Ordinary (Anything But) by Lindy Zart Page A

spoken with him. He’d even been to her workplace on occasion with his family for burgers and fries, playing pool when they were done eating. His smile for her was always shy, but there was a smile.
    “Honor,” he rasped out in a voice hoarse and deep.
    She went still, waiting with a thundering heartbeat. Christian’s lips turned down. He looked like he was searching for words, like she had been moments ago. He must be so confused. A shrill noise erupted in the quiet and Honor spun around, wondering where it had come from and what it meant. It was loud, piercing, without end. It sounded like an alarm. Fear had her believing it was because of her being down there.
    Guards came out of the dark, shouted orders at one another. She wasn’t completely surprised to know they’d been in the dark, observing, but Honor had to admit she was a little. She counted four, maybe five. They raced for the stairs, not even glancing her way. She looked toward Christian, but he was gone, faded back into the darkness. Honor chewed her lip, torn. The pull was too great and she took off after them, too curious to stay away. This is dumb, Honor. Go back to your room. You don’t want to know. Only she did. Your curiosity is annoying, you know that? Adrenaline pumping the blood through her veins, Honor sprinted up the stairs, the sounds of voices propelling her in the right direction.
    The glare of lights was blinding after the blackness and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. What she saw wasn’t what she’d expected to see, not that she’d really had any idea what would meet her eyes. It was a newbie. That was the first surprise. Honor remembered him from the cafeteria at supper time. He’d been sitting by himself, down the table from her.
    The boy was struggling against two men, trying to shake their hands f rom him. His hair was blond and he had a baby face, but his eyes were wild, unseeing. “Let me go! Let me go home! I just want to go home!”
    Honor moved closer, past the benches, toward the scene. No one noticed her. She could relate to the boy, she knew how he felt. She’d felt the same. He was younger than her, too young to be going through something like this. He should have been worrying about girls and school and sports, not being a UDK. His life wasn’t his anymore. None of theirs were. They had been taken from them, warped into something abnormal, and they were supposed to accept it, deal with it, and not react. They were supposed to be cold, unfeeling, like the adults.
    They were only kids .
    “You need to calm down,” one of the men told him. “Calm down now .”
    The boy’s efforts doubled. His body twisted and contorted as he fought to be free. “Get off me! I don’t want to be here! I don’t want to be this! Let me go! I want to go home!”
    One of the men standing by removed his gun from the holster at his hip. Honor’s stomach lurched and she was moving before she realized it. What was he doing? Was he going to shoot him? Fear and anger built up inside her, hurrying her steps. The man lifted his hand. Honor opened her mouth, arms outstretched. “ No! ”
    The gun went down and the boy went limp when the hilt of the weapon connected with his temple. He wasn’t out completely, but he was dazed, his eyes only partially open. A lump was already forming on his head, red and bulging. The boy would have been on the floor if not for two sets of hands keeping him up. Relief swept through her that the man had only done that and not more, but indignation couldn’t keep her silent, couldn’t make her not react. Honor felt sick witnessing what she had. There had been no reason for the violence. He was just a confused, scared boy.
    She was finally being noticed, heads were turning her way. “Leave him alone,” Honor demanded, reaching for the boy. She was barricaded by large male bodies as two men moved in front of her, shielding the boy from her eyes.
    “Go back to your room, Rochester.”
    Honor stiffened,