Multiplayer Read Online Free Page B

Laughing at what had happened to Hector’s father. The whole family was. But anything he said just confirmed his mother’s belief that he was paranoid – imaging problems everywhere.
    “Well tomorrow,” she finally said, then paused for her own wheels to turn. “I don’t care what the psychologist said. Tomorrow, I don’t want you playing any of this game when you get home. No video games until you go outside and get some exercise. You look like a zombie.”
    Hector growled in frustration. “What do you want me to do? Sit and watch the news with you?”
    “Don’t be a smart aleck, Hector,” his mother warned. “It’s important to keep up with what’s going on in the world.”
    “But there’s nothing to do around here.”
    “Well, find something.”
    “Whatever,” he muttered as she left the room.
    When she’d gone, he glanced back at the game screen. There was a message from Mal-X that read simply, Shokran , whatever that meant. Hector felt his spine go rigid and his teeth ground together so hard he thought they would splinter. He threw his controller at the floor in rage, and it broke into pieces.

Ch. 3

     
     
    Mrs. Reynolds reminded Hector of one of his dad’s sergeants, and had a well-deserved reputation as the hardest teacher in the school. The grizzled, old hag retrieved a stack of papers from her desk. Discontent spread across the room when the students realized what it was. “I have graded your tests from last week,” she announced. “Some of you don’t appear to have studied at all.” Her gaze swept over the students like a prison-camp searchlight, lingering on Hector who froze like an escaping prisoner caught in its beam.
    She always handed out the top five grades before the others. And the one that was usually first was, “Sanjar Zahedi,” she announced. “Well done.”
    Hector’s eyes followed Sanjar as he collected his test. Sanjar was an Iranian, like the people who had made the bomb that killed Hector’s dad. He always carried a thick, leather Qur’an with weird symbols on the front, and usually dressed in some kind of Muslim clothes. Today it was a tunic and baggy pants with a deep red fez. Sanjar took his paper and tried to conceal the smile that spread across his nut-brown face.
    After Sanjar came the Goth. Sabrah Moody was always dressed in black. She had long, shiny, black hair, pale skin, multiple earrings, and lipstick the color of dried blood. She rarely talked or said much of anything, whereas Sanjar never shut up. Why did the weird people always make the best grades? A terrorist and an emo-freak, Hector snorted to himself. Then remembered he used to make good grades too, but that was before he understood that none of this mattered. Now that he knew, it was impossible to concentrate on this useless stuff for more than a few minutes.
    After the first five tests, the rest were well shuffled. Deion wasn’t in the top five, but he was smiling when he returned to his seat. He flashed an ‘84’ to Hector and did a little dance, which worked amazingly well with his stylish clothes, and plopped into his seat behind Hector.
    Finally, she came to Hector’s name. His face flushed when she called him. He already knew what the grade would be. He rose and shuffled to the front of the class. He was wearing his Bayern Munich soccer jersey and felt his face must be as red as the shirt. For an instant, he made eye contact with his teacher, then looked away and took his paper. He didn’t bother to check the grade, just retreated to his desk with his test curled into a tight tube so no one could see.
    “Now I want everyone to correct the problems that you missed,” said Mrs. Reynolds, after she’d called everyone forward. “Bring them in Monday and you will receive half-credit. Apparently there was some confusion about some of the problems. So open your books to chapter fourteen. Polynomials are easy to understand, you just have to…”
    Sergeant ‘B’s voice faded in his ears