Scythe (Arc of a Scythe #1)(5)

“Probably the marble,” Rowan said. “Once you reach terminal velocity, it doesn’t matter how high you are when you jump.”

“Did I crack it? Did they have to replace the marble?”

“I don’t know, Tyger—jeez, enough already.”

Tyger leaned back into his pillow, immensely pleased with himself. “Best splat ever!”

Rowan found he had patience to wait for his friend to wake up, but no patience for him now that he was conscious. “Why do you even do it? I mean, it’s such a waste of time.”

Tyger shrugged. “I like the way it feels on the way down. Besides, I gotta remind my parents that the lettuce is there.”

That made Rowan chuckle. It was Rowan who had coined the term “lettuce-kid” to describe them. Both of them were born sandwiched somewhere in the middle of large families, and were far from being their parents’ favorites. “I got a couple of brothers that are the meat, a few sisters that are cheese and tomatoes, so I guess I’m the lettuce.” The idea caught on, and Rowan had started a club called the Iceberg Heads at school, which now bragged almost two dozen members . . . although Tyger often teased that he was going to go rogue and start a romaine revolt.

Tyger had started splatting a few months ago. Rowan tried it once, and found it a monumental pain. He ended up behind on all his schoolwork, and his parents levied all forms of punishment—which they promptly forgot to enforce—one of the perks of being the lettuce. Still, the thrill of the drop wasn’t worth the cost. Tyger, on the other hand, had become a splatting junkie.

“You gotta find a new hobby, man,” Rowan told him. “I know the first revival is free, but the rest must be costing your parents a fortune.”

“Yeah . . . and for once they have to spend their money on me.”

“Wouldn’t you rather they buy you a car?”

“Revival is compulsory,” Tyger said. “A car is optional. If they’re not forced to spend it, they won’t.”

Rowan couldn’t argue with that. He didn’t have a car either, and doubted his parents would ever get him one. The publicars were clean, efficient, and drove themselves, his parents had argued. What would be the point in spending good money on something he didn’t need? Meanwhile, they threw money in every direction but his.

“We’re roughage,” Tyger said. “If we don’t cause a little intestinal distress, no one knows we’re there.”

? ? ?

The following morning, Rowan came face to face with a scythe. It wasn’t unheard of to see a scythe in his neighborhood. You couldn’t help but run into one once in a while—but they didn’t often show up in a high school.

The encounter was Rowan’s fault. Punctuality was not his strong point—especially now that he was expected to escort his younger siblings and half-siblings to their school before hopping into a publicar and hurrying to his. He had just arrived and was heading to the attendance window when the scythe came around a corner, his spotless ivory robe flaring behind him.

Once, when hiking with his family, Rowan had gone off on his own and had encountered a mountain lion. The tight feeling in his chest now, as well as the weak feeling in his loins, had been exactly the same. Fight or flight, his biology said. But Rowan had done neither. Back then, he had fought those instincts and calmly raised his arms, as he had read to do, making himself look larger. It had worked, and the animal bounded away, saving him a trip to the local revival center.

Now, at the sudden prospect of a scythe before him, Rowan had an odd urge to do the same—as if raising his hands above his head could frighten the scythe away. The thought made him involuntarily laugh out loud. The last thing you want to do is laugh at a scythe.

“Could you direct me to the main office?” the man asked.

Rowan considered giving him directions and heading the opposite way, but decided that was too cowardly. “I’m going there,” Rowan said. “I’ll take you.” The man would appreciate helpfulness—and getting on the good side of a scythe couldn’t hurt.

Rowan led the way, passing other kids in the hall—students who, like him, were late, or were just on an errand. They all gawked and tried to disappear into the wall as he and the scythe passed. Somehow, walking through the hall with a scythe became less frightening when there were others to bear the fear instead—and Rowan couldn’t deny that it was a bit heady to be cast as a scythe’s trailblazer, riding in the cone of such respect. It wasn’t until they reached the office that the truth hit home. The scythe was going to glean one of Rowan’s classmates today.

Everyone in the office stood the moment they saw the scythe, and he wasted no time. “Please have Kohl Whitlock called to the office immediately.”

“Kohl Whitlock?” said the secretary.

The scythe didn’t repeat himself, because he knew she had heard—she just wasn’t willing to believe.

“Yes, Your Honor, I’ll do it right away.”

Rowan knew Kohl. Hell, everyone knew Kohl Whitlock. Just a junior, he had already risen to be the school’s quarterback. He was going to take them all the way to a league championship for the first time in forever.

The secretary’s voice shook powerfully when she made the call into the intercom. She coughed as she said his name, choking up.

And the scythe patiently awaited Kohl’s arrival.