Page 26 of Never Broken

For both:mother deceased, father unknown.

Hands trembling, I opened my desk drawer again to look at the package of Luxembourgish pralines I’d ordered from a specialty website. In the face of all I’d just seen, they seemedinadequate. Lame, almost. But still. Maybe they’d make him smile. And his smiles were?—

Well. When he woke up, I’d tell him I’d just happened to find them at a store near campus. Yeah, that was it. Then we’d share them. Perfect. Normal. Not obsessive in the least.

And then I’d rewrite my paper again.

Mind made up, I clicked back to the boy’s page, where his owners, dating back to his childhood, had written comments.Reviews,really.

Positives: Bright, attractive, charming, sensitive, curious …

Negatives: Defiant, mouthy, willful, manipulative, moody, lazy …

I hid a smile. Sounded about right.

Then I reached the very bottom, under the headingWarnings.

DANGEROUS: Documented violent attack on an owner

A stirring from the bed behind me. Immediately, I slammed the laptop shut. I spun my chair around, trying to look casual.

“Hey,” he said. “What were you doing?”

“Nothing,” I replied quickly. “Homework.”

He smiled. “You’re a shit liar.”

Yep, there was that signature charm. Fuck it all. It was too good to be true. I knew it. Iknewit.

“No, really, what?” he pressed.

“Ordering a ‘live, laugh, love’ sign for over the desk,” I muttered through gritted teeth. “Look, it doesn’t matter, okay?”

“Come on, you can tell me.”

He slid off the bed and came to my side innocently. No, he wasn’t a dog, but right now—in contrast to what I’d just seen—hewaslike a puppy with a bone. Ears up, tail wagging. There was another “negative”: stubborn.

“I really do have homework to do, and I think you’re due downstairs.” I was dying inside as I said it, but it had to be said.

“What?” He looked bewildered, and I didn’t blame him.

I thought once more of the pralines in the drawer.

“But we—” he began.

“Go.” I clenched my jaw harder, turning my back, staring intently at the tiny cactus in the pink ceramic pot on my desk like it was the most fascinating thing I’d ever seen. “It’s an order.”

He followed it.

6

HER

Icouldn’t sleep.

Why was there a whole wing of my house I’d never thought to visit? Why was there a whole database of slaves—and their families, of all things—I had never thought to browse? Why had I spent all evening furiously rewriting a paper I had now tentatively titled: “Slave Welfare in the NNAU: Legislation or Illusion?” And why were both of them occupying so much space in my head right now that I couldn’t get them out? I couldn’t even close myeyes. All I could do was roll over, stare at my bedroom’s elaborate wainscoting, and let it all crash over me, wave after wave.

Desert sage, sunshine, and some plain soap. That’s what the sheets smelled like, I’d finally decided, inhaling again. Of course. The scent of a boy who worked outdoors much of the day.

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