Scream
Going to be published on Amazon, Kobo, and Barnes and Noble by 2/20/23, get the free version in exchange for an honest review. ARC reviewers sign up on Marissarivera.net
Chapter 1
Rule One: Do Not Attempt Escape
They cut the rope from my wrists. I don’t move, appearing dead, wishing I was. I fought as best as I could, but three against one is never good odds. I wonder if I should give up and lay here until the buzzards peck at my skin and rip me apart one limb at a time.
Long, spiny fingers grip my neck, lifting me. I bring my gaze to the boy’s face. In the shadows, he has devil horns and sharp teeth, inhuman in every possible way. But he shifts, and a distant light illuminates his face exposing an ordinary teenage boy with dyed white hair and brown eyes.
“Tell Tobias we aren’t gonna stop.”
“Tell him yourself.” With my last ounce of strength, I swing my hand up, digging my nails into his cheek.
He drops me, stumbling back, holding his bleeding face. Rage ignites in his eyes. He grabs the knife at his boot and the metal flashes from the lamp.
His two buddies grip his arms, “Cloud, no.” They remind him he isn’t allowed to kill me. I lay there watching a bull buck behind a cage. It’s satisfying to know even clan members are scared to break the rules.
Cloud breaks from their hold, and slips the knife back in his boot. He touches his cheek, eyeing the blood on the tips of his fingers before he points at me, “One day, Scream, the clans are gonna decide they don’t want you here. And I hope I’m around to see it.”
The three boys head out for the exit, leaving me behind like garbage. I study their shadows as they glide across the football field till they disappear beneath the bleachers. They must have watched me enter the secret entrance. I’m so stupid for not noticing them.
Where had they hidden?
I suppose it doesn’t matter. I won’t make the same mistake twice. I’ll have to find somewhere else to go but for now I’m too tired to move. The desert night is cold but I have no possessions, anything I had someone stronger and faster has taken. The morning will rise soon enough, and I’ll have lived another day inside Myer’s School for the Unwanted.
As the sky brightens, the clouds roll by.
It’s peaceful. It’s deceiving.
For a few moments, I can imagine I’m somewhere else, somewhere safe, somewhere not here.
Does a place like that exist?
With my bruised hands on the sandy floor, I push myself up. Moans of pain breach my cracked lips, and tears drip down my dirty cheeks. My jeans are ripped, and dry blood hardens the fabric. My brown shirt stretches over my shoulder now from being pulled and yanked. I try to tighten it, but it just falls over anyway. With my long hair tossed over my shoulder, I take a deep breath and cry out. The pain radiates from my ribs and I’m fearful something’s broken. Like any animal in the wild, it’s dangerous to have a weakness, and I can’t be weak. I lift my shirt to find a massive black and blue welt expanding from my ribs down to my hip. My shaking fingers grace the discolored skin, but there’s no telling if anything’s fractured. It doesn’t matter anyway. Medical help is only for the ones that can afford it.
And that’s not me.
On my arm is a black ribbon. It fills me with bitterness, and I pull it, throw it, cursing it. The ribbon was supposed to stop people from attacking me. But last night, it was a calling card. Those boys targeted me because of who I know, not because of something I did. I wish that took away the shame, but it’s still there because who I know is a piece of shit.
I stare at it on the sand, resenting the piece of fabric before I reach for it despite the agony it causes. I rewrap it around my arm.
Standing takes effort. My feet drag in the dirt. I spent too much energy fighting them off and without sleep, I can barely think but routine helps get me where I need to go.
Bathroom.
Shower.
Dress.
School.
On the outside of the football stadium, there is a square building for the locker room. Rain members are up early for their morning basketball game. As spectators, they stand around, talking. They wear unsullied clothes with blue and white colors that represent their clan. They look pristine with their washed skin and brushed hair. They laugh and smile, playing with each other, appearing as if they could do no evil.
Rule 16: The clan Rain will provide Food and Water for the Populace.
A white shirt, like the boy who attacked me. I close my eyes and see it. There was a tattoo on his neck, blood droplets falling from a cloud.
Cloud, they called him.
I slow my approach as I near the bathroom. Beside the building is an abused playground. Chains are broken, the paint is chipped and the slide has a hole in it. Bald headed Mine members hang like monkeys over the dilapidated swing set, eyeing the Rain members with cruel intentions. They aren’t daring enough to attack a whole group so they lay in wait hoping one would stray off. A little boy watches me. The black ribbon protects from clans, not Rats or Mine members but thankfully there is nothing I possess that they want, so they smoke their cigarettes and ignore me as I limp by.
The girls’ basketball team drifts in and out of the entrance to the locker room. They wear high top shoes, blue shorts and white shirts with their numbers. They are all tall and skinny with their hair pinned to their head. I wish I could have something like that, a scrunchy that I could wrap in my hair to keep its knotted tresses off my sweaty neck, but I’m not allowed.
