100 Days by Nicole McInnes Read Free Book Online Page A

always do before lunch. Mainly, though, I was just trying to protect Agnes from the fight or whatever it was that had broken out in the line behind us. Boone’s slowness in getting the hell out of our way almost seemed like a hostile act.
    â€œYou remember that thing with his dad, right?”
    I nod, still half lost in thought. “Yeah. I never really heard details, though. And Boone left school right after, so…”
    â€œI never got all the details, either,” she says. “He was a nice boy back when you all hung around together, wasn’t he?”
    Agnes comes out to the patio before I can respond. She frowns at the ashtray and at the cigarette in Deb’s hand.
    â€œWe should work on the dresses Saturday,” I say in my brightest voice to distract her.
    â€œI can’t,” Agnes responds. “It’s my dad’s weekend.”
    Deb rolls her eyes.
    â€œGood luck with that,” I tell her. “Just don’t come back here and try to convert me or anything.”
    â€œThey’re not religious wackos,” Agnes says. “Jeez.” She turns to go back inside.
    â€œIf you say so,” I call after her, unable to stop myself. “But don’t let their churchy propaganda get inside your head. I like you just the way you are, snowflake.”

 
    13
    BOONE
    DAY 88: MARCH 29
    â€œI’m talking to you as a friend here.”
    I’m back in the principal’s office, aka my second home.
    â€œYou’re not a bad kid,” Weaver’s saying. “I know that. But, unfortunately, the world isn’t going to know that if you keep going around knocking people out every time somebody gets in your face. You just can’t do that, son.”
    Don’t call me son, I think. Out loud I say, “I didn’t punch her.”
    â€œThis time.” Weaver creaks back in his chair. “Look, I know things have been hard for you since … well, for a long time now. And I know things are even harder now that the ACE program’s been cut. Some other former ACE students are struggling right now, too. But I think you’ll find you can fit in to regular school just fine if you—”
    I don’t necessarily mean to snort, but I snort anyway.
    â€œIs something funny?” Weaver sits up straighter now. Ceases to look like an ally.
    â€œJust the way you call this ‘regular’ school,” I answer him. “Like ACE was somehow irregular.”
    The principal sighs.
    I look down at my hands, which are dotted with calluses where the ax handle and the sledge handle and the mucking fork handle and the shovel handle have rubbed in different spots. My fingernails are chewed down and grimy, and my wrists disappear into the ratty but still-hanging-in-there cuffs of my dad’s old Carhartt jacket. I’m embarrassed by these hands. Nobody else at school has hands like these, but what am I supposed to do? Stop using them? That’s a laugh.
    Thing is, Weaver’s right. I know I should chill out, but how can I when people are constantly trying to get a rise out of me? They have no idea what I’m capable of doing to them, either. I would gladly kill the next jock who gave me shit if I thought I could get away with it. But you can’t say that kind of thing in “regular” school.
    You have to keep it inside.
    That’s not how it was in my alternative classes. The ACE building is only about a hundred yards away from where I’m sitting now, but it couldn’t have been more different from the regular version of high school Weaver’s so proud of. Not that it was an endless group therapy session or anything. It was still school. Hell, it was this school, but at least we bad seeds had some time and space most days to chill a little and talk about whatever stuff might be eating away at us. At least I got to hang out with students from all four grades and not just other sophomores like me. Now that