Falter Kingdom Read Online Free PDF Page B

smile—“yeah, you know.” I laugh.
    â€œI could have made some money. We all could’ve,” Jon-Jon says.
    See that’s what’s been happening with Falter and Meadows students. You go there and run on a bet. No one talks about it and no one really makes any bets, but whenever people plan on actuallyrunning, more than a few people show up. They show up and Jon-Jon’s always there.
    I can see why he’s disappointed.
    Jetson barks at me.
    Jon-Jon looks at the dog. “And?”
    Jetson growls. I’m not doing anything. I take a step forward and the dog charges at me. Jon-Jon tugs the leash back.
    We all look at the dog.
    We’re all thinking the same thing, but only I really know the real deal.
    Still, I’m not telling. I don’t want the last thing people remember of me to be that I caught one, showing symptoms and all.
    Jon-Jon glares at me. “Didn’t catch anything?”
    Brad tries to speak for me, but Jon-Jon raises a hand like he’s some mob boss and a single gesture commands the entire scene.
    Then again, it’s kind of like that, actually.
    â€œNo,” I say, “unless you call insomnia demonic.”
    â€œIt should be!” Brad laughs. Brad is so fake.
    I want to say it— I don’t know why I hang out with you —but I won’t. I won’t.
    Enough’s enough.
    Jon-Jon doesn’t laugh. No one does.
    He says something like, “Fair enough,” right as the lunch period rings out in the distance. I give this kind of weird, awkward gesture—“It calls”—and then I burst out of the scene too quickly, like I’m trying to tell Jon-Jon that I’m hiding something. I manage to say, “Catch you later, man,” as casual as I can.
    Jon-Jon says something like, “Yeah. We’ll talk later.”
    The way he said it, it sounded insincere, like a mob boss who’s already read a victim’s future. He knows. Or he doesn’t know. Maybe no one knows. Even I kind of push it aside. It’s easy when there’s so much stuff going on.
    It isn’t until after school that the activity continues.
    Like it waited patiently for me to return home.
    Last thing I want to do is have to sit and eat dinner with the parents. Mom’s cooking is all Shake’N Bake, out-of-the-box premade stuff. She’s got all those clients to worry about, and when you’re lawyering it up, dinner and family and all that stuff isn’t top priority. And Dad, don’t get me started on Dad.
    Even when he’s pretending to care, in the back of his mind he’s thinking about the latest cancer patient of his.
    It’s not just money with them. It’s like, well, it’s like what I’ve seen in so many movies. The job becomes you.
    So when I get back from school and all I want is to crash for a few hours, Mom calls me into the kitchen like a home-cooked meal is a surprise.
    â€œSon, dinner’s almost ready.”
    I watch her pull out meat loaf from the oven.
    â€œIt’s four thirty.”
    â€œEarly bird special,” she says, and chuckles.
    I head up the stairs, but she’s not letting me get away easy today.
    â€œWhere do you think you’re going?” she says from the foot of the stairs. She’s still wearing those oven mitts. Makes her look ridiculous.
    â€œGetting a hoodie, Mom.” I point in the direction of my room. “It’s cold in here.”
    â€œAre you feeling all right?”
    Enough with that—but she won’t stop with the questions. Like she really cares. Whenever she’s around, she tries to be supermom. Whenever she’s around, it’s usually because she lost a case, so she’s feeling depressed. Feeling depressed for my crazy mom translates to: smother Hunter. Turning up the parenting to 150 percent hurts everybody.
    At the dinner table, I can’t sit still.
    Mom asks me if I feel okay.
    â€œJust cold,