Read Sunblind for Free Online Page B

watching the silver mist that’s starting to outline her body. It’s just as entrancing as the first time I saw it, but as Nadine chatters on the mist begins to change. It’s no longer intangible like fog; it’s more like liquid metal, thick and shiny and touchable. Clasping my hands behind my back, I compel myself not to reach out and run my fingers through the silvery body stocking that’s now undulating and rippling all around Nadine’s body. I don’t know if I can see this phenomenon as another byproduct of the transformation or if I’m somehow looking through wolf eyes, but either way it’s fascinating. Watching this incredible sight is hypnotic, and I have to shut my eyes tight to break free from the trance. When I reopen them Nadine’s silver outline is gone, and I can finally hear her voice again.
    â€œNap’s been moody and just plain unmanageable,” she finishes.
    That’s a peculiar word. I’ve described Barnaby as lots of things, but never unmanageable. Then again twins do have a different type of sibling relationship, so why not a different vocabulary? I’m the big sister, so I’m usually Madame Bossy Pants, but Nadine is pretty much Napoleon’s equal, so maybe she yearns for more control? Or not.
    â€œThat’s what my mother says,” she corrects herself. “She calls Napoleon unmanageable.”
    â€œAnd what does she call you, Miss Jaffe?”
    During our whispered conversation Miss Ro has worked herself to our side of the circle. Standing in front of us, hands on her hips, she doesn’t look happy as she waits for an answer. She looks even less happy when Nadine finally responds. In a way that makes me drop my jaw, and poor Gwen Schültzenhoggen drop the ten-pound medicine ball she was about to throw on her foot.
    â€œThe better one.”
    For the rest of the day all I can think about is the bee and the butterfly. The imagery just won’t leave my mind, and it’s not pretty images of two insects buzzing and flapping whose only joint goal is to sniff flowers and collect pollen; the imagery is violent. Buzzing is more like dive-bombing and flapping resembles flying for your life. Could my sermon at Jess’s funeral really be coming to life? Does the bee really want the butterfly dead? I’m not sure, but it actually makes me trust the bee more, because she isn’t hiding; she isn’t concealing her true nature. She is what she is. Which means the butterfly is a stool pigeon.
    Â 
    â€œIt has to be Nap,” I declare.
    â€œDo you have evidence?” Caleb asks.
    Why can’t my boyfriend just agree with me?!
    â€œNot a shred,” Archie adds.
    â€œThen I’m with Archie, Domgirl,” Caleb says. “Just ’cause your gut thinks it’s Nap, doesn’t mean your gut is right.”
    And why must he always agree with his best friend?
    I grabbed Caleb and Archie as they were on their way to football practice, thinking I would be able to convince them that Nap cannot be trusted, that he’s the missing link that has led Louis and my brother on this dangerous path that may wind up getting me killed. But now, standing underneath the bleachers, doused in a jumble of shadow and afternoon sunlight, they’re offering logic and pessimism and contradiction instead of sympathy and kudos and acceptance. It is not what I want or expect from these two. Especially Archie.
    â€œLift the needle, Dom,” he says. “You sound like a broken record.”
    I have reason to be stuck in my groove! “Ever since Nap came to town he’s been lying!” I proclaim. “The way he acted at Jess’s funeral is all the proof I need.”
    â€œThat isn’t proof,” Archie rebuts. “Just your point of view.”
    And just what point is Archie trying to make?
    â€œI get why Domgirl is blaming Napoleon. She’s looking for an explanation,” Caleb states.