Red Rainbow G Johanson (i am malala young readers edition .txt) 📖

“Did you go?”

“I did indeed. Then he still snubbed my next one. I’m a ray of sunshine next to him, believe me. Out of every ten calls I make to him, he’ll hang up... six times, at least. Nobody is moodier. Probably not even our father. If Father had confined his killing to in the family, it’d have been okay. He branched out, and nobody likes to see the family of their loved one’s killer doing well. He killed Hilaire’s sister too. She came back to life, but she’s dead again now.”

“If anyone could hear our conversation...” César trailed off, aware how crazy their lives were.

“People are easily shocked. Which entices me to shock them more. You picked this venue – it really wasn’t your best idea. They’re straining to hear every word. This is no place for a private conversation for the likes of us,” Florence said, grouping herself with him not by power but by their peak popularity status.

“Does that bother you?” he said, this sudden misplaced concern for secrecy at odds with her behaviour and temperament.

“Not at all. It should bother you, though. I’m sure it’s conspicuous enough you being seen with a dining companion twice your age.”

And the rest...

“And you like to be seen,” he commented.

“Look at what you’re wearing, Peacock Popinjay.”

“To walk in somewhere and not feel all eyes on me would be bliss.”

“Poor popular you. My brother terrorised anyone who dared pick on me. That saw me left alone. It didn’t win me friends. I was the daughter of the cannibal killer with a brother who was almost as scary. The other girls were prettier than the plain little cannibal’s daughter without any such baggage. That was why I started to dress up. If you can’t beat or equal their glamour, settle for dazzling them all instead. I could wear anything I wanted, safe in the knowledge that nobody would dare laugh or make nasty comments for fear of Lionel. I dressed for attention but also for myself. And not giving a fuck made me popular too.”

“It sounds like you did give a fuck. It sounds like you cared,” César clarified, his comment not meant to have sounded like a snide dig at her sexual history – which likely wasn’t as cluttered as his.

“I didn’t like feeling small and disregarded. But I didn’t care what anyone else thought about my new style. I decided that I was going to be fabulous and made that my reality. It was a performance at first – the dawning of my power ramped it up quintuple levels. I was, and am, totally unique.”

“You never felt bad about it, parasitic?”

Florence gave him a glare for a second to let him know to take more care with his choice of words. “Taking energy is not the same as taking flesh or blood. It regenerates.”

“So does flesh and blood, to a degree.”

“Pretend I’d bit you and your bedwarmer up and drained your blood – that’s worse, isn’t it?”

“It’s grislier. Not necessarily worse. A worse optic, I’ll give you that.”

“Thanks so much.”

“I’m not saying I’m any better. You take without consent. I take away their free will without even intending to.”

“My goodness, maybe there is something in those discoloured eyes, getting me to be so candid.” She was joking, though just like many jokes, there was truth in it.

“Be candid, it’s healthy. There are not that many people like us who can understand what it’s like to be different.”

“I’ve gone back to my schooldays there, a time of mixed fortunes for me. Yours must have been a blast.”

“Exhausting. Everybody wanted to talk to me every day – I was shattered each night when I got in. My grades were perfect. One time I submitted the wrong answers on purpose. Teacher collared me and had me sit in with him over break to retake it, coaching me to the right answers. Back to top marks, a perfect grade unblemished. I gave up not trying after a while. Everyone was too quick to help, it was easier just to put the work in. I could never look sad – that brought a swarm of well-wishers looking to lift my spirits. Smile, speak mindless chatter, go home and do the same, repeat.”

“It’s easy to bemoan your lot, but would you really change it if you could?” Florence asked dubiously.

“Absolutely not. I’m just saying that being loved by everyone isn’t as fantastic as you’d expect it to be – as I would expect it to be if I was on the outside looking in.”

“Have fun with it. Judging by how you talk to me you’ve stopped talking so nice and now just say what you want.”

“That massacre has given me such a headache – badly put, but it has inconvenienced me.” He wasn’t making it sound any better... “So I feel I can talk to you as I wish, within reason.”

“It’s not just that.Beauty has its dangers. We find that we don’t watch what we say because people will forgive us.”

We? The mirror lied to her, but he would not. That didn’t mean he had to run her looks down with uncharitable words either, César choosing to let the comment go without responding. She’d just admitted to feeling plain compared to her contemporaries before becoming outrageous and fabulous as a path to her own brand of beauty. As an example of spectacle and originality, she was indeed striking. Beautiful was still a stretch for her – and for him too. He considered himself handsome, he took a good photograph but would make an average statue, he wasn’t quite classically perfect. And that was okay. It was good to have something to work towards.

“Isn’t that so?” Florence said, a question loaded like a ton weight. She wanted more than not being challenged. She wanted concordance. Acknowledge my great beauty even with just a nod or a yes – or else.

“Everybody is beautiful in their own way.” That was as