Flame (Fireborn) Read Online Free PDF Page A

When I look up I see the dark abyss that waits for
me. Its mouth opens to take me…
    Wake up!
    Cold hands shake me. I
welcome the iciness because my body's on fire. Dad's face is unclear
at first, but the smell of alcohol drifts into my nose as a pungent
breath.
    "Kenna, wake up.
Whas wrong wi' you?" His voice is slurred, but his eyes are
blinking, attempting to focus on me. I sit up, almost begging him to
touch me again. I feel so hot. I palm my forehead, but it's
impossible to know if I have a fever when my hands feel even hotter
than the rest of my body.
    "Hot," I
choke out, fanning my face.
    He nods. "Feels
like a f-f-furnace in h-h-he…" Here, he attempts to
say, as his words slide together like fluid. "Did y…turn…on..?"
His question hangs in midair. I don't need him to say more because a
decade of experience has taught me to decipher his drunken code talk.
    "I didn't turn on
the heat," I reply. It's September in Minnesota, but it isn't
nearly cold enough to use the furnace. We can't afford to have heat
early. The house isn't big, but I'm lonely at night. Maybe it's
because I'm usually the only one home. The thought reminds me of
a time when it was different, and I push it away as fast as it comes.
    Dad rubs his eyes,
making them redder. I check the digital alarm next to my bed. It's
4:30 in the morning. He's still dressed in a light jacket.
    "Did you just come
back?" I ask softly. He nods.
    "Did you go with
Jack?" I press.
    "Don't need to,"
he answers vaguely.
    "You shouldn't be
driving when you've been drinking, Dad," I'm unable to hide the
exasperation in my voice. It doesn't matter though because I'm
talking to air. He's turned away; his mind already wandered off. He
circles unsteadily around my bedroom until he comes to a framed
photograph. It's the only thing of value I own. He stares like he
expects it to move. In the picture, Mom's brown eyes peek
mischievously over my head as she hugs me in her arms. The side of
her smile is noticeable behind my thick head of hair. He studies the
picture. I wonder what he sees. The silence feels immeasurable.
    "Dad?" I prod
gently in the stillness. He doesn't respond. I walk behind him, my
feet soft on the cold floor. I stand quiet as a statue. When the
silence becomes heavy with more than just alcohol, I whisper, "Go
to bed, Dad."
    For a few moments I
think he doesn't hear me, but he turns, moving as quietly as when he
first slipped in. He walks through the door. He never looks back. My
eyes flicker back to the picture that means the world to me. He'd
turned it face down.

Chapter 3
    The reporters and
cameramen are visible within a mile of the school. National and local
news vans line the streets like spectators waiting for a parade. My
rusty 1997 Toyota Camry is nothing fantastic to look at. I'm
embarrassed driving by as photographers click away.
    I press the brakes hard
as the car in front of me makes a sudden stop. I'd been within a mile
of the school for the at least ten minutes. Turtles moved faster than
we are. I understand that we're the first school on earth to have
alien students, but really, is all this necessary? Another bright
light flashes between my eyes as a picture is taken. I guess that
answers my question, I think.
    By the time I arrive at
school, my face is flushed with irritation. The parking lot was full,
and I had to drive and park on the street. I ended up trying to power
walk three blocks with three textbooks on my back. Over forty-five
minutes late, I concede that it's not the greatest start to my
morning.
    I notice a line at the
front entrance. Men dressed in blue security suits are checking
backpacks and bags. I even see one of those hand held metal detectors
they use at sport games. Is this going to happen everyday? I
wonder. A couple dozen students are waiting to get inside, but they
don't seem to mind much. They're probably just happy to miss part of
first hour. I'm barely inside the doors when a voice drifts to me.
    "I wonder if
they're here