Candor Read Online Free Page B

enough and you’ll be convinced that the houses are worth every penny.
    Sherman pipes up again. “If you’re smart, you’ll plug your ears.” He jams his fingers in his ears and crosses his eyes.
    I walk over to him and stand so the woman can’t see what I’m doing. Then I pinch his knee, right above the kneecap. “Shut up or leave,” I whisper.
    When I turn around, the woman’s stuffing brochures in her purse.
    “We don’t supply arts-and-crafts paper for the kids.” I hold out my hand. She gives me a dirty look and hands back half.
    “Let’s go, kids,” she shouts. “We’re not wanted here.”
    “Took you a long time to figure that out.” I give her my sweetest smile.
    And they go.
    I turn to Sherman. “What’s wrong with you? Do you remember what I said?”
    He rolls his eyes. “No talking about secret stuff. Listen to the music you gave me. Never talk to you in front of witnesses.”
    “Don’t even make eye contact. Didn’t I say that?” My voice is loud, but it doesn’t matter. There’s nobody to hear except Sherman.
    “But I have questions. And I’m bored.” He swings his legs and his heels bounce off the cherry cabinets.
    “Stop. Scuffs.” I grab a paper towel and rub at the white marks his sneakers left behind.
    “For someone who’s fighting the system, you sure care a lot about this place.”
    I feel a surge of irritation. I can’t wait for this kid to be gone from this house. And my town. “My dad needs to think I’m perfect.”
    And the Messages have a few things to say about keeping houses clean and not destroying property. But I don’t admit I’m listening to those.
    “So what should I pack?” he asks. “What will I need?”
    Things I don’t usually discuss too far ahead. I tell them the night before. But I’d do almost anything to get rid of him.
    “If I answer your questions, will you leave?” I ask.
    He shrugs. “Maybe.”
    I stare until he lets out a gusty sigh. “Fine. Definitely,” he says.
    “Pack light,” I tell him. “It’s a long walk through the woods to the edge of town. You only need a change of clothes and your iPod. Make sure it’s loaded with the music I gave you.”
    I give my clients Messages to listen to when they leave. I have to. Once you start listening to the Messages, you can never stop. Not when you go to college, or on a business trip, or even an overnight to visit Grandma Bee in Sarasota.
    Dad didn’t just build the first brainwashing community—he invented a new kind of addiction: aural addiction, he calls it. Everybody in Candor is hooked on the Messages, including the parents who paid big money to be here. Nobody leaves town without headphones and their special music.
    Without them, the withdrawal will kill you.
    “Who’s meeting me?” Sherman asks.
    “A white truck will pull up. You’ll get in.”
    My driver, Frank, runs a critter-trapping service. Dad’s people call him all the time about gators, water moccasins, anything that scares our hardy citizens. I like to think he removes all kinds of pests from town.
    My clients sit in the back with the cages. It’s not luxury, but Frank is rock-solid reliable. He’d never turn me in. I pay 50 percent more than Dad. In cash.
    “Where will the truck take me?”
    “The truck takes you far, far away from me. So we like the truck,” I tell him. “We like it a lot.”
    His cheeks tremble. “Why are you so mean to me? I see you at school. You’re all smiling and talking to other people.”
    “I’m—not.” But he’s right. I am mean to him. And I’m fake with everyone else. For a minute, I feel bad for him. Poor slob. He doesn’t deserve being here. All he did was be his nasty, farting, burping self—someone his sleek parents couldn’t live with.
    But then he opens his mouth and talks again. “The customer is always right. You should be nice. You should be kissing my butt.”
    Sherman makes it impossible to be nice. “You’re my customer?” I snarl it. Step close.