The Rules of Survival
By Nancy Werlin
3/5
()
About this ebook
For Matt and his sisters, life with their mother is a day-to-day struggle for survival. But then Matt sees a guy called Murdoch coming to a child's rescue in a convenience store—and amazingly, Murdoch begins dating his mother. For the first time, Matt feels hope.
But the relief doesn't last. When Murdoch inevitably breaks up with his mother, and life gets even worse, Matt knows he needs to take action. But what can he do?
Matt's Rules of Survival:
- Sometimes, the people who mean you harm are the ones who say they love you.
- Fear is your friend. When you feel it, act.
- Protect the little ones.
- If you coped before, you can cope now.
- Always remember: in the end, the survivor gets to tell the story.
A National Book Award finalist
An LA Times Book Prize finalist
Starred reviews in Kirkus, Booklist, and SLJ
Nancy Werlin
NANCY WERLIN was born in Massachusetts, where she still lives. In writing for teenagers, she always strives to combine the emotional intensity of a coming-of-age story with the page-turning tension of a suspense thriller. Nancy’s books have won numerous awards and accolades, including the Edgar award for The Killer’s Cousin, which was also named one of the “100 Best of the Best for the 21st Century” by the American Library Association. Her most recent book, The Rules of Survival, was a National Book Award Finalist. Visit her web site at www.nancywerlin.com
Read more from Nancy Werlin
And Then There Were Four Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsDouble Helix Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsBlack Mirror Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsLocked Inside Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Killer's Cousin Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsAre You Alone on Purpose? Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratings
Related to The Rules of Survival
Related ebooks
No Place Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Crazy Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Called Upon: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Sara's Face Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Everything You Want Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5The Scar Boys Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Of Scars and Stardust Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Glimpse Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Crash into Me Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Dead to You Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Please Don't Tell Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5All That I Can Fix Rating: 2 out of 5 stars2/5Violent Ends Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Run the Game Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Truth Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Criminal Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Thicker Than Water Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Rumble Fish Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5But Then I Came Back Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Kiss of Broken Glass Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Guardian Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Never Eighteen Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Snitch Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Learning Not to Drown Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Feral Youth Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Beautiful Lies Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Before Now Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5The Lost Marble Notebook of Forgotten Girl & Random Boy Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsIt Happened to Nancy: By an Anonymous Teenager, A True Story from Her Diary Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Sticks and Stones Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5
YA Coming of Age For You
Wuthering Heights Complete Text with Extras Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Crown Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Red Queen Collection: Red Queen, Glass Sword, Queen Song, Steel Scars Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5The Poet X Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Sleeper and the Spindle Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5A Wizard of Earthsea Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5A Winter's Promise Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Monday's Not Coming Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Ever the Hunted Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Summary of Black Cake: by Charmaine Wilkerson - A Comprehensive Summary Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsA Study in Charlotte Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Siren Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Radio Silence Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Happily Ever After: Companion to the Selection Series Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Weight of Everything Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Storm of Echoes Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Hello Girls Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5With the Fire on High Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Miseducation of Cameron Post Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Queen Song Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Missing of Clairdelune Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Queen's Resistance Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Blood & Honey Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Hurricane Summer: A Novel Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5The Rest of the Story Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Autoboyography Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Jacob Have I Loved: A Newbery Award Winner Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Memory of Babel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5What If It's Us Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Favorite Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5
Reviews for The Rules of Survival
1 rating0 reviews
Book preview
The Rules of Survival - Nancy Werlin
Chapter 1
Murdoch
For me, the story begins with Murdoch McIlvane.
I first saw Murdoch when I was thirteen years old. Callie was eleven, and Emmy, you were only five. Back then, you talked hardly at all. We weren’t even sure if you’d be able to start school when you were supposed to in the fall. Don’t misunderstand—we knew you were smart. But school, well, you know how they are, wanting everybody to act alike.
That particular night in August, it was over a hundred degrees, and so humid that each breath felt like inhaling sweat. It was the fourth day of a heat wave in Boston, and over those days, our apartment on the third floor of the house in Southie had become like the inside of an oven. However, it was a date night for our mother—Saturday—so we’d been locked in.
I want my kiddies safe,
Nikki had said.
