UnBound - Neal Shusterman Page 0,82
liver, but it’s something.
“Coming through,” a nun yells. She slips a full vat of sloppy-joe mix into the steam table in front of Miracolina. “I may have made this batch a little spicier than usual—so make sure you warn people.”
Sister Barbara (named after Saint Barbara, who was beheaded by her father in the third century) runs the community center with Father Lawrence (from Saint Lawrence, roasted over coals in Panisperna). Miracolina learned about martyrs in religion class last week. The idea appeals to her.
On the other side of the counter a tiny girl with fat pigtails waves a chocolate chip cookie at Miracolina. “Thank you!” the girl says, and hurries off before Miracolina can say “You’re welcome.”
As she spoons coleslaw next to the sloppy joes on their plates, a boy in line catches her eye. For a moment she thinks he looks like Lev and almost drops the plate. Then she sees that it’s not Lev. In fact it really doesn’t look like him at all.
She puzzles over what made her think of Lev, when a thought electrifies her. The way the boy ducks his head and mumbles his “thank you” when she hands him his meal is what an AWOL does.
She glances out of the window to see Father Lawrence on the street, talking to some of the homeless in line. Father Lawrence can usually tell if one of their younger guests is running from an unwind order and does what needs to be done. Maybe the boy snuck past him. Or maybe the boy told him he was eighteen. No way is he eighteen.
“Hey, Mira,” Sister Barbara says.
“It’s Miracolina, Sister,” she says politely. When she finishes spooning coleslaw on the next few plates, she turns to the nun—and cringes. Sister Barbara is waving a red Hawaiian blouse like a bullfighter.
“Someone dropped it in the donation barrel yesterday, and I thought of you. It’ll look so much prettier than all those black outfits you wear. What do you think?”
She wouldn’t wear something that gaudy even by papal decree. “I couldn’t take something meant for the homeless, Sister. And it’s a little bit flashy for me.”
“Nonsense.” Sister Barbara holds the shirt up against Miracolina. “You’re young. You could use a little flash.”
Which is funny, because the nuns often complain about how provocatively other kids dress. But apparently there are limits to modesty as well.
Miracolina gently pushes the Hawaiian shirt away. “I appreciate the thought, Sister Barbara, but my mom chooses my clothes.” Which is mostly a lie, as her mother has been buying bright shirts and dresses for Miracolina even flashier than this one. She prefers black and wishes the adults in her life would leave her alone about it.
Miracolina seeks out the AWOL-looking boy again. He sits as alone as he can at one of the long tables in the dining room, scarfing down his food as quickly as humanly possible. He glances furtively around at the other guests. Then he pockets the orange and the bag of cheese puffs that come with dinner and gets up to leave.
2 • Bryce
Every smart AWOL knows that a soup kitchen can be like a mousetrap. Tempting eats can trigger the iron arm of the law to swing around and snag the unwary. Juvey-cops are always staking out shelters and soup kitchens. Bryce had watched this one for hours before deciding that it was safe, then had tagged along behind a family that he vaguely resembled to get past the priest who monitored the line. Priests are unpredictable when it comes to AWOLs. The Vatican has never taken an official position on unwinding, which leaves priests the rare privilege of following their conscience rather than papal policy. The man might let him in or might turn him away or might call the Juvies. Best to avoid the confrontation entirely.
It’s not the priest who troubles him now, though—it’s the girl who served him his meal. She keeps looking at him. Maybe she likes me, he thinks. Or maybe she likes the reward she’ll receive for turning me in. Not that the Juvies would pay much for him. It’s not like he’s the Akron AWOL. He steals a glance at her while she’s busy scooping out food. She’s cute in a restrained, every-hair-in-its-place kind of way. He wonders if she’s working here for community-service credit in school or because she actually wants to work here. Then he finds himself irritated by his own curiosity. “Curiosity dismembered the dog” is an expression known by all