Read Online Feuds by Avery Hastings - Free Book Online Page B

“We’re all pretty.”
    â€œYou’re especially pretty,” he responded. “And I don’t want you getting hurt.”
    She swallowed. Sometimes it was hard, knowing how much he cared, how much he worried. She wanted to assure him that she would be fine, that no boy would ever break her heart.
    But for the first time, she wasn’t sure if that was true.
    Outside, Davis heard the muffled sounds of chanting and shouting. She squinted out one of the tinted windows.
    â€œWhat is that?” she asked. “What’s going on?” There were crowds of people, some holding signs she couldn’t quite make out.
    â€œProtestors,” her dad said. Davis pressed her forehead to the window. One of the signs read INTEGRATION MEANS FULL EQUALITY, and they drove by another that someone pressed up right against the car, causing her to shift back in her seat toward her father while the chauffeur drove on. That one said: WE SHARE YOUR STREETS—WE SHOULD SHARE YOUR SCHOOLS.
    What would it be like, to have the Imps at school? Would it be dangerous? There was talk that Parson Abel wanted to relax current segregation laws; Davis’s dad was working hard to make sure that wouldn’t happen. Davis had heard that the Imps were unevolved, prone to violence and aggression and unable to control their impulses. It was their carelessness—their lack of attention—that had killed her mother. She knew her dad’s stance sometimes seemed a little harsh, but she could understand why. He would never let what happened to her mother happen again, to her, or to Fia, or to anyone. He just wanted a better world, a safer world, for everyone.
    With only ten minutes to spare before her evaluation, the glass peaks of the Jenkins Center rose before them like a glittering castle. Davis took in a sharp breath, admiring the way its angles reflected light back into the street and onto the other buildings, creating crystal-rainbow patterns all around it. She’d always loved the Jenkins Center.
    â€œRight up to the front, Gideon,” her father instructed the chauffeur. He had unceremoniously replaced Malik, an Imp Davis had known all her life, with Gideon just two months before. Davis had asked why and received no explanation other than that her father felt he was sending a mixed message to the public by allowing Malik to be a part of their lives. Davis had liked Malik, who had always slipped her a special good-luck treat—usually a square of caramel chocolate, her favorite—with a wink and a smile before competitions. She had been sad to see him go—she’d forgotten, in a way, that he was an Imp. Now that she was seeing some of the violence and anger in the streets, she wondered what had happened to him.
    She stepped from the car, ducking her head against the sea of cameras that greeted her and her father. With the election looming ever closer, they’d been following him wherever he went. It made her uncomfortable, and even walking no longer felt natural. She wondered if the cameras would pick up on everything she was trying to keep inside. She ducked her head, folding into herself. Her dad pulled her close against him and wrapped one arm around her shoulders rather than ushering her through the crowd as he usually did.
    â€œSmile,” he whispered. Davis glanced at him, and his own smile looked painted on. She did her best to straighten and smile anyway. Her dad patted her shoulder, releasing her, and Davis gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.
    â€œGood luck, sweetie,” he called out after her as she made her way toward the glass building. “Make your mother proud.”
    Even though she knew he’d meant them to be encouraging, his words felt heavy on her heart. Not winning meant losing the best shot she’d ever had at making her father happy, at honoring their family and her mother’s image. Winning would mean the world to her dad. It would make him smile.