Geek High by Piper Banks Page A

late-summer humidity. I was slick with sweat within a matter of minutes, and I could feel my hair growing frizzier by the minute.
    At least we’re on the beach, I thought. If it gets any hotter, I can always go jump in the water to cool off.
    I’d always hated the heat, and considered it a true tragedy that I was born and raised in Florida, rather than somewhere cold and snowy, where I could wear cozy wool sweaters and curl up with a pile of good books in front of a roaring fire. In fact, one of the ironies of my current situation—i.e., Sadie deserting me to wing off to London—is that I’d always fantasized about living in England. Or, at least, the England that was featured in all of my favorite childhood books, from The Little Princess to The Wolves of Willoughby Chase to Paddington Bear .
    But no. I was stuck in hot, humid Florida, living in a house with a stepmother and stepsister who didn’t want me there, and a father who thought I was a late bloomer, and making a fool out of myself by falling in front of everyone at school, and basically everything was bleak and grim and not looking as though it was going to get any better anytime soon.
    Oh, well, I thought gloomily. At least it isn’t raining.
    Which was precisely the moment when the first boom of thunder sounded, followed seconds later by a crackling flash of lightning that made the hair on my arms stand up.
    A dark gray cloud that I swear hadn’t been there a moment earlier suddenly appeared overhead, and raindrops began to fall. First it was just a scattering, a drop here and a drop there. But then there was another crack of lightning and another boom of thunder…and it began to pour. I let out a yelp and backed up on the stoop, trying to get as much of me under the narrow overhang as possible. But it barely offered any protection from the downpour. And the whole time I was sitting there getting drenched, Willow stood on the other side of the door whimpering.
    The rain was finally starting to taper off when a sporty red Jetta turned into the driveway. By this point I was completely soaked. My T-shirt stuck uncomfortably to my skin, and my hair was plastered to my scalp. I didn’t have a mirror, but I had a pretty good idea that the average drowned rat would look positively glamorous compared to me.
    The driver’s door opened, and a girl slid out from behind the steering wheel. She had a thin face with narrow eyes and a pointy chin. Her black hair was cut into an edgy pixie that suited her catlike features. I didn’t recognize her, nor the identical twins who emerged a moment later from the backseat.
    Hannah, who had occupied the front passenger seat, got out and slammed the door shut behind her. She gave me a hard stare, as though I were a Jehovah’s Witness waiting on her doorstep to convert her.
    â€œWho’s that girl?” the driver of the Jetta asked Hannah, as though I weren’t standing ten feet away and couldn’t hear every word she said.
    â€œShe’s nobody,” Hannah said, with an eye roll. “Just my stepsister.”
    â€œYou have a stepsister?” one of the twins asked her. Both of the twins were tall and lanky, with creamy dark skin, braided hair, and open, friendly faces. They wore identical short denim skirts, although they varied their tops. One was wearing a clingy pink tee, the other a blue baby-doll rugby shirt.
    â€œUnfortunately,” Hannah said. She turned to look at me, swishing her pale blond mane back from her face as she did so. Hannah is the master of the hair swish. She does it so frequently and so perfectly, I’ve long suspected that she practices the gesture in front of the mirror.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Hannah asked me.
    â€œI don’t have a key,” I said through clenched teeth.
    â€œOh.” Hannah stepped past me and unlocked the door. “Try not to track water in the house,” she said to me over her