumpster was overflowing when Mr. Day told us to go home for the night. I would have kept cleaning, but I was thankful for the reprieve—my back ached, and I could barely put one foot in front of the other.
    Daniel and I picked up the last of the trash and went out the back door into the parking lot.
    “I don’t think we can fit one more thing in this Dumpster,” Daniel said. “Let’s try the one at McCool’s.”
    Day’s parking lot butted up against the lot of the new pub. I hefted my box of trash in my arms and followed him over to their Dumpster, trying all the way to will my superstrength to kick in, since the box of broken glass I carried felt more like it was full of bricks.
    “You think the store will survive?” I put the box down on the asphalt when we got to the Dumpster, and stretched out my arms.
    A group of guys horsed around by the back exit of the pub only a few yards away. Their loud bursts of laughter seemed so unnatural compared to how I felt at the moment.
    “Don’t know,” Daniel said as he flung one of the bags into the Dumpster. “Insurance will only cover so much, and if we don’t get it up and running soon … A place like this can’t survive long with that kind of lost revenue.”
    “It’s not fair, you know. I mean, why would Ju—I mean, why would anyone want to target Mr. Day that way?”
    “Maybe it’s because he employs freaks,” a familiar voice said.
    I turned around and saw Pete Bradshaw strutting toward us from the group of rowdy guys. A thin line of smoke wafted from the cigarette between his fingers. Apparently, he’d taken up smoking since he’d been kicked out of HTA—that, and grown a nasty little goatee. Daniel swore under his breath as Pete walked right up to us.
    “First that Mooney retard, and now
you.
” Pete waved his cigarette too close to Daniel’s face.
    “Back off, Pete,” I said.
    “You gotta expect it. You hang with trash, and sooner or later somebody is going to trash you.”
    Pete always tried to pick a fight whenever we ran into him. He had a