The I.P.O.

Начало книги

His eyes snapped open as if spring loaded as his head shot up from the thin foam pillow. Despite the chill that permeated the orphanage barracks half an hour before sunrise, he threw off his covers and sat straight up, sweating and out of breath, tenting his scrawny arms on the cot’s metal frame.

A quick look around the converted gymnasium confirmed that all the other kids were still asleep. Good. He knew from experience that this night’s sleep was over. At least he’d have the shower to himself before the hot water ran out.

A little over three months had passed since the day Ryan Tyler, Jr. had spent every subsequent day trying to forget. But as he stared down at the shower drain, warm water tumbling off his hair in sheets, he found himself returning yet again to the last memory he had of his parents, on their way to pick him up early from daycare on his seventh birthday.

In a matter of seconds, he was all the way back, standing beside his teacher just inside the center’s glass double doors, searching expectantly through the pouring rain.

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