Avalon High by Meg Cabot Read Free Book Online

Instead of sniggering or even just nodding, he turned a deep, dark shade of umber. It was kind of interesting to watch, really.
    Then Mr. Morton gave us each our poem. Ours was Beowulf.
    My heart sank when I saw it. I hate Beowulf almost as much as I hate Jeopardy!
    “Right, everyone,” Mr. Morton said, in his clipped British accent. “Find your partner and discuss how you’d like to approach your topic. I’d like your outlines on my desk by Friday.”
    I got up and went back to where Lance was sitting, since it didn’t seem likely he was going to come up to me. He was pretending that he didn’t see me coming, messing around with his books and everything, when I slid into the empty desk in front of his.
    “Hi,” I said, in a phony voice, like on a commercial. “I’m Ellie, and I’ll be your project partner this semester.”
    He messed up, though. He’d been trying to pretend like he didn’t know who I was. But somehow, “I know,” slipped from between his lips, and he turned an even darker shade of red.
    This was pretty interesting. I couldn’t remember ever having made a guy blush before. I wondered what Lance had heard about me, to make him react that way.
    “I…I saw you that day,” he stammered, by way ofexplanation. He didn’t look like the kind of guy who stammered often. “That day in the park.”
    “Oh yeah,” I said, like I had only just remembered the incident myself. “Right.”
    “Will had dinner at your house last night,” Lance said. Carefully. Too carefully, I thought. Like he was fishing for information.
    “Yeah,” I said. I wondered if he, like Jennifer, was going to ask if Will had talked about him.
    But he didn’t.
    “So,” Lance said. “ Beowulf , huh?”
    “Yeah,” I said. “I hate Beowulf .”
    Lance looked kind of surprised. “You’ve already read it?”
    I realized what kind of dweeb I must have sounded like. I mean, it was bad enough I was even taking World Literature. It’s an elective, open to anyone in any grade who’s interested—or who needs an extra humanities credit, as Lance evidently did. It was even worse that I’d already read most of the books on the syllabus. On my own. Because they’re all the same books that have been sitting on my parents’ bookshelves forever, and it’s not like I ever had much of a social life, so…
    Not wanting to admit this, however, I just said hastily, “Well, yeah. My parents are professors. Medieval studies. Beowulf is kind of their thing.”
    It was as I was saying this that I noticed a skinny-necked kid in glasses, sitting one desk over, looking at us very intently. When he saw me glance his way, he went,“Sorry but…did I hear you say you guys have Beowulf ?”
    “Yeah,” I said, glancing over at Lance, who was staring at the kid with narrowed eyes. I recognized the look. It was the kind of look the popular give to the unpopular—like Lance couldn’t believe Skinny Neck had had the nerve to speak to him. “So what?”
    Skinny Neck glanced nervously at his partner, an equally nerdy-looking kid.
    “We love Beowulf ,” he said, his voice going up a few octaves on the last syllable.
    “Yeah,” his partner agreed. “Grendel rules.”
    I supposed Grendel would rule to a couple of guys who, back in the Middle Ages, probably wouldn’t have made it past the age of five on account of inhalers not having been invented yet, or whatever.
    “What’d you get?” I asked Skinny Neck, referring to his assigned poem.
    “Tennyson,” Skinny Neck said, making no effort to hide his dissatisfaction.
    I recoiled.
    “Not The Lady of Shalott ,” I said, in horror.
    “Yeah,” Skinny Neck said. Seeing my expression, he added, “It’s way shorter than Beowulf .”
    “Sorry,” I said, seeing all too clearly where this was headed. “No can do.”
    “Wait a minute.” Lance butted in. “What’s wrong with the shallot lady? If it’s short—”
    “My mom’s writing a book on her,” I interrupted, notmentioning