After Dakota Read Online Free PDF Page B

the airport, in order to be home with the kids more. The kids understood this wasn’t his idea.
    Mr. Hagen says, “Last person alive gets a prize. And my admiration. We know which is worth more.” He asks everyone to stand. “First question goes to Isabel Arnold.” He points with a yardstick to a spot on the map. “Name this country.”
    Claire says, “Ecuador.” Everyone turns, mystified, including Isabel Arnold in her stonewashed jeans and jacket. “Sorry,” Claire adds. “I thought we could just say it.”
    Hagen says, “You’ll get your turn, Miss…”
    “Claire Rollins.”
    The real Isabel says, “I was going to say Ecuador,” then throws Claire a not-friendly look.
    Hagen sticks a colored pin in the map. “I’ll give you that one. Next is Ryan Asher.” Hagen points.
    Ryan uhhhhh’s under his mohawk. To Claire’s credit, when she pipes in with “Poland,” she does so quietly. Just not quietly enough. The looks her way are less curious now, more hostile, accompanied by shushing.
    The game goes on and more names are eliminated. Claire gets three answers – Hong Kong, Norway, Algeria – right.
    It eventually comes down to Isabel vs. Claire. The crowd has a clear favorite, applauding when Isabel gets an answer right. A slick-haired kid angles himself in front of Claire when it’s her turn; she stands on her desk to see the map. Every eye in the place locks on her. The feeling in the room, the hope that she’ll fail, is palpable. She finally says, “Tasmania.”
    “We have a winner,” Hagen announces, tossing Claire a king-sized Snickers.
    Claire points at Isabel and lets loose a “Ha!” just like when she beats Bryce at anything. Only here it doesn’t go over so well. Groans and boos follow. Isabel’s mouth hangs open.
    The bell rings to cap the anti-celebration. The class files out, a few tossing final looks and comments at Claire on the way. She stares at her orange shoelaces until she’s the last one left.

13
    Fourth Period Computers: Bryce. Ever since he saw the movie WarGames , he’s thought about being a cool hacker, having a codename and government agents looking for you. Unfortunately, the type of things these computers do is a lot less cool: math problems and basic graphics and sending text from the screen to the imposing printer in the corner, with its lolling tongue of paper.
    While Mr. Terry, glasses on the end of his nose, goes over the class syllabus, Bryce types things like
    C:/ Hack Pentagon
    And
    C:/ Missile Override
    In return the screen tells him Unknown Command . Ronnie Youngblood, a Navajo kid who seems not to have heard of a comb, and has probably said a total of ten words since freshman year, sits next to Bryce. He either grunts or chuckles at each of the commands; it’s hard to be sure.

14
    Lunch: Cameron. Starting junior year, the outdoor snack bar is the only place to be seen. The fence might as well have a NO UNDERCLASSMEN ALLOWED sign. Funyuns and Doritos, Nestle Crunch and Hot Tamales all hang on display at the window. The two parallel lines are long and populated with types who don’t like waiting; Cameron knows to have his order and money ready long before reaching the front.
    At a table, Bryce dips French fries into a chocolate shake; Cameron squeezes packets of mustard onto a gray hamburger. Geoff Winters joins them, his skin always moon-colored, like he lives in a world where the sun never rises (which is almost true, given the amount of time he spends in the school theater).
    “I’m about ready to pass out,” he tells them. “I only got nine hours’ sleep last night. Brutal.”
    The three review their classes and teachers thus far, until they turn their attention to each girl who enters.
    Jennifer Robinson.
    Cameron: “Seven.”
    Geoff: “I can’t go higher than five.”
    Bryce: “You’re crazy. I’d do her in a second and slap myself for waiting so long.”
    Tanya Vigil.
    Cameron: “Six. Maybe six-point-five.” The others nod; sometimes