Not that the key mattered. Once Callie and I heard you snoring—a soft little sound that was almost like a sigh—we slipped out a window onto the back deck, climbed down the fire escape, and went one block over to the Cumberland Farms store. We wanted a breath of air-conditioning, and we were thinking also about Popsicles. Red ones. I had a couple dollars in my pocket from the last time I’d seen my father. He was always good for a little bit of money, and the fact that it was just about all he was good for didn’t make me appreciate the cash less.
It wasn’t really his fault, that he was so useless. My dad was afraid of our mother. He kept out of her way. On the few occasions they were in the same room together, he wouldn’t even meet her eyes. I didn’t blame him for it too much. I understood. She was unpredictable.
I remember that night so well.
We have to bring a Popsicle back for Emmy.
Callie’s flip-flops slapped against the pavement. We can put it in the freezer for tomorrow.
I grunted. I didn’t think there was enough money for three Popsicles, but if Callie wanted to sacrifice her own for you, knowing you would drip half of it onto your shirt, that was her business. For me, it was hard enough knowing that we couldn’t stay long at the store, or even out on the street, where there was sometimes a breeze from the ocean a few blocks away. If you woke up and found you were alone, you might be scared. I’d decided we’d risk being away fifteen minutes. I glanced at my watch; it was only just before eight-thirty and the sun hadn’t quite gone below the horizon.
Doubt suddenly pushed at me—if you woke—or if our mother returned unexpectedly—
Don’t worry. Emmy won’t wake up,
Callie said. When it came to you, little sister, we always knew what the other was thinking. And we’ll be right back.
Okay,
I said. But I made a mental note to get us back in ten minutes rather than fifteen. Just in case. And, next time, I’d let Callie go to the store alone. She was old enough, really. I’d stay with you. Or bring you, maybe.
It was hard to figure out what would be the safest thing to do, for all three of us, all the time. But it was my job. As we pushed open the door to the Cumberland Farms and were greeted by a glorious blast of cool air, I was thinking that in a year—year and a half—I could maybe go out by myself at night and trust Callie with you. Even if I could only do that once in a while, it would really help. I could get over to the ocean at night, walk the causeway, hang out with some of the guys from school. Maybe I could even talk to this one girl I sort of liked. If our mother were out anyway, it would be okay to leave you girls alone, I thought. I’d still be careful that you weren’t alone with her when she came home after her Saturday night outings. That wouldn’t be hard, considering she rarely came home before two or three in the morning. If at all.
Then I saw him. Murdoch. Okay, I saw him but I didn’t really see him. That came a few minutes later. I just glanced around the store. There was a teenager at the cash register behind the front candy counter. A huge, barrel-shaped man stood in front of the counter with a little boy, smaller even than you were then. And Murdoch (of course I didn’t know his name then) and his date (a woman I never saw again) were in line behind the man with the boy.
Callie and I headed straight for the ice cream freezer, and we’d just reached it when the yelling began. We whipped around.
It was the barrel-shaped man and the little kid. The man had grabbed the boy by the upper arms and yanked him into the air. He was screaming in his face while the kid’s legs dangled: "What did you just do?"
The little kid was clutching a package of Reese’s Pieces and he started keening, his voice a long terrified wail, his small body rigid.
The big man—his father?—shook him hard, and kept doing it.
"I’ll teach you to take things without permission! Spend my money without asking!"
And then the other man, the one I later knew was called Murdoch, was between the father and son. Murdoch snatched the little kid away from his father and put the kid down behind him. Then Murdoch swiveled back.
Emmy, I like to freeze the memory in my mind and just look at Murdoch. He was a medium kind of man. Medium height, hair shaved close to the skull, medium build. You wouldn’t look twice—until you have looked twice.
He wasn’t afraid. I noticed that right away about him. Here was this huge enraged man, facing him. But this man, Murdoch, was calm. At the same time, there was this tension coiling off him.
Callie and I were behind Murdoch and to the left, so we had only a partial view of his face and expression. But we had a full-on view of the barrel-shaped man. And we had a good view of the little kid, who was so shocked that he stopped crying and just stared up at Murdoch’s back with his mouth open.
