She was pissed, but there was something else going on there, too. I recognized it because I’d been the retarded little kid on the other end of the ass-chewing before.
During the war, Sissy decided us kids were on the buddy system. Colt and Ryder were supposed to stick together and I was supposed to stick with her. But there had been one battle where Sissy and I got separated. I tried to fight my way back to her, but I just kept getting pushed farther and farther away, until I couldn’t see her or anybody else. At that point, I was something way past panic, past wet yourself and cry like a baby. My heart was pounding so hard and fast that I thought I was going to pass out. It looked like everything was closing in on me. I dropped my sword, pulled the little .22 Dad had dug up for me, and started squeezing off crazy shots, wasting ammo, and crying. That’s when I heard Colt—“I got you, Tough, I got you!” He cut a path through the NPs with his nine and his sword, then he grabbed me and dragged me back to Sissy and the rest of our army while Ryder laid down cover fire. I don’t remember whether Dad called the retreat on that battle or Sissy did, but when we’d got far enough away, she ripped into me.
“What were you doing?” she yelled. “I told you to stay on me! We’ve pulled this drill before a hundred times. It’s not rocket science.”
“I—”
“You weren’t paying attention. You’re never paying attention!” Then she’d stopped yelling and squeezed the bridge of her nose. “Ryder’s right. You are terrible at this and it’s going to get you killed. You want to know why Coach Greene never played you?”
“I played sometimes!”
“Don’t be a baby. Kicker doesn’t count, no matter what Mom said. It wasn’t because you’re too small—”
“I’m not small!”
“—it’s because you can’t just do anything. You always have to think and feel and think about what you feel. You know what Ryder’s thinking about in the middle of a battle?”
My face was burning. I wanted to cry again, but I didn’t want to prove her right about being a baby.
“Staying alive,” she said. “Chopping, stabbing, shooting, not dying. You know what Colt’s thinking about?”
“Staying alive?” I sneered. “Chopping, stab—”
“Nothing. Colt doesn’t think. He just does. And it works because he paid attention when we were doing the drills. He worked at them until he got them right. Better than right—perfect. And you didn’t. You were off in your head thinking about your dumb songs or something, weren’t you?”
I glared down at the ground. A couple hot tears streaked down my face, but I didn’t wipe them off in case Ryder was looking this way.
“This isn’t peewee football, Tough. Greene’s not going to sit you on the bench. An NP’s going to take your head off, and there won’t be anything I can do about it. Colt can’t save you every time. Ryder and I can’t babysit you. You’re going to die if you can’t shut off your brain—and you’ll probably get one of us killed, too.”
Sissy had never yelled at me like that before. It was a weird feeling—like I didn’t have anybody on my side anymore. The rest of the night I avoided her.
But she’d been right. That was why I’d started crying. Because deep down, I knew that I’d messed up and that everybody else knew it, too.
That was what Scout was doing. She was pissed and she was calling me on my bullshit because she knew she’d messed up.
Scout wouldn’t look at me.
Stop pretending like you’re some bigshot general, I told her. You’re a high schooler and those are the kids you went to class with that you’re planning to send to their deaths. Get that through your head. Then maybe I’ll listen to your pregame speeches.
Clarion and Lonely had been watching our argument the whole time. When Scout didn’t yell at me immediately after I said that, the old coyote seemed to snap out of his daze.
“It’s a moot point anyway,” Clarion said. “The fallen angels have been fighting since time began. They’re war machines. Sending in a force to draw them out while someone else sneaks in the back is the oldest trick in the book. They’ll see it coming a mile away.”
“What do you suggest we do, then?” Scout snapped, putting one hand on her hip and cocking her body at him.
Doing that made her look so much like Harper that I felt sick. While all this talking and arguing and stupid fucking negotiating had been going on, I’d stopped thinking about everything with Harper. Her falling down on the porch next to me. Saying she hated me. Crying while she watched me smash Mom’s guitar.
“Give my messengers forty-eight hours,” Clarion said. “In the meantime, we study maps of the area around the Dark Mansion and come up with a better plan of attack. Two plans—one utilizing the potential reinforcements and a contingency in case we don’t get the backup I’m hoping for.”
Now that sounded like fun. Two more days stuck in the attic talking. I nodded and gave the coyote a double thumbs-up.
“How many chances do you think you’ll get at this, kid?” Clarion growled, getting up in my face. “You think you can just run in, grab the sword, and run out? What do you think’s going to happen if you run in there without a plan? You want me to tell you?”
No, I want you to question-talk at me some more.
Lonely snorted, but didn’t relay the message.
Clarion’s hands curled into fists at his side and he crowded me until his nose bumped against mine. “You’ll
