Read Online Vassa in the Night by Sarah Porter - Free Book Online

? Even now that we’re stuck in here? Those hand things are probably not giving up that easily, right?”
    I’m not fine, that’s for sure, and I do like to think of myself as one minor component of everything . So doesn’t that prove Erg is wrong? I guess there’s a delayed effect from the almost-dying, because my hands have started vibrating crazily against the counter and I feel like my face is about to explode into shrapnel-sharp tears.
    Erg studies me, uncharacteristically serious. “What do I keep telling you, Vassa? Just stick with me, kid. Sure, those hands will try to get you again, but I can take ’em!”
    I can’t help smiling at her. “They’re like ten times bigger than you are.”
    Erg twists her head like she’s shaking back her curls but the squiggles of black paint don’t go anywhere. I’ve always wondered how her eyes and mouth can be so mobile.
    â€œAnd I am ten times meaner, Vassa. Eleven times, perhaps, quite. As I will joyfully demonstrate if they think they can mess with us. Okay? As you can now demonstrate your appreciation for my extraordinary heroism by getting me one of those hot dogs, please. Lots of mustard. As in lotsandlots. And extra relish.”
    â€œOh,” I tell her. I’m suddenly so exhausted that I can barely face walking over to the case where the dogs gleam under lamplight like bright orange sweat, but she does deserve some kind of thank-you. “Sure, doll.” I start to get up and the floor rears and throws me back into the chair, sending it sailing against the wall so that a few small bottles rain down on my head. Even Erg looks startled. “Oof. Okay, trying that again.”
    The store is rotating faster, grinding against the night, but I pull myself up by grabbing at the shelves behind the counter. There’s some kind of clamor out in the parking lot. The building swings around like someone with a bee stinging their hindquarters and I almost pitch over again. Erg jumps up and runs toward me with her arms out, and I manage to lean close enough to grab her before we go stumbling sideways. I’m trying to get to the window to see what’s going on. Erg’s hot dog will have to wait.
    We leap again, spin a full one-eighty in midair, and land with an infuriated jiggling. I’ve given up on walking and crawl toward the glass while Erg squirms her way inside my sleeve. It’s a ratty old jacket with a convenient hole for her to peer through. I kneel on the slippery linoleum, careful to keep my distance from the clapping door, and gaze into the night. Thirty feet below me in the parking lot a boy is belting out the BY’s jingle in a parody of an opera singer, throat arching out and arms flung wide. He sees me looking and drops to one knee. “Turn around. Turn around and stand like Momma placed you! Face me! Face—” Then he cuts off. One syllable shy of a song.
    The store is just starting to kneel when the jingle starts up again, screamed more than sung, from somewhere off to the right. The melody is bansheed and hacked but still recognizable. BY’s jerks to its full height as if electrocuted and reels around to confront the new singer. The light pours over the girl’s face: I don’t know her real name, but she goes by Lottery and we have three classes together. She’s an acrid personality, always out to out-cynic and out-bitch everyone, but I wouldn’t say I hate her. Not until now, anyway. She’s making me seasick. The store is sinking down until her face is only two yards from mine.
    Like the boy did she stops right before the last note, and someone else starts yowling on the far side of the dark. The motorcyclist zips by but he doesn’t do anything to stop the latest singer, who’s going for sort of a calypso effect. Now I understand what they’re up to, baiting the store and driving it as crazy as they can. If I could stand up, I might