Adorkable by Sarra Manning Read Free Book Online

anyone I knew in real life on the internet. We also had an unspoken rule in class that everyone’s opinion deserved to be heard, no matter how rubbish and misinformed it was.
    ‘So, Scarlett, which book did you prefer?’ Ms Ferguson asked gently. All the staff treated her as if she was made out of spun glass.
    There was a reedy whisper from the back of the room, like wind whistling around the chair legs.
    ‘I’m sorry, Scarlett, I didn’t quite catch that,’ Ms Ferguson said, her jaw moving even after she’d spoken, as if she was grinding her teeth.
    ‘Well, see, hmm, I didn’t really understand what the guy in
The Great Gatsby
, not Gatsby but the other one, um, what he saw in Daisy.’ I swivelled round in my chair to watch Scarlett look pleadingly at her friends, until one of them, Heidi or Hilda or whatever her name was, whispered something to Scarlett. ‘Yeah, like, well, Daisy: it didn’t even sound like she was that pretty.’
    I actually heard Ms Ferguson’s swift intake of breath (another reason why I sat at the front – you really got to sniff out a teacher’s weaknesses) then she caught my eye as I grimaced at Scarlett’s extreme moronitude.
    ‘Jeane,’ Ms Ferguson said, and she sounded a little desperate. ‘Why do you think Nick Carraway is in love with Daisy?’
    ‘I wouldn’t say that he’s necessarily in love with Daisy,’ I said slowly, my eyes still fixed on Scarlett, who squirmed unhappily. ‘He idealises her and imagines she’s his perfect woman, even though it’s obvious that she isn’t. I think what Fitzgerald is showing is that nobody ever knows what someone else is like. Not really. They just end up projecting all this crap on to the other person. And, yes, people might say that Daisy didn’t ask for his adoration but she takes advantage of it all the same, you know?’
    Scarlettwas staring at me blankly and it was pretty obvious that she didn’t know. She was the Grand Poobah of not knowing. ‘OK,’ she said, looking down at her hands. ‘OK.’ She sounded a bit gulpy and I wondered if she was going to cry. ‘I don’t really know what you mean.’
    ‘Have you actually read
The Great Gatsby
, Scarlett,’ I said, ‘because Nick’s unrequited love for Daisy is pretty much the cornerstone of the book?’
    There was a deathly hush in the classroom. Even Ms Ferguson seemed to be holding her breath, instead of jumping in and telling me to back off.
    ‘I know that,’ Scarlett said a little huffily, which was the first time in six years I’d ever seen her exhibit some backbone. ‘I just, well, I get it mixed up with
The Fountainhead
. They are kinda similar.’ There was a murmur of agreement around the room. I felt like banging my head on the desk.
    So, in my defence, when I said, ‘
The Great Gatsby
is about the death of the American dream and
The Fountainhead
is about the theory of objectivism and the strength of the individual. They couldn’t be more different unless you’re completely retarded,’ it was directed at the whole class, not just Scarlett.
    Scarlett bent over so her face was entirely obscured by her hair and burst into tears hard enough to make her shoulders shake. ‘Oh, Scarlett, I don’t think Jeane’s bad mood is worth crying over,’ Ms Ferguson said dryly, as Heidi/Hilda and another girl rushed to throw their arms around Scarlett and coo at her. My lips curled with contempt as Scarlett got to her feet and ran from the room, ricocheting off desks as she went.
    ‘See me after class, Jeane,’ Ms Ferguson sighed, then set usa thirty-minute writing exercise on the themes of loss and longing in
The Great Gatsby
. I could feel twenty-eight pairs of eyes shooting laser beams between my shoulder blades.
    ‘That was totally uncalled for,’ Ms Ferguson said, once the class, including a still-sniffing Scarlett, had trooped out. ‘It’s hard enough to get Scarlett to contribute, without you eviscerating her when she does.’
    ‘I was including the