Wanted by Heidi Ayarbe Read Free Book Online

“That turned out a lot better than I thought.”
    “You want to tell me how you pulled that off?” He looks at me like I just parted the Red Sea.
    I feel a frisson of fear and excitement. My stomach does flip-flops. “Nim did it all, you know. I just made a call, put the wheels in motion.”
    This doesn’t erase the fear. But it gives me the power back. It keeps my business safe. It sends a message. Leonard would be proud. Sofia and Laura won’t know about this, but that’s okay, too. Silent justice.
    Maybe that’s what Lillian feels she does—like she makes a difference. If this is it, I get that. It’s nice to step outside myself—do something for somebody.
    Nimrod’s face is smooshed against the passenger door of his truck. Medusa and the others wear shocked, just-been-Tasered expressions on their faces. I’d like to see that in the yearbook.
    “So what does a bookie do after exacting revenge on a client?”
    I look at the time and shrug my backpack over my shoulder. “Go home.”
    “You want to do something later?”
    “No thanks.”
    “How about this? When you do want to do something, call me.” He clasps his hands behind his head and stretches out his legs.
    I watch his expression, waiting for the change—the slight nuance that reveals the truth behind the words. The mockery. His eyes are hidden under the brim of his baseball hat, though, so I can’t read his expression.
    “Thanks for the company,” I say.
    Josh tips his hat. “Thanks for the show. See you tomorrow, Michal Garcia.”
    I pause. Nobody calls me Michal. It sounds nice: Mee-kal . He even pronounces it right. I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t Mike. Michal. It makes me feel different, like I matter.
    Stupid. It’s just a name.
    Josh holds his pinky and forefinger to his ear and mouth. “Call me, Michal.”
    Michal.
    On the sidelines. Sure. Doormat. No .

Chapter 7
    Sanctuary Wednesday 7am courtyard .
    THERE’S A BIGGER CROWD
    for divisional playoffs. I look at the faces and inhale, breathing in the scent of anticipation. Three guys are huddled around a paper. I glare at them. They should be paying attention. It’s my show now.
    “Sorry, Mike,” Javier mutters and hands me Seth’s PB & J —his one-page headlines edition. Seth hands them out between big issues to drum up interest and cash for printing the paper. Javier points to the third headline down. I skim down the first two about gang violence and a food drive, my eyes focusing on the one Javier pointed out.
Bringing Down Goliath: No Stones. Just Parking Tickets
    I clear my throat and say, “So?”
    “Nothing.” Javier smirks. “Just thought you might have the inside scoop to that story.” The group laughs.
    “You guys here to bet or chitchat?”
    They settle down. I can feel the heat creep up my cheeks and try to keep my cool. This is my show . I scan their faces. Ready to win. Most will lose.
    Josh isn’t here. Such a tool, feeding my story to Seth. No wonder he wanted to hang out with me after school.
    We open The Gambler . Nobody has to sit on lookout because the courtyard is teeming with teachers. I sometimes wonder if they think I’m selling Do-Si-Dos or something. Whatever.
    I read from the book, picking a passage to mirror Seth’s headlines.
Is it not a beautiful spectacle—the spectacle of a century or two of inherited labour, patience, intellect, rectitude, character, perseverance, and calculation, with a stork sitting on the roof above it all? What is more; they think there can never be anything better than this; wherefore, from their point of view they begin to judge the rest of the world, and to censure all who are at fault—that is to say, who are not exactly like themselves.
    Most of them look up at me, brows furrowed, confused. They’re hopeless . They don’t move, though, and wait expectantly for me to say more. It’s fun to be in the place everybody wants to be. I’m still buzzing from Monday’s vengeance, and reading about it