Read Online Buried by Linda Joy Singleton - Free Book Online Page A

he’s a freshman. There’s a skinny guy with hair springing out all over, like he’s feral, but he has blue eyes. Another guy is about the right age, but he’s stocky and missing a neck.
    I scratch them off my mental “Reaper” list.
    Swiveling to my right, I shift my interest to the last guy, and am unable to take my gaze off the rattlesnake tattoo winding from his wrist up to his black-polished thumbnail. He looks older than a senior (held back a few times?).
    He’s a definite for my “Reaper” list. I appreciate his fine muscled shoulders, snug Levi’s, and the snake design on his dark-brown western boots. But I also notice the royal blue jacket slung on the back of his chair. He’s a Jay-Clone? Hard to believe, since he’s wearing black nail polish. I’m intrigued, wondering if we’re kindred rebels.
    When Ms. Chu nails me with a stern frown and gestures toward my book, I flip to a random page. But I’m sneaking glances sideways, thinking.
    Rattlesnake Tat is muscular enough to have shoved me to the ground and stolen my backpack. But did he do it? He’s definitely the type: intelligent with an edge of subversive, and tapping his boot like he has better things to do than waste time in detention. And he has a good reason to hide those black-painted fingernails in gloves.
    Still, the real test is his voice.
    Only how do I get him to talk? My oh-so-smooth attempt with Shaved Head completely bombed.
    I consider slipping him a note. Only what would I say? I can’t bluntly ask if he’s the Reaper, and something like “Hi, I’m Thorn” would sound too lame. Worse, he might get the wrong idea and think I’m hitting on him—which is so not me. I have enough stress in my life without adding some guy. And even if I’m intrigued by his dark mysterious eyes and rebel vibe, he could be the Reaper. I glance down at the purplish bruises on my wrists and grit my teeth, determined. If he’s the Reaper, he’s going to pay for what he did to me. Call it justice or revenge. I won’t only tell Rune his identity, I’ll tell Amerie, which is like texting the news to every kid in Nevada.
    Detention minutes are an anomaly of physics, moving slower than ordinary minutes. I’m so bored I actually read a chapter of my textbook. I look up at the clock, willing it to speed up. But time stops for all rule-breakers. I want to throw something to smash the stupid clock.
    What I really want to do, though, is talk to Rattlesnake Tat.
    Ms. Chu is busy on her cell phone and not watching me, so I purposely drop my pencil on the ground.
    I swear under my breath like I’m annoyed with my own clumsiness.
    My stealth pencil rolls right up to Rattlesnake Guy’s foot. He glances down, then kicks the pencil back to me and grunts something like, “Hmmm.”
    â€œThanks,” I say softly, bending down to pick up the pencil.
    â€œHmmm,” he says again, not looking at me.
    â€œI’m Thorn. And you’re … ?”
    Now he looks at me; dark brows knitting and a wisp of a smile curving into dimples. He glances over at the teacher’s desk, then whispers, “Wiley.”
    I smile back, thinking of the Cartoon Channel my sibs torture me with. “Like the coyote?” I say.
    He nods, but then looks away quickly as Ms. Chu calls out, “Thorn! No talking.”
    Damn, just when things are getting interesting.
    â€œI dropped my pencil and was picking it up.” I wave the pencil, my expression all innocence. “The tip broke off so I’ll need to sharpen it.”
    I look hopefully at Wiley, willing him to loan me one. But he’s returned to his book like I don’t exist.
    â€œYou may use the sharpener,” Ms. Chu says, gesturing toward the back of the room.
    I walk down the aisle, replaying Wiley’s voice in my head and trying to match it to the Reaper. But “Hmmm” and