Meanwhile, Murdoch said, quietly but audibly, If you want to hurt somebody, you can hurt me. Go on. Hit me. I won’t hit back. You can do it until you’re not angry anymore. I’ll let you.
There was an endless, oh, five seconds. The father’s eyes bulged. His fists were clenched. He drew one arm back. But Murdoch was still looking straight at him, and I knew—you could feel it vibrating in the air—that even though Murdoch had said he wouldn’t hit him, he wanted to. He wanted to hurt him.
I liked him for that. No, Emmy, I loved him for that. Immediately.
Hit me,
Murdoch said. Come on. Better me than the kid. Why not? You want to.
And then it was all over. The man blinked and took a step back. He said something, loudly, about having had a hard day and it doesn’t hurt a kid to learn to keep his hands to himself. And Murdoch was nodding even though I guessed that he was thinking what I was about that man. But Murdoch turned away from the father as if he was no threat anymore. He knelt on the floor in front of the little kid.
You could smell the kid’s fear floating on the stale, air-conditioned store air. He stole one little look behind Murdoch at the big man, and you could see him thinking, I’ll have to pay for this later.
But Murdoch talked directly to the kid. It’s wrong for anybody ever to hurt you. No matter who does it, it’s wrong. Can you remember that?
The kid’s eyes were now huge. He looked at the big man again. Then back at Murdoch. Then he nodded.
You’ll remember that?
Murdoch insisted. You don’t have to do anything else. You just have to remember.
He waited.
The kid nodded. Solemnly.
Good,
said Murdoch.
The kid reached out one hand toward him. In it was the package of Reese’s Pieces. Murdoch took it and said, Thank you.
He stood up in one smooth motion. He put the package on the counter. But his eyes didn’t leave the little boy. The little boy kept looking back, too, while the big man finished paying for his stuff and then hustled the kid outside.
As the door slammed behind them, there was complete silence in the store. It was then I realized that Callie had grabbed my hand and was holding it.
Oh, hello?
said the woman who was with Murdoch. Hello, Murdoch? You should have thought about me. What if there was a big fight and I got hurt? What kind of a date do you think that would be? Huh? Murdoch? Are you listening to me? Murdoch!
Murdoch, I thought. It was a name I had never heard before. A strange name.
It suited him.
Murdoch didn’t reply. His eyes had narrowed into slits. He held up the pack of Reese’s Pieces and said to the teenage clerk, I’ll take these. And the ice coffee.
The woman sighed and shrugged. She moved a step closer to Murdoch, but without even looking at her, he took a step away.
One more moment from my memory of that night: on his way out the door, Murdoch turned. He tossed the Reese’s Pieces underhand to me and Callie. He smiled at us as he did it, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. And he wasn’t thinking about us at all, or really seeing us. I could tell. Not the way he’d seen that little boy.
He was still giving off that invisible coiled pulse of—whatever it was.
He was still angry.
Then he was gone.
Chapter 2
About Fear
Idon’t know if you’ll understand this, Emmy, but for me, fear isn’t actually a bad thing. It’s a primitive instinct that’s your friend. It warns you to pay attention, because you’re in danger. It tells you to do something, to act, to save yourself.
I read a book about this recently. If you remind me, I’ll give it to you. The guy who wrote it, he’s a security expert, the kind of person celebrities and politicians hire to keep them safe from crazies. He says that the ability to become aware of fear is a gift. That if you honor that gift—if you notice when you’re afraid and if you respond to your fear instead of ignoring it, you will be safer. Run, he says, run, when your fear tells you to.
But he doesn’t talk about what happens to your gift of fear when you live with the feeling all the time.
I remember one night, when I was little. I waited until our mother had gone to bed, and then I sneaked into the kitchen. There was a box of Oreo cookies there. My plan was to take one of them back to bed with me. She wouldn’t notice one missing cookie, would she? I would eat quietly. And I would make sure not a crumb escaped as evidence.
