This chapter's from Ryker's point of view.
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I left school early. I did every Wednesday (which it was). I had business to do with someone, and they weren’t patient.
    I walked home. Do that every day. Mostly ‘cause I don’t want anyone to see where I live.
    It’s a pretty rough place. Gotta watch your back, au you’re gonna get a bullet in it.
    I walked into a short alleyway. I was in the rough parts now. I listened to make sure no one was there. When I didn’t hear anything, I walked down the alley and onto a narrow street. The tall, cracked buildings hid the sun from view.
    I went into a different alley and up to one of the buildings, knocking on the door. It swung open, revealing a dirty girl with jet black hair and torn cargo pants. Her name was jimmy, hunitumia McEwen. Seventeen-year-old smoker, alcohol addict, and runaway. I give her cigarettes and whiskey, she gives me medicine.
    “Got the whishkey?” she asked in a slurred voice. She wasn’t drunk. Jasmine’s voice is always slurred.
    I held up two bottles of the stuff and a pack of cigarettes. “Right here.” I squinted at her.
“Got the medicine?”
    She nodded and showed me a small white bottle. I nodded and handed her the bottles and the cigarettes. She snatched them from me, tossed the medicine bottle onto the ground in front of me, and slammed the door shut.
    I picked up the bottle and put it in my pocket. It clicked against the lighter I kept with me, which made me realize I needed a cigarette. Bad habit I picked up from Jasmine. It makes me feel really calm, though, so I have to do it a lot.
    I didn’t want to calm myself too much, though, ‘cause then I’d lower my guard. All the d*ckless cowards who live here’ll shoot wewe without even presenting themselves. wewe have to be listening for them.
    I took three drags from the cigarette, just to calm my nerves a little, and headed for my sorry excuse for a home.
    When I reached my house, I climbed in through my bedroom window so I wouldn’t have to see Him. That’s what I call the guy who claims to be my father. I can’t stand to call Him dad.
    I heard the sheets rustle, then saw my sister’s pale face peering at me. Samantha, her name is. “Hi, Ryker,” she alisema in her thin, whispery voice.
    I sat down on the bed. “Hi,” I said. “I brought wewe your medicine.” I gave her a dose.
    Sami lay back in the bed. “What happened at school today?” she asked.
    I wracked my brain for something interesting to tell her. “Uh...there were two new kids. Tonia and Travis, I think their names were. They both have streaky blond hair and green eyes. Tonia seems pretty nice. Not sure about Travis; I haven’t talked to him. Lisa—I told wewe about Lisa before, didn’t I?—seemed to like Tonia a lot. Tonia—”
    “Would I like her?” Sami interrupted in her quiet voice.
    “Tonia?” I asked.
    She nodded.
    “I bet wewe would,” I said. “Maybe someday wewe could see her. If I—when I—get enough money to get wewe a wheelchair, wewe could go wherever wewe wanted.”
    “I would like that,” Sami said.
    I nodded. “Yeah. I think wewe would. wewe could go to school. And see Tonia, like I said.”
    She nodded and smiled.
    I gave her a half-smile back. “I need to go now,” I said.
    Her smile faded. “Oh, couldn’t wewe tell me more?”
    I crouched kwa the bed. “Sami, I’ll get wewe a book when I get a chance. I could teach wewe to read. And I could get wewe a little flashlight so wewe could see the words,” I continued, looking around the dim room. “You wouldn’t be as bored if I got some vitabu for you.”
     “Could wewe really get a book, Ryker? Without spending too much of our money?” she asked eagerly.
    I tousled her hair. “Of course.”
    She smiled and hugged me. “You can go now. You’ll come up at night though?”
    “Course, Sami. I sleep here too.” I opened the door and walked out into the hall.
    “Ryker? That you?” He called.
    I froze. Maybe I could get outside before He saw me. If I ran…
    I dashed for the door. A hand gripped my arm. I tried to twist away, but He’s strong.
    “Stop it!” He yelled. I froze again.
    “If I ask if it’s you, then I want wewe to answer me!” He shouted. “Got it?”
