Read Online A World of Trouble by T. R. Burns - Free Book Online

special first-day delivery.”
    Lemon’s eyes stay fixed on the magazine as his head, then chin, tilt forward.
    â€œGot it,” I say, seeing the A. HANSEN CREATIONS signature scrawled in maple syrup on the glass platter. I take a platefrom the stack next to the sculpture, serve myself a helping of each breakfast item, and sit across from him.
    We don’t speak for several minutes. Lemon’s not exactly a chatterbox, but still. We haven’t seen each other in weeks and were never alone to catch up last night. I want to know how his real-world mission was, what else he did over vacation, if he’s happy to be back. I’ve learned it’s best not to ask too much too soon, though, so I start carefully.
    â€œYour eggs are way better.”
    â€œMy room’s a death trap.”
    I stop chewing. “Sorry?”
    He sighs. Sits back. “My furniture’s made of twigs. My mattress is stuffed with tissues. My walls are covered in paper, not paint. And everything must be coated in kerosene or hair spray, because each time I light a match, sparks fly in every corner of the room. That’s why I almost burned the place down ten minutes after getting here yesterday. I wasn’t prepared.”
    I swallow. “But you didn’t burn the place down. Everyone’s fine. And now you know.”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter. I’m good at starting fires—not putting them out.”
    â€œYou’re great at both. Our dorm room was still standing when we moved out, wasn’t it?”
    â€œYes. Because of the Kilter Pocket Extinguisher. And Smoke Detector with Automatic Flame Eliminator. Both of which you bought.”
    I’d disagree, but he has a point.
    â€œI can stay with you,” I offer. “In your room, at night. It’ll be just like last semester, except I’ll sleep on the floor—which, according to my mom’s health magazines, is great for the back. I can even wait until Gabby and Abe go to bed and then make sure I’m in my room again before they get up. They’ll never know.”
    This gets a half smile. And though he doesn’t accept the offer, he doesn’t shoot it down, either.
    â€œWe should probably get going,” he says, standing.
    He’s right. I don’t know how long it’ll take to get from the Freshman Farm to class, and I don’t want to be late. I clear my plate, fling my fork at the dishwasher handle to open it, and quickly clean up. Then I dash to the bathroom to brush my teeth and check my appearance one last time.
    â€œHey, Lemon?” I ask as he shuffles by the open doorway.“Do you think this shirt looks okay? Should I wear the blue one instead? Or maybe—”
    The front door opens and closes. Grinning, since this is normal Lemon behavior, I stick with what I’m wearing, grab my jacket and backpack, and hurry outside.
    It snowed during the night, and the ground and trees glisten. The air’s cool but the sun’s warm. Laughter and excited conversation surround us as we pass other students. The pleasant experience is a far cry from being stuck in the front of an old yellow school bus between our ancient driver, Wheezing Willy, and Bartholomew John, who always found the back of my seat a stellar sparring partner.
    It also almost makes me forget why I’m here—and that I shouldn’t be.
    According to the e-mail Annika sent last night, our schedules haven’t changed. Which means our first class is math. When we reach the classroom building twenty minutes after leaving the Farm, we’re five minutes early. Lemon shuffles to the couch at the back of the room and collapses like we just walked a hundred miles instead of one. I stop just outside the doorway. The front row of desks is empty, but Annika didn’tsay anything about keeping the same seats. So I survey my other options.
    â€œDodge the draft,” a low voice says near my ear.
    I jump. Houdini steps