UnBound - Neal Shusterman Page 0,29

towers over him, his red eyes more fierce than ever before. “Keep your paws away from Valerie,” he growls.

Roland reflexively jumps to his feet, getting in Zane’s face. He clenches his fists, pumped full of rage, but it feels all too familiar—and it reminds him of the last time their eyes locked. The time when Roland let his emotions consume him. The time he was lifted off the ground and hurled down on his back. So this time he decides to remain in control. Rather than swinging, he forces his fists open, and responds calmly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Apparently it wasn’t the reaction Zane was looking for, because he pushes Roland even harder and snarls, “Don’t lie to me.”

Roland steps forward again, refusing to back down. Roland knows that fighting is exactly what Zane wants him to do; it’s exactly what he expects Roland to do. And before long their teammates have started gathering around, encircling them, forcing the situation into a pressure cooker. Roland adapts to it and plays the crowd.

He shakes his head convincingly. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Already pushed to the edge, Zane doesn’t buy his show. He swings a right hook, connecting with Roland’s jaw, and before Roland can even react, his teammates are rushing in to break it up.

Zane fights them off, never taking his eyes off Roland. “Go get unwound,” he growls.

Wrestlers go to hold Roland back, but he remains calm, he doesn’t resist. Instead he smiles, letting the words roll off, and touches his fingers to his mouth, examining the blood, almost intrigued.

Coach Pratt bursts through the gym doors and makes his way to the center of the mat. “What’s going on here?” he demands.

Zane fumbles his words, still too heated to formulate a coherent sentence. So Roland decides to speak for him. “We were wrestling,” he says calmly.

Zane is completely taken aback.

Roland continues. “We were wrestling and things got out of control.”

The coach looks at Roland’s fat lip and back to Zane, who’s still clenching a fist. “I oughta bench you till the next tournament.”

But Roland takes up Zane’s defense. “Nah, you don’t have to do that. Everything’s cool. It was a misunderstanding.”

Coach Pratt turns back to Zane. “Is this all true?”

Zane nods. He doesn’t really have a choice. And even though Pratt doesn’t fully buy the story, the explanation is enough for him to overlook the fight. It’s not uncommon for scuffles like this to take place on the mat.

As if nothing happened, Roland strolls quietly to the center of the mat and begins his stretching routines, because even though things didn’t quite go as planned, he knows that this is only round one. Sure, most people like to root for an underdog, but it’s human nature to side with a victim. So he grins, revealing a blood-painted smile, because this is Roland’s game, and now he’s in complete control.

8 • Thirteen

Roland searches the water in terror. To him, every dark shadow is instantly a predator; every splash sounds like a beast of prey. He tries to convince himself that it was a fish, or maybe even a seal. On the other hand his sister wouldn’t have screamed if that’s all it was. Roland paddles violently, his body tight to his boogie board, fighting against a riptide. He’s been dragged out too far. Dark clouds swell overhead, and the pier grows hazy in the distance. He decides his best chance for survival is to shift direction and paddle with the current, toward the adjacent ocean bluffs. But Roland is already running out of strength. His arms grow heavier with each stroke. And even though he’s moving with the current, the more he paddles the farther he feels from land.

Whatever was there is gone. It has to be. The sea is the only predator now.

Roland feels the shadow of a wave beginning to curl overhead. He snaps his eyes shut and clings tight to his board, letting the sea gobble him. He thrashes about in the ocean’s underbelly until he’s regurgitated to the surface once again.

Roland braces himself for the next wave, but it never comes—instead only the ringing pitch of silence. His body shakes, still on the comedown from a nasty adrenaline rush. And when Roland finally opens his eyes, everything is still. He takes a moment to catch his breath and take in his surroundings. He’s alone. It’s nearly dark. The pier is no longer in sight. Everywhere he looks is hazy and blue, as