Need Read Online Free Page A

glares at me. “I have announcements.”
    Mrs. Nix smacks her head. “Oh, that’s right.”
    She calls behind her shoulder. “Ian. How about you bring Zara to her homeroom?”
    Megan smirks and points at my jeans. “Nice peace signs, hippie freak.”
    I smile at her and mutter in my head, “Nice shoes made by child slaves in Asia, materialistic Barbie.”
    After she turns her back on me, I cover my mouth to make sure I don’t actually say my come-back out loud. Mrs. Nix bounces on her heels, watching for Ian.
    “Here he is,” she sings. “Show Zara to her class, dear?”
    The boy in the back of the office unfolds his long legs from behind a computer and smiles at me appraisingly. “Sure thing.”
    He saunters over and stands so close that I have to crane my neck to look up at his long, pale face crowned with out-of-control reddish blond waves. Are all the boys in this town tall? My step-dad wasn’t that tall, although I’d always thought he was, especially compared to me.
    “Pullman, Easy. Mine too.” Ian slings a pack behind his shoulder, smiles at me, and grabs my paper. “You have her locker number, Mrs. Nix?”
    Mrs. Nix smacks herself in the head again. If she keeps that up, she’ll bruise. “Sure, right here. How could I forget?”
    She shakes her head at herself and smiles at me.
    “Sorry. Age.”
    “It’s okay,”I say. “Thanks.”
    I shoot a look at Megan, amazed by how much she hates me already, and scurry out of the office with the loping Ian picking up speed ahead of me. He notices and slows down.
    “Sorry.” He blushes. “Long legs.”
    I smirk. He blushes harder and starts stumbling over his words. “I didn’t mean that you were short or anything. I just meant that my legs are… well… they’re long, you know, and…”
    I touch his arm “It’s okay.”
    “Really?”
    He smiles at me, one of those little boy smiles, like he’s just been offered a chocolate chip cookie even though he spilled coffee grounds all over the Persian carpet.
    “Really.” I take in a deep breath. “You a runner?”
    “You could say that.” He grabs my elbow, “I won All-State in the I600 last spring and I was All-New England in the-”
    “Bragging competition,” someone grumbles as they bump me, jolting me away from Ian, whose hand tightens on my elbow in a way that is way too protective to be normal. MINI Cooper guy waves and says, “Excuse me.”
    I stare after massive MINI Cooper guy. His shoulders are huge inside his sweater, not that I’m looking or anything. And the sweater looks cashmere, which is pretty hoity-toity for Maine. They must have Big and Tall stores around here, or maybe he ordered it off the Net.
    Ian makes a little growling noise. I pretend like I don’t hear it but I touch his arm again, trying to calm him down.
    “Who is that?”
    He shudders and leans down so I can hear him. “That is Nick Colt, otherwise known as bad news.”
    I laugh. “Otherwise known as bad news?”
    “What?” lan’s big eyes turn sad in his banana-long face.
    “It’s just everyone around here sounds like they’re fifty years old:
otherwise known as bad news
.” He puts his hand on my shoulder and steers me through the hall. “Don’t people say that where you’re from?”
    “In Charleston?” I’ve come across a lot of interesting ways of speaking while traveling with my parents outside the U.S., but Maine still [_is _]in the United States, last time I checked.
    “You’re from Charleston.” He nods. “No wonder.”
    “Mo wonder what?”
    He stops outside a door. “Nothing.”
    “No, really.” I hope he doesn’t think I’m a hick or a bigot, which is what some people think about anyone who lives south of New York City.
    “You just seem different.”
    “Hollow?”
    “What?”
    I drag my feet for a second, horrified that I said that out loud. “Nothing. Sorry.”
    He doesn’t seem phased. “So if you need any info about anything, just ask me. I’m on cross-country and