Buried by Linda Joy Singleton Page B

my neck, beaded bracelets dangle on my wrists, and rings glimmer on my fingers. I add an ankle bracelet that looks like prison leg-cuffs. Very cool find for just $3.25 at a yard sale.
    Step 3: Clothes always take longer, since I have a large wardrobe closet crammed with skirts, blouses, vests, jackets, belts, tights, corsets, leggings, and scarves. Then there are the shoes. Getting the right look is a fine art. I belt my favorite black velvet skirt and a laced black shirt, and wear a large red cross over my breasts.
    I feel like myself … on the outside, anyway.
    At breakfast, I avoid squabbling with my sibs and pretend not to notice my father’s frown when he sees me. Dad doesn’t complain, at least not anymore. But he doesn’t approve, either. Mom is cool, even going thrift-store shopping with me a few times. The wig I’m wearing was her gift for my seventeenth birthday.
    But that was long before the letter.
    And still they don’t mention it to me.

    I’ve avoided conflict at home, but not at school.
    When I walk into homeroom, my science teacher Mr. O’Brien hands me a note—a summons to the principal’s office.
    No reason to stress , I tell myself. It’s not the first time I’ve gone to a principal’s office—although it’s the first time at Nevada Bluff High.
    Principal Niphai is a soft-spoken man who wears a colorful golf shirt and collects assorted golf balls on his desk in a dish, the way some teachers keep candy. He barely glances up at me, one hand tossing a blue-striped golf ball while he flips through papers with the other.
    â€œMr. Sproat says you cut his class yesterday.”
    â€œNot the whole period,” I reply, trying to keep the sarcasm to a low minimum. Despite what some people think, I don’t intentionally piss off authority figures—unless they deserve it.
    â€œBut you did leave and not return?”
    â€œUm … yeah.”
    â€œDo you want to tell me why?”
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œSo you have no excuse?”
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œ That makes this easy.” He marks something off on a paper, his tone not really interested. “Detention. Today after school.”
    I hustle back to my class, relieved to escape without expulsion or a phone call to my parents.
    â€œBummer,” Rune says when I tell her about my detention at lunch. We’re back to our usual place on the steps behind the cafeteria. It’s shady and private, but kind of stinky because of the nearby Dumpster.
    â€œDetention isn’t that bad.”
    â€œBut you won’t be able to walk home with me,” Rune complains.
    â€œUnless you want detention, too. I can help you break some rules,” I offer, because she’s my best friend and I’m willing to help her out.
    â€œNot a chance!” Rune opens her bag lunch, then glances up. “K.C. can walk home with me,” she says as he heads toward us.
    â€œWhere’s Amerie?” K.C. asks. He sits on the stair step below me.
    â€œSinging Star contest,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “Good news, though—they reached the max number of entrants, so registration is closed and Amerie won’t nag us to enter anymore.”
    â€œSupreme news!” Rune high-fives me. “I’m over Philippe anyway. Sure, he’s hot, but his music is lame. Enough idiots around here act gaga over Philippe. I’d rather meet the Grin Reaper.”
    I glance down at my ham and Swiss sandwich, ignoring the look Rune gives me. She doesn’t have to say it, but I can tell she still expects me to listen to the voice of every guy at school until I can identity the Grin Reaper for her. So I change the subject. “Hey, Rune, what’s the weird fact for today?”
    â€œA museum in Houston paid people twenty-five cents each to bring in cockroaches.”
    â€œCool,” K.C. mumbles, chewing an apple slice.
    â€œThat’s just