Alive Read Online Free PDF Page B

sharp like it was when I yelled at Spingate to be quiet. “There’s no reason to be mean.”
    Yong turns his cold gaze on me. I see his eyes flick to my forehead, see those eyes narrow in thought, like he’s almost got something, then that something is gone.
    “Sure,” he says with a smirk. “Let’s all play nice, because that will make things better, right?”
    I feel something I haven’t felt yet: anger. I don’t like the way Yong looks at me, the way he seems to dismiss me.
    We hear a grumble, a muffled sound that rolls fast, then slow, then faster and louder.
    All heads turn to where that sound came from: Spingate’s stomach.
    “Oh,” she says. Her hands cover her exposed belly. She blushes. “Sorry. I guess I’m hungry.”
    The last word seems to unlock something in me, reveal a pinching emptiness in my middle. It was there all along, I think, but my brain didn’t process it. Maybe I was too busy thinking about all the other things that are wrong to realize that I’m starving.
    I see other hands on other bellies. Everyone is hungry.
    “Bello’s right,” I say. “We don’t know what’s out there. But we know what’s not in here—food.”
    We look at each other in unspoken understanding. Waiting is not an option.
    “There’s no water here, either,” Spingate says. “Water is even more important than food.” She looks up and to the left, her nose wrinkling. “I think that’s right.”
    Aramovsky tugs at the sleeves of his white shirt. He fidgets with it constantly, as if on guard against a crease sneaking up on him.
    “Why don’t
you
go, Em?” he says. “You can find food and water, bring it back for us. We can wait here in case the grownups come.”
    Yong makes a
pfft
sound with his mouth.
    “You’re a brave one, Aramovsky,” he says.
    Aramovsky glares at Yong. “It’s not about bravery, it’s about practicality.”
    Yong rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that’s what it is. Practicality. Then how about you go, Aramovsky? The rest of us can stay and be
practical
.”
    Aramovsky draws himself up to his full height. He is much taller than the other boy.
    “Don’t you tell me what to do,” he says.
    Yong’s arms uncross. His hands drop to his sides, curl into fists.
    “You volunteer others, but you won’t go yourself? Then how about I
make
you go?”
    Yong smiles. It’s a beautiful smile, the kind that would make me want to follow him around all day from a distance, just to see what he does, see who he talks to. But his eyes…they radiate something else altogether. Aramovsky is taller and both boys are packed with muscle, but Yong
wants
to fight—Aramovsky does not. Maybe Aramovsky tried to use his size to intimidate, but it backfired on him and now he doesn’t know what to do.
    “We stay together,” I say in a rush. “We aren’t making anyone do anything, okay?”
    Aramovsky nods quickly. “Em’s right.”
    Yong again stares at me. I get the impression I’m annoying him.
    O’Malley tries for the tenth time to pull his top two shirt buttons together, even though he has to know by now his chest is too big for that. He gives up, instead keeps a hand pressed near his neck, as if he’s embarrassed so much skin is showing.
    He looks at me.
    “Em, why do
you
get to choose what we do? Are you in charge?”
    There is no malice in his voice. He’s not accusing me of anything; he’s asking a question that needs to be asked.
    “I don’t know,” I say.
    Aramovsky points at me. No, he points at my forehead.
    “Em can’t be in charge. She’s a circle.”
    He says that like my symbol has significance. It does, I know it does—
all
our symbols have significance. We can feel it. But from the searching looks on everyone’s faces, none of us know what that significance is.
    O’Malley shrugs. “If Em doesn’t make the decisions, then who does?”
    No one speaks. We’re kids: someone is supposed to tell us what to do. That’s the way things are.
    Finally, Yong breaks the