Freakling by Lana Krumwiede Page A

worthy.
    I’m not listening.
    The Son who will do what is needful.
    “It’s my head, and I said get out!” He spoke out loud this time.
    Be it so. An impression of amusement flitted across his thoughts, and he felt the voice withdraw.
    “And stay out!” Taemon added for good measure.
    A few days later, Taemon raced home after school. No psi meant no lunch. He was starving. He dashed up the stairs to the refrigerator in his room, flipped the hidden latch he’d installed, and pulled out bread, a cheese bar, and some ginger water. He wolfed it down.
    “Slow down, Taemon. What’s the rush?” Mam stood in the doorway, her eyes turned away. She hated to see him eating with his hands.
    “Goin’ to Moke’s house.” Taemon swallowed. “Psiball practice.”
    Mam nodded. “I’ve been thinking about psiball, and you’re right. It’s important to keep up appearances. Your father . . . feels differently. But let me talk to him.”
    Keeping up appearances. Was that the only reason to play psiball? To Taemon it was something more, something to do with what Moke said about dealing with weakness. Something about living his own life. The words were hard to find, so he didn’t try. “Thanks, Mam.”
    “But Taemon, you have to be so careful. One slip and . . .” She sniffed and her mouth quivered. She smiled sadly.
    “I know, Mam. Believe me, I know.”
    She exhaled, relaxed her shoulders, steadied her voice. “Keep practicing. But no tournaments until Da agrees.”
    “Deal.” Taemon finished the last of the cheese and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
    Mam grimaced.
    “Oh . . . sorry.” Taemon used his shirtsleeve to wipe his mouth this time. He raced downstairs, out the door, and jogged the six blocks to Moke’s.
    When he got there, he saw the psiball stuck in the tree by the side of the house. Good. That was their signal that the practice session was on. At school that day, Moke hadn’t been sure if he’d have time to practice this afternoon, said his parents might need help at the crematorium. Taemon didn’t want to know what chores might need doing at the place where bodies were cremated. It gave him the tremblies.
    The gate in the backyard fence wasn’t locked, so Taemon let himself in. “Moke?”
    Only the birds called out in response.
    “Anyone?” Taemon walked over to the half-sphere and sat on the edge. All that hurrying and Moke wasn’t even here.
    He waited a few minutes. Was Moke coming or not? Maybe he had to work after all. Would’ve been nice if he’d remembered to take the ball out of the tree. Taemon decided to walk the five blocks to the crematorium. He could wait there just as easily as he could wait here. And at least he could find out whether the practice was on or off.
    The crematorium was an odd building. It looked something like a church in the front, with its stained-glass windows and wooden double doors. But it was boxy and squat, with none of the height and grandeur of a church. And it had chimneys in the back.
    The front door was ajar. Taemon leaned forward without looking in. “Hello? Moke?”
    Faint voices came from inside. Taemon forced himself to look. He’d never been inside, and he wasn’t sure what to expect. The front room looked well lit. Padded chairs lined the perimeter of the room, and paintings in pastel colors hung on the walls. It didn’t look so bad. Taemon ventured in.
    “Moke?” He didn’t think he should yell, so he tried as loud a whisper as he could manage. “Hoy, Moke!”
    He heard voices again. Was it Moke? He took a few tentative steps down the hallway on the left.
    “. . . due to the uniqueness of the situation.” That sounded like Elder Naseph. What was he doing here?
    “Our family has been running the crematorium for generations. This is clearly outside regulations.” The second voice belonged to Moke’s father.
    “The high priest requires it. You need no further explanation.”
    “So you’ll be taking both of these cadavers to