new book !!

Instructions

Chapter 1: Asha I was at the parade only for my parents. Tell anyone else otherwise and I’ll deny all knowledge of knowing you, so let's not make bad decisions. Speaking of “bad decisions,” I’m currently making one, standing in sweltering 90 degree afternoon heat on the fourth of July in jeans and a long-sleeved cotton shirt that I am currently sweating through. I push my glasses back up on my nose from wear they’ve slidden down. I tear my eyes from a high school band murdering the “ The Star Spangled Banner” to glance at my watch. 2:47. I can stay for 13 minutes and leave without Mom and Dad guilt-tripping me about it. We went every year until my sister, Maya, turned 10. It was August, and we were coming back from her soccer game. A drunk driver ran a redlight, hit Maya’s side. I don’t remember a lot, I was 7 at the time. But I know she didn’t die. There was a body, blood, enough evidence to convince everyone. But that wasn’t my sister. I have one vivid memory that transformed into a re-ocurring nightmare over the years. It looked like a floating tear in fabric. Be prepared. I can still hear her scream. All I did was sit and stare. But I followed through with her last request, and made a promise to myself I would never be that weak again.. My parents think they’re study sessions with my Princeton professor that have been going on for years. I don’t need them. I got my PhD in neuroscience when I was 15. Now, I’m sixteen and am almost qualified to be a surgeon. I just need to wait ten years. But all they know is that I’m in my first year towards becoming a doctor and paying for their bills. They aren’t wasting money, though. It’s just not being transferred to Princeton. Those sessions are really just training sessions. People willing to train me for the money. Weapons classes, 50 dollars a month. Taekwondo classes, free, since my instructor died before I could pay. No, I didn’t kill him, I’m not an idiot. Basic self defense, 150 dollars a month, brought down from a thousand. Debate classes really helped in that situation. Now, I’m paying 20 dollars per class, (two hours a day, three days a week.) for public Krav Maga classes held by a former Israeli military general. The man’s got a soft spot for me— I've been training with him for 3 years, since I was 13. I don’t know his real name, so I call him Levi. Don’t ask why, I don’t know. Back to the present. The reason I’m wearing long sleeves in the middle of summer is to hide the significant amount of muscle definition I’ve gained for the past 8 years. Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea. Floats bob down the road, and politicians wave from convertibles as if anyone cared. Or maybe that’s just me. I notice a black van pull up. There’s a logo, orange, with lettering I can’t make out even with my glasses on. I catch the letters “a” and “p” before the door slams open. Others are beginning to notice as men in black clothing pile out, clutching rifles. I watch as they head towards Madison Mercer. Softball prodigy, puzzle expert. She glances up at them from her phone, eyes wide as they sedate her, the metal of the needle flashing in the sunlight. They move for Zane Bennett next. Captain of our school’s soccer team, 4.0 gpa, president of student council, and overall the school’s golden boy. He manages to take three steps before they grab him and inject the sedative into his neck, and he crumples. Next victim, Jax Monroe. Somehow, every girl’s dream boyfriend. Ugh. Lacrosse player, track athlete, dad’s a lawyer, mom’s a surgeon, and entitled… Well, I guess I should keep it pg. He lands two hits before they have him on the ground, eyes gone glassy. Then, they head for me. One lunges for my arm, I let him grab it, then use his momentum to throw him into the lamppost behind me. He falls as his head hits the metal pole with a CLANG! Asha: 1. Weirdos in Black: 0. A second man jumps at me. A front kick to the groin and he doubles over. See, now I’m confused. These guys are definitely professionals, but are currently losing to a genius 16 year old? Asha: 2. Weirdos in Black: 0. Still. I didn’t account for being attacked from behind. Two men grab my arms, forcing me to my knees, as a third brings down a metal object, the butt of a gun, I realize, on the bottom of my skull. Then the ground rushes up to meet me and everything turns dark