The Smaller Evil by Stephanie Kuehn Read Free Book Online

behind him, shaking him gently.
    â€œIt’s time to go,” she whispered, and Arman blinked, confused. When had she gotten up? When had everybody? He looked around. The dining hall was practically empty, people quietly streaming out, their chairs pushed back, piles of dishes and glassware left in their wake. What was going on?
God.
Had he been
sleeping
?
    â€œGo where?” he asked Mari.
    â€œThe meeting hall,” she said. “It’s time.”
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    Arman swallowed his pills before he left. Mari went on ahead, and he did it when no one was looking, deftly slipping the Paxil and Adderall into his napkin, pressing the whole thing to his lips, and downing a mouthful of water while he got to his feet.
    He didn’t look back as he walked toward the door. He felt guilty about taking the pills and he hated that. The guilt made him feel like he was trying to get away with something rather than keeping himself from falling apart. It wasn’t just the rule-breaking that made him feel this way, either. It was the way he always felt, thanks to countless lectures from teachers fretting over his “wasted potential” and years of living with a father who believed ADHD and nerves and stomachaches were all signs of weakness, true failures in character. Like
he
was one to talk. Mikhail Dukoff’s current reality was the type of failure Arman was doing his damnedest never to experience.
    Of course, Arman also understood medication couldn’t
fix
his problems. Not the things that truly haunted him, like why he couldn’t connect to others and why he hated himself for that. But the pills helped. They were all he had. They cleared his head and calmed his nerves, and they held him together the way a plastic bag might hold the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that had long since lost their box.

6
    ARMAN WAS HALFWAY UP THE trail to the meeting hall when someone came sprinting up behind him. With no warning at all. Before he could turn to look over his shoulder, the person flew past, grabbing for his arm as they went. Whoever it was tried dragging Arman along, pulling him into a run. He was willing to go, only his body did things all wrong. He took one step only to have his shoes tangle, throwing him to the ground in an ungraceful heap.
    Landing hard in the dirt, Arman had the wind knocked out of him. He was working to catch his breath when the person who’d grabbed on to him in the first place started to laugh. They crouched beside him and pulled him up to sitting. Arman blinked and stared, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. Jesus. It was
Kira
.
    Beautiful Kira.
    She was still laughing. “Hey, kid.”
    â€œHey,” he said, pressing his hand to his lungs. “That
hurt
.”
    â€œMaybe you want to try not falling on your ass next time.” Kira leaned forward, so close that her soft braids brushed against Arman’s cheek, causing his heart to leap, among other things. She’d never touched him before. Not on purpose, and he waited, eagerly. Maybeshe was going to kiss him—stranger things had happened today—only she didn’t. Instead she reached to brush the dirt and leaves from his hair. And she did it vigorously, like he was some ragged pup too filthy to come inside. Like
she
wasn’t the one who’d put the dirt there in the first place.
    He ducked away. Kira was more hyper than he’d realized. “Stop it.”
    She grinned a wide Cheshire grin. “Fine.”
    â€œWhere’ve you been? Why weren’t you at dinner?”
    â€œI
was
at dinner. I saw you sleeping in there, by the way.”
    Arman scowled. “Well, where’s Dale?”
    She shrugged.
    â€œKira . . .”
    â€œWhere were
you
this afternoon?” she asked, and under the light of the moon, her eyes were bright, glittering. “You ever going to tell me about that?”
    Arman bit his lip. She meant when he’d gone off with Beau.