Veneer Read Online Free Page A

then red, and then zebra. He got into a rhythm, had his whole body cycling through the spectrum. The uniform shook his head and walked away.
    The clock on the wall said it was just past eight o’clock. If he had gone to school, he’d be sitting in Geometry waiting for Mr. Holt to finally lose it and start openly groping Tina the Suck-Up. It was easy enough to imagine, to project onto the front of Tina’s locker in a drive-by reconcile, but to see it in person? Russo smiled, buried his face in the ample cleavage of his fantasy.
    Sometime later, the uniform returned with a man in a dark suit. He had one of those too-square jaws that made him look alien. The fact that he was a full foot taller than Russo didn’t help either.
    “Mr. Washington, this is Agent Eric Tavarez.”
    Russo’s throat went dry. If they were bringing in an agent...
    “Can we hurry this up?” asked Eric. “I’ve got a thing.”
    The uniform nodded and opened the cell door. He pulled out his baton and pointed it at Russo. “Now you stay put.”
    Russo wanted to say something witty, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Eric. The agent was staring at him intently, as if trying to see through him. Or through his façade.
    “Your palette, please,” asked Eric. The uniform motioned to the desk sergeant and had him bring over an EPD tablet. Eric held it for only a few seconds before handing it back. Without another word, he left the room.
    The pressure that had been building at the back of Russo’s head began to lessen, but the look on the uniform’s face kept relief at bay.
    The uniform studied the image before turning the palette around and saying, “Mirror, mirror...”
    Russo’s mouth went dry as he took in the picture. Over the years, he had changed his appearance so many times and the reflective veneers had always backed up the lie. But this picture, it looked so strange, so foreign.
    He barely even recognized himself.
    3 - Rosalia
     
    There was nothing redeeming about the physical education program at Easton Central High School, not when Coach Baird’s idea of good exercise was to run in place for half an hour while a pastiche of inspirational landscapes scrolled by on the walls. It would have been better to get outside, have some fresh oxygen instead of the recycled air that smelled faintly of body odor. Still, Rosalia put in her time like an obedient student. If it wouldn’t have thrown her off balance, she would have closed her eyes and pretended she was somewhere else.
    The pretending part was easy; all she had to do was reach out and reconcile the wall into anything she wanted to see, though at the moment her mind was too foggy to imagine anything worth emulating. It was still early and her body was mostly asleep, going through the motions for the sake of a good grade. Like most mornings, she was just trying to survive, trying to deal with the aftermath of a night spent reconciling.
    Someone had to pay for the self-prescribed sleep deprivation.
    She smiled at that, thinking it was worth the trouble if she got to spend the majority of her time doing the things she wanted. The dazed fatigue of waking was better spent on first period P.E. anyway.
    The only moment of clarity Rosalia had had since she rolled out of bed that morning had been in front of the school with Deron as he lamented his inability to find time to read. That was typical; he was nothing if not a reliable procrastinator, though she did consider the alternative—that maybe he shared her desire to do the things that mattered, instead of those that had no true bearing on the world. That he hadn’t read the story was inconsequential in the larger picture. It was only necessary because he had an exam on it later. Without that test, the story became pointless, just a jumble of words on a palette.
    Rosalia nodded as she walked, her rhythmic breathing forcing a yes out of her mouth. Glancing at the readout on the treadmill, she saw there were still five minutes remaining. Under