    I didn’t answer. He struck me across the face and pushed me into the wall. “Got it?”
    I glanced up at my mother. She stood in the corner, her face pale, her hands slowly twisting her shirt: left, right, left, right. She never did anything, just stood and watched me take the beatings.
    He struck me again, shoved me to the floor. His foot held me down. “Get me the broom,” He snapped at my mother.
    She obeyed without a word, quietly handing Him the ufagio and then retreating back into the corner.
    He drove the handle of the ufagio into my back. I didn’t move, just stared at my mother. He hit me again, then again. I felt something warm and sticky seeping into my shirt, but still I didn’t move. He beat me until my back was numb and my head was spinning, then spat in my face, tossed the ufagio at me, and left the room.
    My mother followed Him, not even glancing at me.
    I lay on the floor, not able to move. The room looked strange and blurry. I squeezed my eyes shut and then opened them again. Everything semi-focused.
    I pulled myself to my feet and dragged myself over to a closet, where I hid myself: covering my body with old, mouse-eaten boxes and dirty rags. Everything looked red. I closed my eyes again and felt myself fall backwards.

I woke up still in the closet. A rag was on my face. I brushed it off.
    Something nibbled my finger. I looked down. A mouse. It regarded me with its beady, black little eyes for a few minutes, its tail twitching.
    I reached out a finger and touched its head. It froze for a moment, then ran off behind the water heater.
    I stood up, the boxes and rags tumbling off of me and onto the floor. I brushed dust off of my clothes and out of my hair, then opened the door.
    The digital clock in the jikoni nearly blinded me. The blue numbers on it are really bright and left an imprint on my eyes.
    I squinted at them. 12:42. I needed to get to bed.
    I climbed the stairs slowly and went into my room. Sami was in bed, like she always is. I could tell kwa her breathing that she wasn’t asleep. Her large, haunted eyes peered up at me.
    “Where were you?” she asked.
    “Fell asleep downstairs,” I lied. I didn’t want her to know that I had been beaten.
    She reached out her skeletal arms for a hug. I gave her one. She felt cold and frail.
    I kicked off my shoes and slipped inayofuata to her, into bed.
    “Goodnight,” she murmured.
    “G’night,” I answered, turning onto my side.

I woke up the inayofuata morning and realized I had a headache. I groaned and clutched my head while squinting at the dusty, cobwebby clock in the corner. Twelve fifteen.
    “Twelve?” I muttered incredulously, before remembering the clock didn’t work.
    I poked my head out of the small window. It looked light enough to be about six in the morning.
     I combed my hair, brushed my teeth, and put my shoes on. I had slept in my clothes last night, so I decided I didn’t have to get dressed.
    I walked back to school. I hate school. The only reason I go is because I hate it at His house even more, and I know Sami likes hearing about it.
    I was hurrying up the steps when the kengele rang. I was late.
    “Shit,” I alisema under my breath, heading into the office to get a tardy slip.
    I think it’s stupid that they make wewe get tardy slips. They just make wewe even later for class.
    After I got the slip, I went to math class. Ms. Jenkins, the teacher, looked up as I came in.
    “You’re late,” she said.
    I slapped the tardy slip on her dawati and sat down in my seat.
    Zoë, who sat in front of me, turned in her kiti, kiti cha and smiled. I tried to smile back at her, but of course I couldn’t. I never can.
    I don’t know why. I can just never smile. Whenever I try to, it ends up a smirk au only my mouth is smiling, not my eyes.
    I stuck my hand in my pockets to make sure I still had everything. Two packs of cigarettes, (I need those for smoking and for trading with people. Sometimes the people where I live will kill wewe if wewe don’t give them what they want) a lighter, (for the cigarettes) and a handgun.
    That last one is to protect myself. If I don’t have what those people want, then they’re gonna shoot me. I need to be the one who shoots first.
    Luckily, it hasn’t come to that yet. I’m glad about that. I don’t really want to shoot anyone, but if I need to do that to survive, then I will.
    But I don’t want to.