I enter the girls’ side before another person. The Rain member looks back at me, shocked and somewhat concerned.
She must be new.
Her friend pulls her along, whispering, “That’s a Rat. Don’t look at it.”
I lean against the wall. I’m a Rat, a kid that isn’t a part of the clans. If I had been given a choice, I would have been in Rain. I hear they have big swimming pools in their building. I’d be swimming every day if only to get out of the constant heat.
Further in, the girls chatter like birds at a pool of water and it echoes in the showers. I lean against the wall and listen. A random conversation sounds like music. Their words aren’t important. It’s the sound alone that makes me feel included, belonging, like she’s talking to me.
It’s envy, what I feel. I’ve never had a friend or someone to eat with at lunch.
Tobias would never allow it.
The shower stalls are old, and like the playground, things are broken and the yellow paint on the walls disintegrates over time. The mirrors have never been cleaned and have a dust film over it. I’ve taken a towel once and twice if only to see my reflection, but I’d rather not look at myself yet.
I strip and squeeze into a little, dirty cubicle. With a press of a button, a timer for three minutes begins. There’s a dispenser of soap attached to the wall and luckily, it’s been full. Rain is responsible for the upkeep of this locker room, but they don’t put much effort into it.
I rush as I scrub my skin. I scrub around the welts, hissing when I run over one. The water is freezing and hits me like icicles. At my feet the water turns pink as all the wounds I’ve accrued open but eventually, it clears. It always clears. I watch it to remind myself of that. No matter how bad it gets, it’s not forever.
The water snaps off as I rub off the last of the soap. There are no towels, so I stand in the stall, drip drying. As I step out, the mirror calls to me and I approach it slowly, unsurely.
Do I want to see?
With my wet hand, I wipe it across the panel.
A stranger stares back. Always a stranger. I have no memory of life outside the school. My first memory is waking up on a bus and being brought here. Everything of who I was before I came to this place is gone.
I step closer to the mirror, inspecting my face. I’m between fifteen and seventeen years old. I’m either white or spanish considering my tan but I blame that on the ridiculous sunlight. I was born from someone. Did I call her mother? Was she pretty? Was my father strong? Someone brought me into this world, even if they didn’t want me. They gave me pieces of themselves before they gave those pieces away.
A school for the Unwanted.
I shove myself forward. It isn’t the time, and I’ve got to hurry. Pain is making me slow enough without my thoughts drifting. I snatch my clothes from the floor, but they are ripped and dirty. I don’t want to put them back on, but I might not have an option. There are bins that used to be full of clothes, flip-flops, and random items. The clans have taken all of it to sell back to the populace. The only things that get replenished and remain free are disposable items like toothbrushes, dime-size toothpaste, antibacterial hand soap, and deodorant sample packs. There were little plastic combs, but there wasn’t any left. I don’t much care about the state of my wet hair, knotted and unkempt as it is.
As I’m brushing my teeth, I hear the bell ring. School is starting.
The girls are clearing out, and there is a slight chance they’ve left something behind. Anything is better than the clothes I have. Stealing from clan members means punishment, but I can’t put on those wretched clothes without exploiting all options first.
I tiptoe around the bend, going to the front door and sticking my head out. They’re heading to the field, far from me now. One person is left behind, lingering as they talk to the Mine members. Only a clan member would have the audacity to pay off those scrubby scavengers. I spin around and dart to the locker room.
They’ve left all of their stuff—bags full of clothes. I laugh but clamp a hand on my mouth.
What idiots! Are clan members so far removed from reality that they’d leave their stuff behind?
My heart thumps wildly in my chest, my eyes flipping madly about, wondering if it’s a trap-if someone is in the corner somewhere waiting for me. I mosey around, peeking at every dark spot, but the room is empty.
My hand tentatively moves toward a bag. Inside are clothes, shoes, sports bras, deodorant, a makeup kit, and hair products.
I’ve hit the freaking jackpot.
My heart is racing. If I steal, I could be signing away my life. But what are a couple of items from hundreds? There’s a chance they might not even notice. I should be okay if I take one piece of clothing from four bags. And how will they know it’s me? Mine members can take the blame.
That girl at the entrance. She looked right at me.
But a shirt and a pair of pants shouldn’t be missed. They’ll never know.
Rule 13: Do Not Steal, Harm, or Lie to a Teacher or a Clan Member
I dig into a few bags, taking what I need, and slip them on quickly. A black shirt, gray slacks, and flip-flops are nothing to miss.
With the black ribbon tied around my arm, I look in the mirror, feeling more like myself, the ‘me’ I’ve become in the last few months. If I can make it through last night, I can make it through school.
Unless I get caught.
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