Read You for Free Online Page A

you?”
    You are, but you just look at him.
    â€œYes, I know all about you, Mr. Kyle Chase, fifteen, of 122 Woodbine Lane. Like how right now your best grade is a C minus in math, that last yearyou put your fist through a bus window, that you have accumulated an impressive eighteen days of detention since September, that you were in no less than four fights last year, all of which you started, and that you have just completed three days’ suspension for stealing Jake Burke’s wallet.”
    â€œI didn’t steal his wallet. I found it on the stairwell and—”
    â€œYes, yes, yes, it was all in the report, Mr. Kyle Chase, all in the report.”
    You feel your head tilt to the side, your eyes narrowing.
    â€œPicture it, Kyle,” he says as he leans back in his chair, balancing easy on two legs, his hands conjuring up the scene. “New kid in the school, history of… indiscretions . The principal—here playing the role of the stern but understanding adult who wants to give this kid a fresh start—calls said child to his office for the reading of the riot act. In the midst of his soliloquy, an unnamed secretary intrudes, says that there’sa matter only he can address, and suddenly the new kid finds himself alone in the principal’s office with nothing to read but the folders on the desk.”
    â€œYou read the stuff on the principal’s desk?”
    He holds his hand out as if he’s presenting you to a crowd. “And your science teacher had the audacity to say you don’t pay attention. Well done, young Chase, well done. By the way, if the weather holds up there’s a fire drill tomorrow, fifth period.”
    Then he does something you don’t expect. He reaches his arm out across the table to shake your hand, old-fashioned style, the way your father taught you to shake hands when you were five. “Zack McDade.”
    You keep your grip on the magazine and look at him. His smirk has shifted a bit, not so smart-assed, but still there’s something about it that pisses you off. He raises his hand an inch or two, just in case you missed it, but you leave him hanging.
    â€œ Tsk, tsk, tsk . Such manners.” He doesn’t look mador hurt or embarrassed—if anything he looks amused, as if this was the response he’d expected from you.
    Behind him, the library doors swing open and one of the security guards steps in. With a stretched-neck, squinty-eye pose, she scans the room. She gives the magazine area a long look, sweeps across the empty fiction area and then over to where you’re sitting. Naturally, she heads right for you.
    Zack stands up and straightens his jacket, pulling the cuffs of his red shirt out the ends of the sleeves. “A pleasure meeting you, Mr. Kyle Chase. Let’s do this again sometime.”
    The security guard is at your table before you can say anything worth saying. An F-bomb with her walking up would get you a quick six days’ detention. You say nothing and close the magazine, wondering what you’re in trouble for now.
    â€œThere you are,” she says in that I’m-so-tough voice she uses, but she’s not talking to you. “Who told you you could leave like that?”
    Zack keeps his smile. “Let him that would move the world first move himself.”
    You both look at him.
    â€œSocrates? Father of philosophy?” Zack pauses encouragingly, but neither you nor the security guard says a word. He sighs. “This is going to be a long year.”
    â€œLet’s go,” the security guard says, snapping her fingers and reaching for her walkie-talkie as they start back across the library. “This is Unit Two—found our new kid.”
    Over the static squawk and hiss of the main office’s reply, you hear Zack ask if she hates her parents for naming her Unit.
    Â 
    â€œ S o she goes, ‘Do you have a résumé?’ and I hand her the folder and she opens