Page 18 of Kingmakers, Year Two

Because I’m a wild thing, just like my mother was once upon a time.

I don’t want to be cared for and protected.

I want to hunt.

“Make sure you say goodbye to Caleb and Noelle,” my mom says. “Especially Caleb.”

“I will,” I promise.

I know how upset Caleb would be if I didn’t. He tries to act all tough, but he’s a fucking marshmallow on the inside.

Being the oldest is a tricky thing. Your siblings are annoying as fuck for most of your life, but you still love ‘em. You can’t help it.

And I’ll admit, Caleb isn’t shaping up too bad. He’s a little scrapper at school, he might give our cousin Leo a run for his money on the basketball court one of these days, and he can be pretty funny when he works on his material and keeps his anecdotes tight.

Give the kid a couple more years and a couple more inches, and we might be legitimate friends. For now I can still bend him up like a pretzel if he gets lippy.

Noelle is a different beast. She’s smart, and I mean scary smart. She’s like an A.I. computer that might discover the cure for Ebola, or else might decide that humanity is the virus and should be wiped off the earth.

Too early to tell with her. For now she looks damn cute in a pair of pigtails and her Sailor Moon shirt.

My dad comes into the kitchen, freshly showered and wearing an impeccably tailored suit.

His hair turned prematurely silver, which creates an alarming contrast with his bright blue eyes. My mom likes to call him a White Walker when she really wants to piss him off.

“He’s alive,” my dad says when he spots me.

“Where are you going?”

“Breakfast with Uncle Nero.”

“I don’t know if that’s worth dressing up for,” I say. “Since he’s probably gonna show up in coveralls.”

“I’m not taking tips from somebody wearing moon boots.” My dad frowns, shaking his head at my sneakers. “What the hell are those?”

“They’re . . .fashion!”my mom says, doing jazz hands.

“They’re the re-drop of the Nike Air Mag,” I inform him. “They only made eighty-nine pairs. I could sell these for thirty-five thousand dollars right now. Used!”

“I will pay you thirty-five thousand dollars if I never have to look at them again,” my dad says.

“Tempting. But if I keep trading up, I might just get my hands on a pair of the solid gold OVOs.”

My dad shakes his head at me. “Please tell me you’re keeping at least some of your money in an IRA.”

“Don’t worry, Dad.” I grin. “The nice thing about money . . . is you can always make more.”

Taking my mom’s last apple slice, I head up the floating staircase to the upper level. I was planning to flop down directly on my bed, but I can’t because my mom helpfully dumped my empty suitcase there, along with the fresh new uniforms.

Taking the hint, I chuck the rest of my clothes and books into the suitcase, as well as a nice thick wad of cash wrapped up with rubber bands. That’s my seed money for the semester ahead. I’ll sprinkle that cash amongst the fishermen and the greediest of the school employees, and soon I’ll have my own little Silk Road bringing exotic delicacies onto the island that I can sell to my fellow students for exorbitant prices. Tea and porcelain ain’t got nothin’ on vodka and Molly.

Packing complete, I zip up the suitcase, chuck it on the ground, kick off my sneakers, and roll into bed.

I drift off to sleep counting dollars instead of sheep.

3

CAT

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