Burn Read Online Free Page A

see him folded over himself and an even sorrier sight than he is usually.
    “Oh, come on, Cameron.” Murphy circles him. “What if we ask you nice?” He puts his arm around his neck until Cameron’s chin is above the guy’s elbow. “Cameron, will you please do a cheer for us?” He reaches for Cameron’s wrist, twists it up behind him and makes his voice thin and high. “How about ‘two-four-six-eight, who do we appreciate?’ We like that one.”
    “Go to hell,” Cameron says. At least he doesn’t give in. He has that. He never does any of the things they tell him to. Not the time they wanted him to drink toilet water, on his own or with their help, or the time they stole his clothes when he was in the shower and they offered him a choice: run naked through the girls’ gym or go naked the rest of the day. Cameron waited them out, past the tardy bell, then pulled a set of loaner PE clothes from the bin and got through the day.
    “Last chance, Diaz.” Patterson rolls up his fists.
    Cameron feels every one of Patterson’s knuckles in the soft part of his stomach, below the arch of his ribs. The breath shoots out of his lungs; his heart stops, then kicks against his chest. His body tries to curl over itself.
    “Hold him up,” Patterson orders.
    Murphy yanks him up, pulling back on his shoulders so that his stomach is easily accessible. He says, “You’re a real girl, Diaz. You never put out. A guy’s gotta take it.”
    “I don’t mind working for it.” Patterson has his hands up again, fists like a boxer. “You gonna dance, Cameron?”
    Cameron keeps his mouth shut this time. It’ll end sooner if he says nothing. If he stands as still as a post and sucks up what they have for him.
    This time, the punch lands on his rib bones. He hears Patterson’s knuckles crack and knows he’ll have a bruise.
    “Damn! You want to hold him still? I gotta pitch with this hand tomorrow.”
    But before Patterson can swing again, Cameron hears the metallic click of keys in the door knob. They hear it, too, and fall back, Patterson taking a casual stance with his hands stuffed into his front pockets. Slowly, Cameron’s body loosens up. He wants to rub his stomach, ease the burn there, but won’t do it. Not here. Not in front of them.
    The door opens and Mrs. Cowan, Cameron’s English teacher, strides into the room. And stops. Her eyebrows lift, but she’s fast to recover.
    “What’s going on here?” She puts a hand on her hip in her I-mean-business pose.
    “Just a private conversation,” Patterson says.
    “Really?” She doesn’t believe him.
    “Cameron helps us with our math,” Murphy says. “He’s a genius, you know?”
    She thinks about this, looks him up and down. Her lips pucker a little.
    “That true, Cameron?”
    Cameron tries to stand up a little straighter, feels his stomach muscles tug, but he keeps his face from showing it.
    “Yeah. Every word.”
    “I’m not convinced,” she says.
    She moves toward her desk, turns and stares at them, probably wondering what she should do with them. Cameron knows it’s his job to make her believe. He knows what will happen if he doesn’t. He’ll spend the next couple of days waiting to be jumped, pulled into a bathroom, and creamed.
    “It’s true,” he says. “We had a conversation.” When she continues to look at him with doubt making her face all soft and inviting, Cameron puts a little anger in his voice. “I don’t have to like what we were talking about, do I?”
    “No,” she agrees. “So long as it was talk.” Her shoulders give and she tells Cameron to leave first. “You two stay a few minutes.”
    Cameron makes sure his walk to the door is slow, then he stands there, trying to pour cement into his shaking knees as he waits for a break in the crowds flooding to class. He enters the heavy stream after a group of girls and watches their faces, their bright, sunny faces, and open mouths talking and laughing. But all he can think about is