Candor Read Online Free

graffiti,” he says.
    I blink once. Twice. “Why would anyone want to do that? Our community should stay beautiful.” That’s another phrase I’ve been noticing a lot since that night, lapping at the edge of my thoughts.
    “Not everyone gets the message.” Dad snaps off a tiny piece of toast.
    Message . Every time he says it, I get nervous. I look into my empty glass before he can notice. “I hope you find out soon,” I say.
    The Messages rush in right away. Never lie to your parents. Always be truthful . But those are old ones, and it’s not hard to push them back.
    Dad stands up. He rinses the rye seeds off his plate and opens the dishwasher. “Keep your ears open.”
    “I hear everything,” I say. He likes to think I’m his little spy.
    The scary part is over. My stomach rumbles. I reach for the juice and hope he won’t notice.
    “No more today.” Dad picks up a pencil from the pad by the phone. Then he marks the juice line on the bottle. There’s a stack of lines above it.
    It’s nothing new, but today it makes me angry just when I should keep my mouth shut. “I’m still thirsty.”
    “You got enough.” He taps the side of the bottle. “One serving. Have some water.”
    “Yes, sir.” Everything is just-enough in our house. He weighs the meat before I cook it. Our beds have one blanket and one pillow.
    Luxury is for other people. Weak people who pay Dad money for it.
    He points at the door with the eraser end of the pencil. “You’ll be late.”
    The great are never late . The Message washes across my mind and my fear rides on top of them. I let it push my feet out the door.

I GET TO the Roxbury two minutes late. Put my key in the door. Then I look at my watch and wait.
    Every day I test myself a different way. I know what I’m supposed to do. It’s fed to my brain 24/7. But I resist. I have to make sure I can do it. I have to know, for when it really matters.
    Three minutes late. Four.
    The Message pounds in my head: The great are never late. The great are never late . It’s a tough one to fight: It plays every day. Everywhere. One of Dad’s classics.
    “You don’t own me,” I mutter. I do what I want.
    Sweat rolls off my nose and drops on the toe of my fresh-shined dress shoes. My teeth are clenched. I force my jaw to relax and look at my watch again. There. Five minutes late. That’s enough.
    Before I go in, I look down the street. Is she coming? But I don’t see her. No ca-chunk, ca-chunk skateboard sound, either.
    “Relax,” I tell myself. Nobody breaks a date with Oscar Banks.
    I go inside and check the fridge. Sometimes there’s oatmeal cookie dough to bake. It makes the house smell good and it’s a lot tastier than rye toast. But not today. Just miniature bottles of spring water with the Candor seal stamped on the caps.
    I crack one open and sit on the edge of the bench in the breakfast nook. My legs won’t stop bouncing, twitching. I hate this girl for making me wait.
    My mother made the cushions and curtains for the first model homes. This one had red cushions and gold curtains. But when she was gone, those vanished overnight, too. Now the cushion has little palm trees and monkeys on it. Just like the curtains and the pillow shams in the master bedroom. Very tropical.
    But if you look outside, you’d never know it was Florida. Palm trees are outlawed in Candor, unless they grow in a nature preserve. Instead there are oaks and pines. Makes everyone feel at home, Dad says. It’s like we could be anywhere.
    Instead of the middle of nowhere.
    Candor boasts six stunning model homes, with designer upgrades and don’t-miss landscaping. That’s what the brochure says. The Roxbury is my favorite. It features double porches, granite countertops, and a potting shed out back. The old people go crazy for the potting shed.
    I like it, too. The door has a lock on the inside. There are shades that blot out light at night. And it’s got an electric outlet for my laptop.
    I meet with