Chapter Seven
Reassigned
It was a rare, peaceful moment when the cadets were
granted an afternoon off. Taz sat under her favourite tree in
the quad, reading a book of Mexican folk tales. It was an
old book, tattered and well-thumbed, but it had been a gift
from Up upon his return from one of his frequent short-haul
missions to the South, where the robot invasions were
growing worse. It had been her sixteenth birthday, the
anniversary of the day they’d met. The day she’d lost
everything.
Taz traced the familiar words with her finger. She’d
managed to wait until Up had left to cry. Her mama had
told her these stories each night since she was a little girl -
it was a beautiful gift.
“Hey, look here, guys, it’s Tazia.”
Taz didn’t have to look up to know that Pedro and his
gang of zoquetes, as she called them, were lumbering in her
direction. “Ahora no,” she muttered into the pages of her
book.
“Whatcha readin’, Taz?” The way he said her name, in a
drawn-out singing tone, made her want to throw up.
Preferably on him. “Anything good?”
One of Pedro’s matones snatched the book from her
hands. “Hey,” she said sharply.
“Now now, mi hermana mexicana,” Pedro said. “We’re
only looking.”
The thug dangled her book precariously by the binding.