UnBound - Neal Shusterman Page 0,17
just a little bit of a stuck-up bitch who thinks she’s better than the rest of us.” It feels good to say that to Risa’s face after all these years.
Then Risa nods and says, “Maybe sometimes I do act that way.”
Brooklyn isn’t sure how to take Risa’s acceptance of her rebuke. It was always so satisfying to hate her. This is new territory. Uneasy territory.
“I’ve seen the way you sign with that deaf boy,” Risa says.
Brooklyn tenses up, sensing an insult, or at least a dig. “That’s none of your business.”
“I know—I just think it’s cool that you learned how to do it. It’s a talent.”
“A useless one!” Brooklyn growls. “There are barely any deaf people out there to use it with. Auditory tracts are cheap.”
“But you still learned it for the kids in here. Maybe just for that one boy.”
The fact that she’s right—the fact that she can read Brooklyn so easily—makes her uncomfortable. When people know you, that knowledge can easily be turned against you. Brooklyn starts wondering if there’s something she knows—or could find out—about Risa that she could use against her. Not that she would, but like old-world nukes, a balance of power could save their little world from nuclear winter.
And then Risa says, “In a way, it’s not all that different from playing the piano. I mean—you use your hands to create meaning, just like I do.”
Brooklyn just stares at her. What is her angle? What does she want?
“Are we done here? Because I really do have to take a shower.”
“Yeah, we’re done,” Risa tells her. “I just wanted to thank you for liking my music. And to congratulate you on taking second place today.”
“Why were you even there? Shouldn’t you have been practicing for your test?”
“The practice rooms were all taken,” Risa said with a shrug. “Besides—you stopped to listen to me. I thought I’d return the favor.”
Risa turns to go, and, not wanting to let her have the last word, Brooklyn says, “You made three mistakes.”
Risa turns back to her. “Excuse me?”
“When you were playing, I heard three mistakes. But if you fix those three, it’ll be amazing.”
Risa’s smile is genuine. Almost dazzling.
• • •
Brooklyn finds Thor waiting for her just outside the cafeteria.
You scared me, Thor signs.
Why? Did you think I got unwound before lunch?
Anything’s possible.
With Risa’s interruption and her shower, Brooklyn hoped she’d be late enough to entirely miss her squad, but the lunch line is moving slowly today, and she can see they’re all still there. Two guys from her squad, having apparently inhaled their food, are the first to leave. They pass her in the hallway as they exit the dining hall, looking like they want to shove her, or worse. Thor glares at them coldly, and they move along, as if intimidated by him. Funny how a skinny deaf kid has more power than hulking boeufs.
Another fight? Thor looks resigned as he signs.
Ignoring the question, she signs back, How bad is it?
This is preliminary. It’s just your ranking with the boeufs and academics. It doesn’t include arts kids yet—they test after lunch.
With her written test already computer scored, there’s nothing more she can do. Her performance is her performance, both in the field and the classroom.
How bad is it? she signs again.
He looks around them. Through the swinging doors the dining hall is crowded and filled with watchful eyes, but the hallway is empty. There’s no one listening, no one watching—and even if there were, no one could decipher their hand gestures.
Get your lunch, Thor signs. We’ll sit down and we’ll talk after.
But she grabs him before he can walk away and signs impatiently, Tell me now!
Then she sees the tiny tic at the corner of Thor’s mouth and the dread in his eyes. He hesitates a moment more, then finally he levels the news at her. Blackjack, he signs. As of now, you’re number twenty-one.
She flattens herself against the wall and slides down till her butt hits the floor. She missed the cutoff by one. She’s on the harvest list. She will be unwound.
She ignores Thor kneeling next to her and his flying fingers. Everything that happened that morning crashes over her.
Thor gets in her face, shouting with his hands. We can fix this!
Poor kid, she thinks. He’s delusional. Nothing can fix this. Not after another fight. Not after that low marksmanship score.
Still, she manages one sign. How?
An arts kid might bump you off the harvest list, once they test, he signs. And if not, we can