their bait, so I never worried. It became a sick game, in many ways, wondering if he’d ever leave me alone in the tent— if he’d ever go with another girl?
“Don’t worry, puppet. A boy’s got to sew his oats somehow.”
The flea-boy, at least, was keeping his trap shut. He stepped up near me, and it surprised me that he possessed Xavi’s trick— the one where his height dwarfed mine. “I guess a girl has to sew her oats too. Who’s this?”
“P—“ the boy began.
“Flea,” I interrupted and glared at him. So much for him keeping quiet.
The boy’s face hardened at the name. I’d have to explain I’d saved him later. We didn’t want Roderigo to have any more information than he already did, especially about the boy who blew up the train. Flea’s scowl made his soft skin turn to stone, and his angry appearance only helped our situation. If he’d kept up that wide-eyed crap with his too bright eyes, then Roderigo would have seen there was something more to him. So much about the boy had been bothering me. Next to Roderigo’s wrinkled skin and frayed gray hair, the perfection of his genetics screamed out volumes, but when his eyebrows narrowed, Flea looked Track-tough… hard.
“I see Randolf’s pack is serving you well?”
“His gift has been honored.” I pulled the phrase out from a distant memory of Track-conversation.
Roderigo clicked his tongue against his teeth, “The Girl learns fast.”
The Girl. Names held so much more out on the Tracks. Real ones were only given if someone cared enough to share them, but when people neglect to exchange formalities, other names are tacked on instead. I’ve become many things to many people, and I can tell my ranking on the scale of endearment by the tenderness or blandness of a nickname. The Girl. I was merely a cockroach to Roderigo, but he was something more to me. He was an unpleasant memory, and the fact that I knew his name shifted all the power of fear over to him.
I forced myself to concentrate on Roderigo repositioning his stance and not the ice running through my veins. “You’ll have to excuse me, but this boxcar is taken. I don’t much care to share, if you get my drift.” He wasn’t going to forgive and forget, and he began to close the space between us.
Flea stepped slightly in front of me, and the protective act would have surprised me if Roderigo hadn’t been a bad dream coming back to life. I cleared my throat. “We’ll tuck and roll then—“
“No need to be a jerk,” Flea interrupted. “Looks like there’s plenty of room here.” His voice lost all pretense of the confused, lost Colony-kid. He actually sounded authoritative, and it made Roderigo really reconsider him. Flea’s tone was as perfectly stitched as his jacket, and his meaning was as rich as the shoes he wore. Roderigo calculated every inch of Flea’s worth, and a smile grew on his face.
“Girl. Interesting company you started to keep. Don’t fool yourself though. This creature isn’t an upgrade.” Roderigo squared up his shoulders.
I tapped Flea on his shoulder, and shook my head when he glanced at me. I wanted him to connect the dots, that he was about to sign his own death warrant. Roderigo was aware of the boy’s Colony status, and he didn’t look forgiving about it. I was so busy trying to get the idiot boy to see this that I didn’t see the other shape coming out of the shadows of the crates piled along the walls. I didn’t see the hands that pulled at my pack and made me lose my balance. I didn’t see who it was that pushed me back through the door. Whoever it was didn’t get the pack, but I lost my footing so fast I was unable to prepare for the jump or break my fall. I landed on top of my pack with a thump and hit my head on the gravel. The train meandered past me, leaving me behind.
Roderigo wasn’t alone, but I couldn’t think about that shock. I hurt so badly I could only cough, and I
“Don’t worry, puppet. A boy’s got to sew his oats somehow.”
The flea-boy, at least, was keeping his trap shut. He stepped up near me, and it surprised me that he possessed Xavi’s trick— the one where his height dwarfed mine. “I guess a girl has to sew her oats too. Who’s this?”
“P—“ the boy began.
“Flea,” I interrupted and glared at him. So much for him keeping quiet.
The boy’s face hardened at the name. I’d have to explain I’d saved him later. We didn’t want Roderigo to have any more information than he already did, especially about the boy who blew up the train. Flea’s scowl made his soft skin turn to stone, and his angry appearance only helped our situation. If he’d kept up that wide-eyed crap with his too bright eyes, then Roderigo would have seen there was something more to him. So much about the boy had been bothering me. Next to Roderigo’s wrinkled skin and frayed gray hair, the perfection of his genetics screamed out volumes, but when his eyebrows narrowed, Flea looked Track-tough… hard.
“I see Randolf’s pack is serving you well?”
“His gift has been honored.” I pulled the phrase out from a distant memory of Track-conversation.
Roderigo clicked his tongue against his teeth, “The Girl learns fast.”
The Girl. Names held so much more out on the Tracks. Real ones were only given if someone cared enough to share them, but when people neglect to exchange formalities, other names are tacked on instead. I’ve become many things to many people, and I can tell my ranking on the scale of endearment by the tenderness or blandness of a nickname. The Girl. I was merely a cockroach to Roderigo, but he was something more to me. He was an unpleasant memory, and the fact that I knew his name shifted all the power of fear over to him.
I forced myself to concentrate on Roderigo repositioning his stance and not the ice running through my veins. “You’ll have to excuse me, but this boxcar is taken. I don’t much care to share, if you get my drift.” He wasn’t going to forgive and forget, and he began to close the space between us.
Flea stepped slightly in front of me, and the protective act would have surprised me if Roderigo hadn’t been a bad dream coming back to life. I cleared my throat. “We’ll tuck and roll then—“
“No need to be a jerk,” Flea interrupted. “Looks like there’s plenty of room here.” His voice lost all pretense of the confused, lost Colony-kid. He actually sounded authoritative, and it made Roderigo really reconsider him. Flea’s tone was as perfectly stitched as his jacket, and his meaning was as rich as the shoes he wore. Roderigo calculated every inch of Flea’s worth, and a smile grew on his face.
“Girl. Interesting company you started to keep. Don’t fool yourself though. This creature isn’t an upgrade.” Roderigo squared up his shoulders.
I tapped Flea on his shoulder, and shook my head when he glanced at me. I wanted him to connect the dots, that he was about to sign his own death warrant. Roderigo was aware of the boy’s Colony status, and he didn’t look forgiving about it. I was so busy trying to get the idiot boy to see this that I didn’t see the other shape coming out of the shadows of the crates piled along the walls. I didn’t see the hands that pulled at my pack and made me lose my balance. I didn’t see who it was that pushed me back through the door. Whoever it was didn’t get the pack, but I lost my footing so fast I was unable to prepare for the jump or break my fall. I landed on top of my pack with a thump and hit my head on the gravel. The train meandered past me, leaving me behind.
Roderigo wasn’t alone, but I couldn’t think about that shock. I hurt so badly I could only cough, and I
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