Between the Notes

Between the Notes by Sharon Huss Roat

Book: Between the Notes by Sharon Huss Roat Read Free Book Online
Authors: Sharon Huss Roat
Ads: Link
that?”
    “Nobody,” I said too quickly.
    She turned to get a better look. “What’s his name, Lizinsky? Lewinski? Isn’t he, like, a drug lord or something?”
    “No idea. Can I borrow your psych notes? I kind of zoned out during that ethics lecture.”
    “Sure.” She dug a notebook out of her bag as we were walking. “But why is that guy . . .”
    “Can we not talk about him, please? He stared at me. End of story.” I walked ahead of her without taking the notebook.
    She hurried to catch me. “What’s wrong with you?”
    “Seriously?” I wanted to bang my head repeatedly against the lockers.
    She rolled her eyes and handed me the notebook. “Don’t be so sensitive.”
    “Easy for you to say. You weren’t the one ripped from your home and thrown to the wolves. You act like nothing’s changed, like I’m just . . . I don’t know, having a bad hair day or something.”
    She glanced up at my hair. “Well, you kind of are. And you told me to act like nothing had changed. Remember?”
    “I told you not to tell anyone. There’s a difference.”
    Reesa took a deep breath and exhaled it loudly. “Obviously, whatever I say is going to be the wrong thing, so I’m just going to shut up.” Now she was the one walking away from me.
    “You didn’t even call me,” I mumbled to her back.
    She spun around. “You don’t have a phone!”
    “Shh! Do you have to announce it to everyone?”
    Reesa closed her eyes and spoke low. “You’re in a mood. I get that, and I get why. But you need to stop acting like a crazy person. Okay? We’re going to be late.”
    I followed her down the stairs to our last class and tried my best to act like a noncrazy person, fully engaged in the wonders of science. But my mind kept straying to my next challenge: retrieving my bicycle from the hedges at the end of the day without attracting further attention.
    And when the final bell rang fifty minutes later, I dodged myway to an upstairs bathroom to avoid my friends, who might notice if I didn’t head out to catch a bus or a ride home. I waited for a turn at the mirror. Reesa wasn’t kidding about bad hair day. I scrounged through my backpack for something to tie it back, but all I could find was one of those big black-and-silver metal binder clips. I grabbed a fistful of hair and clipped it back. It looked . . . well, pretty stupid. But it would keep my hair out of my face on the ride home. My standards were clearly falling already.
    The hallway had grown quiet. Aside from a few kids sitting around some lockers at the far stairs, the coast was clear. I started walking toward them, but Mr. Cook, the assistant principal, appeared at the end of the hall and started interrogating them. I dived for the nearest door and ducked inside.
    Mr. Cook was notorious for giving detention, and that was the last thing I needed. The room I’d entered was pitch-dark. I stood, not moving, just listening for footsteps and trying not to breathe too loud. Behind me, in whatever this room was, something was dripping. It started to freak me out, so I swept my hand along the wall until I found a switch. A long fluorescent light flickered on, illuminating a storage room with floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with cardboard boxes and big multipacks of toilet paper. The drip was coming from a utility sink in the corner.
    Beyond the supply shelves was a long, narrow hallway. It was too dark to see exactly where that led, but I noticed another small room off to the side. It was a tiny little sitting room, a break room for the janitor, maybe? It had a table and lamp, which I switchedon, and an orange faux-leather chair like the ones in the library (only this one had a tear in it that was patched with duct tape). The wall was lined with shelves that were empty except for a few boxes of paper clips. The discovery gave me a little tingle, like I’d stumbled upon the secret tunnels of Vanderbilt High.
    I closed the door and sat in the chair, which was surprisingly

Similar Books

Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 01

Flight of the Old Dog (v1.1)

Lammas Night

Katherine Kurtz

Rock On

Matt Christopher, Stephanie Peters

Chasing Jane

Noelle Adams

Lover Boys Forever

Mickey Erlach

Nightstruck

Jenna Black