Page 29 of The Gods Will Sing Our Song

Stubble brushes my cheek. His breath is thick on my neck. I twist in his grip.

“Let. Me. Go.”

I haul back my fist. I don’t think. I simply act.

I punch him in the nose, my knuckles colliding with soft cartilage. Bright red blood spurts from his nostrils. He staggers back, cupping fingers over his nose. Horror descends on me. I’ve struck a WRA official. I’ll get arrested.

“You—you hit me!” Mr. Boser gasps. His blue eyes swim, watery from the blow.

A door bursts open.

I look up.

It’s Ren striding from the warehouse exit. I hardly recognize him. He moves with purpose, his body eloquent with rage and determination. His sling is nowhere to be seen. Swiftly, he steps between us. Mr. Boser sputters something unintelligible.

“Get away from her.” Ren’s growl is deadly and low. I’m shocked it comes from him. Mr. Boser lowers his hand, and blood runs over his lips. His mouth twists. He’s about to say something when his attention changes. Lowers. It fixates on Ren’s fox hanging around his neck. He draws himself up and it’s like watching him transform from one role into another.

“Is that a relic from Japan?” he demands, snuffling slightly around the blood. He steps closer. “Looks old. Is it from the Edo period? Did you get it from your family?” Ren doesn’t respond, but he also doesn’t back up. Mr. Boser pauses, glancing around. “Give it to me. It’s contraband.”

I suppress a gasp. My hand almost flies into my pocket to touch my deer. It’s still hot, the heat soaking into my thigh, distinct from the day’s warmth. I glance around, searching for help. But nothing can stop Mr. Boser. He is the authority, and we are subject to his command. The full weight of the United States government stands behind him. If Ren has to give his pendant to Mr. Boser, I’ll never forgive myself.

Slowly, as though he has all the time in the world, Ren tucks the fox into his shirt with his good hand.

“I made it myself,” he says smoothly. Mr. Boser’s face tightens, his lips pressing together. He frowns.

“I’ll ascertain that.” He holds out a hand.

“Big fan of arts and crafts?” Ren asks. I don’t know how he’s able to sound so unafraid and caustic. A sneer crosses his lips, even as his eyes remain dark, glinting with anger. Mr. Boser takes a step forward. He hauls back his arm and slaps Ren across the face.

Ren doesn’t do anything to avoid the blow. His head snaps to the side, and I let out a cry of fright. I’ve never seen someone slap anyone else outside of the movies. When Ren straightens, a red mark stains his cheek, and a muscle flexes in his jaw. At his sides, his hands are fists, but he doesn’t raise them. Terror thickens in my throat. Maybe Mr. Boser will arrest Ren now. Maybe both of us. Maybe he’ll forcibly take Ren’s fox.

The warehouse door bursts open, and five other guys come bounding out. One seems about Ren’s age. I recognize him from school. Kai, I believe his name is; I’ve heard he has a Hispanic mother. The other four are a little older. They spread in a semicircle behind Ren. Rabid energy writhes through them—in fact, some of them even look excited. They are turbulent while Ren is as still as stone.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Kai demands. Mr. Boser takes them in. Nervousness crosses his face. It makes Kai grin in glee. “What’s wrong, hijo de puta? You look worried.”

The door opens once again and a guard comes out, reeking of cigarettes. I think he’s going to be angry when he sees Mr. Boser’s bloody nose. Strangely, one corner of his mouth lifts in a quickly passing smile, and he crosses his arms.

“Lost?” he asks. “Offices are right outside.”

Fury sparks in Mr. Boser’s expression, but then he takes a sharp breath and the fury disappears behind a layer of control. He draws himself up, as though striving to be as tall as possible.

“I was just heading there,” he says abruptly. He sniffs through the blood still running over his lips. He glares at the guard and then, without another word, turns on his heel and leaves. The guard takes a box out of his pocket, knocks it against his open palm, and shakes a cigarette out.

“Guy thinks he owns the place,” he mutters. Glancing at us, he sticks the cigarette in his mouth and says, “He’s an odd duck. Avoid him so I can smoke in peace, got it?”

Then he turns to head back into the warehouse, cupping his hand around the cigarette as he raises his lighter to it.

As soon as the door swings shut behind him, the guys burst into cheers, as though they were the ones to evict Mr. Boser. Quickly, I snatch up my drawing pencil. I put it in my pocket with my hands shaking, not daring to put it behind my ear, where I usually have it. I need to keep it safe. I don’t have very many.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” one of the boys howls, throwing an arm around Ren’s neck and jostling him. He has a tattoo, I notice. Shock punctuates my already overwhelmed mind. Are these Ren’s friends? “You put that bastard in his place, Ren. Now just imagine us doing that but on a larger scale.” Ren roughly shoves him off, but Kai pounces, grabbing his good arm and lifting it like Ren has just won a boxing match. He shakes him off, too.

“See, J-man,” Kai says to the tattooed one. “Ren is a fire-breathing dragon! I’m telling you—he did time in the slammer and hasn’t been afraid of anyone ever since.”

Time in the slammer.

Jail?

Shock pours through me. I stare at Ren, unable to hide my disbelief. He doesn’t deny it. He stares back at me, face bleak, verging on empty. I sensed he had a hard past, but jail? Is he a member of the yakuza? Are they all? I’ve misunderstood everything. I can’t team up with Ren. I stumble back but then dart forward to grab my laundry satchel. Before I can, Ren steps in and picks it up.