“You go by anything shorter than Cassandra?”
I wasn’t expecting a question like that. I sit there blinking
for several seconds. “Uh…I mean, most people call me Cas.”
“One syllable. Nice.”
“Ooh, syllable. Big word for a Flotilla kid.”
The smile drops from Swift’s face, but her teeth remain,
bared and ready to bite. “You’re a piece of shit, you know that?”
I don’t dare say anything.
Swift pushes off the counter, padding over to my side.
She crouches until she’s nose to nose with me, her blue eyes
unblinking as she leers into my face. “You think the SRC’s
the peak of civilization, huh? You think the little bubble you
live in is as good as the world gets, that the rest of us are just
hanging onto the fringes.” She’s close enough that I can feel
the soft push of her breath against my cheek. “You’ve thought
it for so long that the idea’s just a
joke
for you to banter with.
And then you get all hurt when we call you shoregirl, as if
there aren’t a thousand worse assumptions rattling around
inside that empty head of yours.”
She doesn’t touch me, doesn’t scratch my still-healing
scalp or shove me in the ribs. I have hundreds of vulnerable
points right now, but Swift isn’t looking to hit me there. She
wants me to feel guilty.
But I don’t.
Everyone on this boat is complicit in taking everything I
hold dear from me. They’re killers and captors and thieves, and
if I hurt their feelings, so be it. It’s not my aim to play polite
with a girl who can’t hurt me any worse than the damage I’ve
already taken.
