Joan the Made (Throwbacks Series, Book 1)

Chapter 12

The next morning, any traces of Sparkle's sadness the night before are hidden beneath layers of makeup. She sneaks a glance at my tablet and groans.

"What?"

"We share three classes today," she says.

"What a hardship for you. I'll be sure to keep our deep friendship a secret from the cool kids."

"I hate watching the other kids pick on you, but of course I can't do anything about it," Sparkle explains, but her pleading doe eyes don't work on me. "That's why I don't want classes together. I don't want to see you suffer."

"You're a saint."

"Why are you making this harder than it already is?" she asks.

"You don't have to laugh along with everyone else. Want to take the stairs, so we don't arrive together?"

"Enough," Sparkle says. "I'm sorry, okay?"

Her apology surprises me, so I hold back further biting comments. We drift apart when we emerge in the lobby, as Sparkle hangs back to wait for her friends.

Harriet is ordering breakfast from a food and drink dispenser in the lobby.

I peer over her shoulder. "Chocolate chip cookies for breakfast? I entirely approve."

"It's a feast, as far as I'm concerned. I'm used to scrounging for food with the rest of the Lab rats," Harriet says.

"Lab rats?"

Harriet scrunches her nose. "That's the nickname the police have for the Throwback kids running from social services and hiding in the tunnels."

"Were you hungry a lot?" I ask, watching her from the corner of my eye as we make our way to the Little Theater.

Harriet jerks her head in a quick nod and then flashes me a tight smile. "I'm making up for lost meals now that the school gives us a decent amount of money for food."

"My parents said they'd send me a little extra money now and then in case I need anything. Maybe we could take some treats for your friends in the Lab, once I pass the Harriet trust test."

"If you show up with cookies, they'll follow you to the gates of hell."

"It's a promise," I say. "Are you in Music for the morning block?"

Harriet shakes her head. "Except for when we're pulled out for Remedial Acting, we are with the same group of kids for the rest of our classes."

Well, damn.

"I'll find you at dinner," Harriet promises when we part ways inside the theater.

I'm following the sound of music down the hall to my first class when a redheaded girl runs into me. Her long red braids are coming undone, and I don't need to see the freckles on her tear-stained cheeks to recognize her clone type. She's a Molly, like Addie. A Molly I know.

"Brie, what happened? I can help you."

Another tear streaks down her cheek as she nods, and I pull her into the mop closet at the end of the hall.

"Let me help," I say, using the hushed tone I save for kids, animals, and people who are overdosing on Amp.

"They followed me and took my bag, and the big one hit my cheek, and I was too scared to come home and . . ."

The rest is an unintelligible mess of sobs and broken words, so I gently rub circles on her back, like Addie does when I'm upset.

Gradually, her tears slow. "Let me get Justus."