Until I Break - Softcover

Bietz, Kara M.

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0807574406 ISBN 13: 9780807574409

Verlag: ALBERT WHITMAN & CO, 2016

Inhaltsangabe

Two boys: One is a star athlete and top student with a deep-seated need to prove himself. The other is a chip-on-his-shoulder quarterback who will never settle for second best. When gunshots echo through the halls of Broadmeadow High School, whose finger is on the trigger? A year before the shooting, Sam North has a bright future as well as a problem that nobody else seems to see—Ace Quinn, his neighbor and teammate. For years, Ace has been bullying and harassing Sam, yet he's managed to deftly conceal his actions and threats from the rest of the world. As Ace's secret rage intensifies, Sam becomes more desperate to stop him. But how far will he go? And what if Ace takes his threats even farther?

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Kara M. Bietz holds a degree in child development and works in the guidance counselor's office at a large high school. Until I Break is her debut novel. She lives in Texas.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Until I Break

By Kara Bietz

Albert Whitman & Company

Copyright © 2016 Kara Bietz
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-8075-7440-9

CHAPTER 1

TODAY

1:02 p.m.

The barrel of the gun is warm against my temple.

I can hear the frantic fwump-fwump-fwump of my heart slamming against my ribs in the chaotic hallway.

A tiny voice inside is fighting its way up my throat. No. No, no, no, it's saying. The sound never makes it past my teeth.

Loud, quick footfalls echo through the marble hallway. The sun streams through the thick-paned windows and glints off the trophy case, throwing golden stripes of light across the green lockers.

Ace's breathing is labored. His eyes are wide and wild.

I sink to the floor.

Darkness.

CHAPTER 2

MAY

Twelve Months Before

My tie is choking me, my shoes are pinching my toes, and we've only been here for five minutes. Mom is fidgeting next to me, looking over the heads of everyone in the ballroom and wringing her hands. I can see her pulse thrumming on the side of her neck.

"You okay?" I ask her, nudging her foot with mine.

She nods too quickly, like a bobblehead doll. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. It's just ... crowded," she says with a one-sided smile. "Are you nervous?"

"Crowds don't make me nervous, Mom. Plus, this is mostly people we know," I answer, pulling at my collar. I swallow my own feelings about tonight while a thousand things go unspoken between us.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," she says. "This is a big night for you."

I curl my toes in my too-tight shoes and look at the napkin in front of me. It's folded in the shape of a swan.

"So are you nervous?" Mom asks again. I notice that she isn't fidgeting quite as much as she was when we first got here. Her eyes aren't darting around the room like they were before either.

The tension in my own chest releases, and I smile at her. "I don't think so. I guess I'm trying not to think about it."

She pats my knee. "I'm proud of you," she says close to my ear. "No matter what the outcome."

I look at the banner over the podium at the front of the room. EASTHAVEN DAILY CHRONICLE STUDENT ATHLETE AWARDS is spelled out in block letters. A whole bunch of square-shaped glass awards are on a table behind the podium. When I got the letter two weeks ago that I had been nominated for Student Athlete of the Year, Mom hung it on the refrigerator with four magnets instead of one.

"See that? All of your hard work has paid off! So proud of you, Sammy," she said.

The response card for the awards banquet sat on the counter until the day before it was due to be mailed back. There were four blank lines under the heading "Attending."

Mom scribbled her name on the second line and my name on the third line and handed the card to me. "Take this," she said, barely disguising the edge in her voice.

I glanced down at it, fully aware of the empty line at the top. A knot formed in my chest, and I tried to swallow it down. Little reminders that Dad was gone snuck up on us like that. Most of the time we could sense it coming and avoid a direct hit, but sometimes it smacked Mom and me right where it hurt.

I held the card in my hand and wanted to say something to her. It's okay. We're going to be all right. We've made it through worse. I'm proud of you for being strong about this.

"I'll go put this in the mailbox," I said, running my fingers over that blank line at the top.

Mom and I find our table in the ballroom, and I'm about to pick up the place card near us to see whom we'll be sharing a table with when I hear a high-pitched voice carry across the room.

"Well, look who it is," the voice singsongs.

"Susan! How nice to see you here," Mom says, standing up and giving the woman a quick hug.

Shit.

Susan Quinn is our next-door neighbor. Her son, Ace, and I, we're not exactly buds. In trying to keep Mom calm, I had almost managed to forget that Ace would be here tonight too.

"Ms. North, Samuel, what luck that we're sitting together!" I hear behind Mrs. Quinn.

Of course we're sitting together. Of course we are. Double shit.

"Hi, Ace," I murmur, holding my hand out. He shakes it, squeezing my knuckles and looking right in my eye. He doesn't smile.

"I didn't know you were nominated for anything, Sam. Congratulations!" Mr. Quinn shakes my hand and claps me on the shoulder. "Ace here is getting a passing-yards leader award for football, and he's going to be the next Student Athlete of the Year. Isn't that right, Ace?"

Ace's eyes twitch ever so slightly, but he turns on a giant smile. "That's right. What about you, Sam?" he asks.

"Point guard assists for basketball. And I'm up for Student Athlete too."

The table falls quiet for a beat longer than is comfortable. Finally Mr. Quinn clears his throat. "Well, good luck to both of you, then," he says, raising his water glass and quickly bringing it to his lips. I see the muscles in his jaw flex as he shoots a pointed look at his son.

Ace avoids his father's cold glance.

Mrs. Quinn and my mother chatter about some new app my mother has been using. Mr. Quinn is full engrossed in his phone, frantically typing a message with his thumbs. Ace sits next to me, his leg bouncing up and down.

"I guess I'm a shoo-in, then," he whispers.

I swallow hard but don't answer.

"Cat got your tongue, Samantha?"

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from answering. It's not worth it. The longer I can ignore him, the better. Like a toddler, he eventually gets bored and turns his attention elsewhere.

He smirks. "If you're my competition, I'll be sure to win. Faggot," he whispers.

I can't pinpoint when the trouble began with Ace. My mom has pictures of the two of us playing together as preschoolers, when the nickname Ace hadn't yet stuck and everyone still called him Dean Junior. There are tons of those pictures of us together and smiling, drawing in the street with chalk, digging in the sand at the neighborhood beach. I don't feel like I know that smiling kid next to me in those pictures.

I do know this Ace. The asshole with the smart mouth. The slimy son of a bitch who is sure to turn the charm up to eleven when adults are listening.

I remember him in kindergarten, pouring water on my chair and telling the class that I had wet my pants.

And in fifth grade, when he stole my jeans from my PE locker, forcing me to wear tight PE shorts for the rest of the day in mid-February. Later he drew penises all over those jeans with a red Sharpie. The next day he wrote my name inside the waistband and shoved them in the lost-and-found box at school.

And I remember Ace when we were twelve. A rock forms in my throat at the thought.

The ballroom is getting crowded, and almost all of the tables are full of high-school athletes from around the area and their parents.

"Whose name is on the place card over there, Susan?" my mom asks, taking a bite of the salad that has just been put down in front of us.

"It says Keaton," Susan says, holding it up for the rest of us to see. "Oh, Mary and Neil's daughter, I'm sure. That cute little sweetheart you boys used to play with when you were little? I can never remember her name. What is it again, Ace?"

"Marnie," I answer before Ace can.

Ace turns to face me, and his smile widens slowly. "Yes, Marnie," he says, kicking my shoe under the table. His face never loses the smile.

"Where's your father, Jenny? Shouldn't he be here?" Susan asks Mom, looking around the...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: ALBERT WHITMAN & CO
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2016
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0807574406
• ISBN 13: 9780807574409
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 256
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar