Intermix Nation by M.P. Attardo Page B

learn about the luxurious Median lifestyle, but she
has to admit that the subject is riveting.
    The library is quiet, nearly empty. It often
goes unused, since most intermix cannot read and most rebels cannot
be bothered. Riva taught her children the alphabet at a young age,
and Nazirah always loved engrossing herself in fantastical stories.
Intermix are not allowed to use the public libraries in Rafu, but
Nazirah would often sneak into the main school from the annex. She
would read on the floor of the school library after everyone else
left, until Riva would find her and scold her and drag her
home.
    Nazirah imagined she was a princess in the
cold north of Zima, or a bootlegger from a faraway land, or even a
bird soaring over Renatus. She imagined she was anything other than
what she actually was. Reading was her escape. It still is. With
Nikolaus always gone, training intensifying, and unrest erupting
around the country, Nazirah knows that her hourglass of safety is
running out.
    Nazirah finishes reading about hilarious
Medi fashion trends throughout the decades. She starts on the
bullet train system, which carries goods from the outskirts of the
territories to the capital at rapid speed. Nazirah looks out the
large window beside her and spots Taj and a few others kicking a
ball around outside. She wants to go watch, but wills herself to
finish working first.
    Nazirah casually flips through some
photographs of Mediah, completely mesmerized by the sheer size of
its gleaming skytowers, its power, and its technology. She wonders
what Niko’s grand plan is to overcome these obstacles and she prays
it is a good one.
    “So she’s literate.”
    Adamek slumps down in a chair before her. He
drops a pile of strategy books on the table to his right and rests
his hands casually behind his head.
    “Yes, she is,” Nazirah huffs.
    He glances at the books scattered around the
floor. “I know this is probably a foreign concept to you, Nation,
but we have these things called tables and chairs for a
reason.”
    “I know what a chair is,” Nazirah snaps,
sitting up. “I just exercise my right, as an intermix, not to use
one.”
    “I see.”
    “What are you doing here anyway?” Nazirah
asks, annoyed. Someone shushes her. Nazirah turns to see Aneira
glaring at them, several tables away. Nazirah rolls her eyes. She
returns her attention to Adamek, speaking more quietly. “I would
think a place like this was beneath you.”
    “And why is that?”
    Nazirah searches the room for inspiration.
“Because,” she says, “it’s old and secondhand and dirty.”
    Adamek chuckles. He rests his hands in his
lap. “There’s nothing wrong with getting a little dirty.”
    Nazirah flushes. She has heard the rumors,
the dreaded girl talk, especially in the lavatory. Girls obsessed
about his perfect looks, perfectly high cheekbones, perfectly
straight teeth, the way his perfect hair perfectly flips … blah
freaking blah. Originally, they whispered about it when in her
presence. But now, no one bothers to hide what they think of
perfect Adamek Morgen. And it irritates Nazirah no end.
    How can they forget everything bad he’s
done, just because of how he looks? Are they blind? Can’t they see
that that is part of it all? Part of the way he lures people in? He
disarms docile dolts with charm and confidence before leading them
to the slaughterhouse.
    “Aren’t we chatty today.”
    Nazirah snaps out of it. “I was focusing on
this essay … before I was interrupted.” She sighs, looking
distastefully at her notepad. Nazirah feels an unwelcome rant
coming on. “I don’t get it!” she complains. “You can’t be that much
older than me and you have been here a hell of a lot shorter. Why
don’t you have to go through this ridiculous training?”
    Adamek looks at her like she is delusional.
“I don’t need training,” he says.
    “That excuse didn’t work for me.”
    “I have friends in high places.”
    “I’m sure you do,” she