The Revealed Read Online Free PDF Page B

what help that boy will be able to provide, though. All trouble if you ask me.”
    My mother stands and unzips my dress. She holds it carefully while I step out.
    “Watch the hem,” she warns. I do and step down onto the plush carpet, pulling my sundress back over my head.
    My mother hangs the ball gown for me. The maids will deliver it to my closet later. Wouldn’t want to risk the dress by placing it in my hands for longer than necessary. I may ruin it, and this dress cost enough to fund the gala itself.
    “Am I done?” I ask, trying to keep my irritation from my words.
    “For now,” she says, and I run upstairs before she can change her mind.
    With headphones in my ears and the Internet to keep me occupied, I drown out all thoughts. Knowing if I allow myself a second to think, it will be of inky black notes and silver symbols that promise my time is almost up.

 

CHAPTER THREE
    Two days later, the house fills with so much activity I barely have time to take it all in. I’m grateful for the chaos because it keeps my mother from having time to further address my latest escape attempt.
    My father arrives home just an hour before the party is about to start. My mother is already dressed, and I’m in my room doing my hair, down and curled. I don’t even hear him come inside.
    “I’m home,” he sings, walking through my hallway.
    Quickly, I set down the brush and run to the door. He must have gotten ready in the car because his dark hair is slicked back and styled. I see the hint of foundation on his cheeks, which makes me smirk. But Jet, my father’s publicist, insists it makes him look better on camera. He must not have had time to shave though, because there is the barest dark shadow playing on his jawbone.
    “Dad!” I wrap my arms around him.
    Hovering outside my room is a string of advisors and security. Jeremy nods at me from the doorway, his face blank. Behind him is my father’s publicist, a sharp-looking guy named Jet Roth. I don’t remember the last time I saw my father without Jet by his side. As usual, Jet is talking animatedly on the phone—something about a speech for my father. He’s really concerned about the wording when discussing funding for employment and job training programs.
    “Hi Lil,” my dad says and chuckles. “Sorry I’m late.”
    “What took you so long?”
    “The usual,” he sighs. “It takes a lot of time and energy to win an election. What have you been doing?”
    “Um, Mark,” Jet steps into the room and lowers the phone to speak to my father. “Winston is sending over the draft for the conference on Wednesday. Can you read through it and get back to him by Sunday?”
    “Put it on my calendar for tomorrow,” my father says, nodding. Then he turns back to me. “Sorry Lil, what were you going to say?”
    I wave my hand in the direction of the ballroom. “Just that this event is all Mom’s been able to talk about for a month.”
    “I heard about your little getaway attempt,” he says.
    “Mom called you, of course.”
    He nods.
    “I won’t stay locked up in this house for another eight months,” I say, turning back toward my mirror.
    “Would you rather become one of the Taken Eighteen?”
    “No, but if they want me they’ll take me whether I stay inside or not, won’t they?” I counter.
    Talking so personally despite all of the people around has become normal for my father. This group is sworn to secrecy under all circumstances anyway.
    Jeremy walks up to my father. “Sorry to interrupt, sir,” he says, “but I just got word that the press is getting restless. Mrs. Atwood is requesting you downstairs as soon as possible.”
    My father checks his watch, then turns back to me.
    “Keeping me in here isn’t going to stop them,” I add before I lose him to the party. “You want to see all the letters I’ve gotten? And most of them have been taped to my bedroom window.”
    My father’s shoulders tighten in discomfort. “Unfortunately, right now I