I made it all the way back to bed with the cookies. I was beneath the covers, in a little tent, with the cookie flat on my palm and my nose pressed to it—when she whipped back the covers.
Thief!
our mother yelled. Cookie thief!
She burst into giggles.
She had the big kitchen knife, and it was pressed to my throat. And as she laughed, I could feel it shake in her hands, and press against my skin.
She cut me that night. Just a little.
Just to teach me not to steal, and not to sneak.
This is what I think happens when you live with fear, and I think it happened to me, to Callie, and to you, even though you were so little. I think the fear gets into your blood. It makes your subatomic particles twist and distort. You change, chemically. The fear changes, too. It becomes not your helper, but your master. You are a slave to it.
Obviously, I am not a scientist. I’m not even sure I would have passed eleventh grade chemistry if Callie hadn’t helped me study. But I know that I am not who I was supposed to be, who I could have been, and I know it’s because I was too afraid for too long. It made me think about things I never should have.
I learned to live with the fear. I learned to function with it. We all did. Maybe that was what I recognized in Murdoch that night. Maybe that was what drew me to him. That he wasn’t afraid. Or—if he was—he took action anyway.
Yes. Where most people would have done nothing, he acted.
Anyway, I stood in that convenience store on that hot summer night and stared after him, and I thought: I have to know that man. There is a word for this feeling, Emmy. It’s called obsession.
I was obsessed with Murdoch, Emmy, for months before our mother ever met him. In fact, if not for me, she never would have met him.
Chapter 3
My First Memory
Imust have been about four, and that means Callie would have been two, or a little older, sleeping across our bedroom in her crib. Emmy, you didn’t exist yet.
I don’t know what time it was. It was the middle of the night, and suddenly I was awake. My every muscle was rigid. I was listening while, at the other end of the apartment, our mother began, without speaking or yelling, to smash one of the kitchen chairs repeatedly against the wall.
And then another one.
Of course, at the time, I didn’t know what she was doing, exactly. But the next morning, I would go into the kitchen to see the chairs in splintered pieces all over the floor, beneath the gaping hole in the plaster of the wall. In the night, though, I didn’t know what was happening, or why, or even exactly where. But I knew who was doing it: Mom. And that was all that mattered.
I don’t remember any feeling of surprise. What I remember is the awareness that I had a job to do. Callie had already woken up and started whimpering, and I knew she would start screaming soon. Our mother would hear her—and remember us.
I slipped out of my bed. I worked the mechanism to lower the crib’s slatted side, and I clambered up and over it. I grabbed Callie and held her. I whispered, Shhh, Callie. Shhh.
Holding Callie as she thrashed and yelled into my shoulder, and, eventually, quieted, I felt hope. This wasn’t over yet, but I was doing well. I was making sure Callie’s yowls couldn’t be heard outside our room, over the methodical, determined smashing from the kitchen. If we were lucky—I remember thinking—Callie and I would be left alone, unremembered, and it was my job to try to make that happen.
That particular night, I did it. I kept us out of the way, unnoticed. So, in fact, you could say that my very first memory is one of success. Of triumph. Of watching Callie go back to sleep safely, because I had made sure she hadn’t called attention to us while our mother was angry.
I did this many times for you, too, Emmy. So did Callie.
Chapter 4
Searching for Murdoch
Ilooked for Murdoch for the rest of my thirteenth year. The first thing I did was go back to the convenience store to ask the teenage clerk if he had seen that man before, or if he knew whether he lived nearby, or if he knew anything at all about him. But the guy didn’t have a clue, and he started to look at me funny, so I couldn’t ask him to please call me if he saw him again or learned anything about him. In my pocket, I curled my fist around the piece of paper I’d prepared with my name and phone number, crumpling it. But I wasn’t discouraged.
I thought Murdoch might be one of the new, young, wealthy people who were moving into our neighborhood, attracted by its nearness to the beachfront, the airport, and the center of Boston. Our mother and her friends complained bitterly about these people, who were cramming the tight city streets of the old neighborhood with their Land Rovers and BMWs. Their presence