Excerpt No. 1 : Harper
The only reason I was here was because people were afraid of me—rather, of us. We were the scum off the streets, the pleasure-seekers, the reckless invaders of their precious peace-of-mind. They made us out to be the devils that lurked in their nightmares. There I was, bound in handcuffs, miles away from home, and I definitely wasn’t feeling like nightmare material. In truth, all I wanted was a cold glass of sweet tea.
I doubted that there was sweet tea on the island of Penance, but a girl could dream. There wasn’t much else to do in this god-forsaken helicopter, and I certainly wasn’t going to try and make small talk with any of the others.
There were a total of five people in here besides myself. Three guards, just as armed and stone-faced as they had been since the beginning of the seven-hour trip. The other two were delinquents like myself, and I knew both.
Owen Carter, nineteen. He was black and wiry, with a set jaw and a dark glare that hadn’t left the floor of the helicopter since we boarded it. We were thieving acquaintances; we’d worked several jobs together, including the one that got us sent here.
Directly across from me was Theodore Boone, who was only thirteen and the most ginger boy I’d ever met. Ted’s skin was so freckled that its pasty white hue was hardly visible, and his orange curls fell just short of his wide green eyes. If there would have been anything positive about this whole situation, it would have been the fact that I’d never have to bother with him again. Imagine my surprise when I saw his buck-toothed smile as I was pushed into the helicopter.
He was alright, save for the fact that he’d inexplicably latched onto me two years back. No matter how many times I told him to scram, he’d pop up the next day where I least expected. That’s why he was here. He had followed me into that stupid house, and when cops had shown up he’d stuck around. I would have saluted his loyalty if it had been to anyone else but me. It was simple, I worked alone.
Me, Harper Jones. Almost seventeen. Five foot three, small build, small chest, small hands, small nose, small lips. Everything about me was small, except for my family name. My parents had struck it rich around twenty years back investing in some genetically-enhanced food deal. Since then, they’d been busy making appearances, donating to charities, visiting non-developed countries. Apparently the good genes hadn’t been passed on, since all I happened to be was a thief. Not even a good one, seeing as how I’d gotten caught.
