Reveal Me (Shatter Me Novella) - Tahereh Mafi Page 0,14

seeing them together like this, all of them little science experiments. Super soldiers. They all walk the same, tall and proud, perfect posture, looking like they own the world.

Which, I guess they kind of do. At least, their parents do.

Bizarre.

I can’t imagine what it must be like to be raised by parents who teach you that the world is yours to do with what you will. Maybe Nazeera was right. Maybe we are too different. Maybe it never would’ve worked out between us, no matter how much I would’ve wanted to give it a shot.

Nazeera, Stephan, and Haider give us a wide berth, standing off to the side and saying nothing—not even waving hello—but Warner keeps walking. Jello meets him in the middle of the room, and he pulls her into his arms like they haven’t seen each other in days. Somehow, I manage not to vomit. But then I hear her whisper something about his birthday, and a massive wave of guilt washes over me.

I can’t believe I forgot.

We were celebrating Warner’s birthday a little prematurely last night. Today is his proper birthday. Today. Right now. This morning.

Shit.

I dragged J out of bed on the morning of his birthday.

Wow, I really am an asshole.

When they break apart, Warner makes a sudden, almost imperceptible motion with his head and Nazeera, Stephan, and Haider make their way over to the table, taking their seats alongside Ian and Lily and Brendan and Winston. A little battalion ready for war. Sometimes it’s hard to believe we’re all just a bunch of kids. It definitely doesn’t feel like it. But these four, in particular—they look pretty damn striking.

Warner is wearing a leather jacket. I’ve never seen him wear a leather jacket before, and I don’t know why. It suits him. It has an interesting, complicated collar, and the black of the leather is stark against his gold hair. But the more I think about it, the more I doubt the jacket belongs to him. We had no possessions when we landed here, so I’m guessing Warner borrowed it from Haider. Haider, who’s wearing one of his signature chain-mail shirts under a heavy wool coat. But all of that is nothing compared to Stephan, who’s wearing a gold field jacket that looks like snakeskin.

It’s wild.

These guys look almost like aliens here, among the normals of the world who don’t wear chain mail to breakfast. But even I can tell that Haider looks like some kind of warrior with all that metal draped across his chest, and that the gold jacket really pops against the brown of Stephan’s skin. But who sells shit like that? They’re like outer-space clothes or something. I have no idea where these guys do their shopping, but I think they might be going to the wrong stores. Then again, what the hell would I know. I’ve been wearing the same ripped pants and shirts for years. Everything I once owned was faded and poorly mended and a little too tight, if I’m being honest. I considered myself lucky to have one good winter coat and a decent pair of boots. That’s it.

“Kenji?”

I startle, realizing too late that I got lost in my head again. Someone is talking to me. Someone said my name. Right? I glance at their faces, hoping for recognition, but I get nothing.

I look to J for help, and she smiles. “Nazeera,” she explains, “just asked you a question.”

Shit.

I was ignoring Nazeera. On purpose. I thought that was obvious. I thought she and I had an understanding—I thought we’d entered into a silent agreement to ignore each other forever, to never acknowledge the dumb shit I said last night, and to pretend that I can’t feel the blood rush to all the wrong places in my body when she touches me.

No?

Okay then.

Shit.

Reluctantly, I turn to look at her. She’s wearing that leather hood of hers again, which means I can see only her lips, which seems really, really unfair. She has a gorgeous mouth. Full. Sweet. Damn. I don’t want to stare at her mouth. I mean, I do, obviously. But I also definitely don’t. Anyway, it’s hard enough to have to keep staring at her mouth, but her hood is hiding her eyes, which means I have no idea what she’s thinking right now, or if she’s still mad at me for what I said last night.

Then—

“I was asking if you’d suspected anything,” Nazeera says. “About James. And Adam.”

How did I miss that? How long did I