Читать книгу Thrive - Mary Borsellino - Страница 6

The next morning, Olivia has a runny nose. She's achy and tired all over and is plain old cranky. She wants a cup of chicken soup and her own bed and cartoons to watch.

'Has my dad given you money yet?' she snaps when Hannah brings her the early meal of the day, though she knows the answer must be "no" or she wouldn't still be here.

'He says he wants to negotiate with us, but every time we try to actually talk seriously with him, it's like he's stalling,' Hannah answers, obviously seeing no reason to tell Olivia anything but the truth.

'He probably hopes you'll get sick of me and settle for much cheaper,' Olivia quips, only half-joking.

'Your father's an asshole.'

Nobody's actually said that out loud to Olivia before. She blinks. 'Yeah, I guess so. Joke's on him though, huh? Kidnappers kill hostages if the families don't pay.'

Hannah snorts. 'He probably thinks we wouldn't dare.'

Something hard and icy in her tone makes Olivia shudder. All at once she's reminded that, whatever weird rapport they've formed, Hannah is part of the masker gang that holds Olivia's life in their hands.

'Hey, no,' Hannah says, putting down the tray of food and grabbing Olivia's hand between her own. 'Nobody's killing anyone, 'k? If he's still being a wad in another couple of days, we'll cut your hair off and send it to him. He'll pay right away when that happens, trust me. They always want to stop it before it gets to an ear or finger.'

Hair. That's fine. Olivia doesn't care about her hair.

'Have you done this lots of times before, then?' she asks.

Hannah nods. 'Yeah, lots. Well... not me, exactly. No. I haven't. I only threw in with this crew a few months ago, but they've done it a lot. That's why I wanted in with them, because they get shit done, they don't just sit around talking and talking and starving down to bones, like the last lot I was with.'

Olivia decides not to point out that all she and Hannah have done since Olivia got here is talk and talk. Instead she asks, 'Were you a red rabbit with them, too?'

'Yep. That's me, always. One and only,' Hannah says, flicking a fingertip against one of the worn leather ears.

'I can't imagine you without it,' confesses Olivia.

'You probably won't ever see my face any other way. I mean, unless I die while you get rescued,' Hannah says. 'You might see my underneath-face then. Anyway, enough talk. Eat your breakfast and you'll feel better.'

'Cut my hair off now. Tell the others that I don't care. Do it now, prove to my parents that you're serious.'

'And you call me melodramatic,' teases Hannah. Then, in a less playful tone, she adds, 'I'll tell the others, okay? We're all getting antsy. They might go for it.'

Olivia doesn't see Hannah again until after nightfall, when the room's getting cold enough to make her shiver. There's a camera, a newspaper front page, and a slightly rusty pair of shears in Hannah's hands.

'Oooh, my first fashion shoot,' Olivia says, determined to be light-hearted about this. It's going to happen no matter what; the only variable she has any control over is how she reacts to it. She's going to be as optimistic as possible.

Hannah cuts Olivia's hair off quickly, taking the ponytail in one snip and then clipping away the rest.

'My head's gonna get cold,' Olivia grumbles, trying not to look at the ponytail on the ground beside her, the long, thick locks that her mother said were her best feature.

'Drape your blanket over it,' suggests Hannah.

'I'll look like a dork if I do that.'

'Nobody's gonna see you except me, and I know you are a dork. Hold this.' Hannah shoves the newspaper page into Olivia's hands and steps back, snapping a few shots with the camera. The flash makes lights dance in Olivia's vision. 'Proof that we did it today, you see?'

'Yeah, yeah, I got it,' Olivia nods. Her head feels so light without her hair. It's weird.

That night it takes her a long time to get to sleep. She tells herself it's because of the cold, because of trying to huddle up small enough under the blanket that she can cover her head as well.

That doesn't explain why she's crying, though.

She doesn't miss her parents. Not like she's supposed to; not as much as someone in her position should. She feels guilty that the girl they'll get back at the end of all this is going to be even more disappointing than she already was, even uglier and stranger.

It's nearly dawn before she manages to drift off, exhausted from her tears.