A Map of the Known World by Lisa Ann Sandell Read Free Book Online Page A

indication that he is going to speak again. I suddenly feel a bit unsteady. The moment stretches out, interminable, uncomfortable. I shift my bag from one shoulder to the other and shuffle my feet.
    “How are your classes?” Damian finally asks, breaking the silence.
    “My classes?” I repeat. I must admit, the mundanity of this conversation is breathtaking. “They’re fine. Well, except for math. Geometry kind of sucks but, yeah, they’re fine.” I pause. “How about yours?”
    “They’re okay,” he responds. Then, silence.
    “What are you taking?” I ask.
    “You know, the usual,” he starts casually. “Art, of course, English, calc; AP physics is kicking my butt—”
    “AP physics?” I ask, cringing at the note of astonishment in my voice.
    “Don’t sound so surprised.” Damian smirks.
    “No, I just didn’t know,” I try to explain lamely. Dolt. Dolt. Dolt.
    “I know. Don’t worry about it.” He looks at me, and his harsh smile softens. He pulls a silver cell phone out of his coat pocket and checks the time. “I should get home.” He looks up at me. “Um, want a ride?”
    My breath catches. What? “Oh, no, it’s okay. I have my bike.” Damian glances away. “Look. Why are you following me?” I am taken aback by my own directness.
    “Sorry. Didn’t mean to bother you,” Damian mumbles. Then he is gone.
    I fall back against my locker. What is going on? Does he really think I’m going to get in a car with him? Is he nuts?
    He is so odd. Kind of sweet, I guess. Maybe I was too harsh? A pinprick of guilt jabs at me. Well, nevertheless, Damian is going to stay a mystery for another day. I gather my belongings and head outside to get on my bike.
    As I coast down the streets, I think of Damian as a raven, his black coat flapping like feathers around him. Strange and fierce and hard.
    We’ll see what this is about.

Chapter Four
    A utumn has come, crowning the fields and woods with red golden leaves, and the wind carries with it a sharpness, the crisp hint of apple cider and wood-burning stoves. There is a buzzing, a tingling of anticipation in the air. Girls chatter back and forth in the hallways about the costumes they are going to wear for Halloween. The sad yellow walls are festooned with paper cutouts of jack-o’-lanterns and black cats alongside posters calling on kids to come out and vote in the student elections and to sign up for various committees.
    I have avoided getting involved in any after-school activities. I am having a hard enough time keeping up with my classes, especially geometry. There is so much memorization, and for some reason, none of it makes any sense to me, no matter how many times I read and reread the same chapter. How did someone figure out, for instance, that a 2 + b 2 = c 2 ? Who has a brain that works like that? Who looks at a triangle and thinks, I will figure out a way to understand how the lines and angles relateto one another? When I look at a triangle, I see the shape of a cheek or the space below a jawbone. I see the silhouette of the Arabian Peninsula.
    I do not get involved. But it isn’t just because I have too much homework. It’s just that…I still feel like the girl whose brother died. I still feel the teachers holding their breath, waiting to see if I am going to turn out like Nate, if I’m going to slip up and cut class or pull a prank or talk back. I feel the other kids waiting to see if I’m going to lose it, if I’ll shatter, if whatever peculiarity I seem to embody will come exploding out of me in a terrific show of fireworks and freakdom. Nobody says anything outright; it’s just this subtle tension that sits beneath the surface.
    Art class, though, is different. There, I feel like I’m really learning. There I feel unburdened. Ms. Calico is new, so she never knew Nate. And just for that I feel freer in her class. Ms. Calico has introduced us to charcoal and pastels. They can be unruly, especially the oil pastels, but I’ve grown