Taken (Erin Bowman)

her and it plunks onto the dirt road. “Where’s Pa?” She stares up at me with those bright blue eyes of hers. They look just like Blaine’s.
    “I’m not sure. Why don’t you come with me to the market? Maybe we can find him together.” I offer her my hand and she takes it, pudgy fingers wrapping around my thumb.
    “I miss Pa,” she mumbles as we move along.
    I smile at her, but there’s nothing else to say. It is moments like this that make me feel lucky. I am not Blaine. I am not turning eighteen. I am not a father. I will not disappear when someone needs me most. If Kale misses Blaine now, when he’s merely at work or still asleep, how will she feel tomorrow, after the Heist? How can I explain that to her? How can anyone?
    The market is bustling as always. Women and girls are there, trading herbs and cloth and vegetables. There are boys, too, all my age or younger. Some hoist freshly caught game onto tables, others tools and weapons or livestock gear, but everyone is trading for various goods. Kale fidgets behind me as I barter with Tess, an older woman who sells cotton and clothing sewn at the textile shop.
    “I know, Tess. I know one bird doesn’t amount to a new jacket,” I admit as I set one of my quail before her. “But remember two weeks ago, when I gave you rabbit for next to nothing because you were in a bind?”
    “Gray, you know I’d be out of business if I made every deal based on kindness alone.”
    “It’s for Blaine,” I say, rubbing my thumb over the wooden buttons on the jacket. It’s made of heavy cotton, streaks of dark brown and black running through the material. “He’s always wanted a good jacket, and I wanted to give him one for his birthday, even if he can only enjoy it for a day.” I pretend to admire her handiwork but peer from beneath my bangs to see how she reacts to the thickly laid-on guilt. Tess bites her lip anxiously. She knows as well as anyone that tonight Blaine faces the Heist.
    “Oh fine, take it,” she says, thrusting the jacket at me. “But we’re even now.”
    “Of course.” I take Kale’s hand and we leave the market, a new jacket thrown over my shoulder and the remaining bird still dangling from my hip.
    Kale continues to pull the wooden duck behind her as I lead the way toward our place—Blaine’s and mine. It sits on the southern edge of the village, set back from the other homes where it is quiet and peaceful. I frown, realizing that in less than a day’s time it will no longer be our place but mine .
    “Aw, what a precious sight!” Chalice Silverston stands before us, sneering. “Father and daughter, out for one final stroll perhaps?”
    I raise my head and glare at her.
    “Oh. Hey, Gray. I thought you were your brother.” She’s seen my eyes at this point, the one thing that differentiates me from Blaine. His eyes are blue and vibrant. Alive. Mine are stormy, so colorless that I was named after their dreary hue.
    I grunt audibly but don’t feel like arguing. I want to focus my efforts on enjoying this last day—if that’s even possible.
    “What’s the matter, Gray? Feeling a little under the weather ?” she drawls. Gray Weathersby. Under the weather. She’s been flaunting that play on words since we were children, and now, after hearing it a million times over, I’ve had enough.
    “Chalice, you better shut that hole in your face before I make you,” I snap.
    “Oh come on, Gray. You’re just bummed about your big brother. Sad and moping because he’s going to be up and gone in a matter of hours.”
    That strikes a nerve. Anger rages into my chest, surges against my rib cage. I couldn’t care less that we went to school together, spent days sitting in the same classroom. I forget that she’s a girl and that I probably shouldn’t hit her. I react automatically, dropping Kale’s hand and throwing my fist into Chalice’s cheek. She deserves it, all of it. I hit her again, this time in the stomach. We end up in the dirt, flailing. A few strikes later someone yanks me off Chalice and pushes me aside.
    “Get ahold of yourself, Gray.” I roll over and find Blaine standing above me, his eyes filled with disappointment. Sasha Quarters, Kale’s mother, stands behind him. I can taste blood on the inside of my lip and my jaw throbs. Well, good for Chalice, having the nerve to actually sock me back.
    “You’re crazy,” Chalice says through a mouthful of blood. “Absolutely crazy.”
    “But she . . .” I look