Beastly: Lindy's Diary by Alex Flinn Read Free Book Online

I thought it might be a sensitive subject. He didn’t exactly seem like the type of guy who’d put buying peanuts and Cracker Jacks high on his priority list.
    Me: It’s true. Most of our Cracker Jack budget has been going for actual crack lately. But when I was
    little, we used to go.
    And then, I stopped joking and told him about how it was, back when my mom was alive. We were a
    normal family, my two sisters and I. Mom was a paralegal. Dad was an English teacher at Tuttle, which is
    how I got so interested in poetry and stuff like that. But then, when my mom died, he sort of freaked out, started doing drugs. Prescription stuff first, to help him sleep, but then, it was easier to get the other stuff.
    He got fired from Tuttle. My sister Sarah, who’d been going there, had to drop out and go to public
    school. She never forgave him. But when I got old enough to go to middle school myself, she told me we
    should call them, give them a guilt trip about firing my dad (even though, really, we knew they’d had no
    choice), get them to give me a scholarship. After all, I had the grades for it.
    That’s how I started going to Tuttle.
    “Did you like it?” Adrian asked, and that set off a whole other train of thought because, no, I hadn’t liked it. I’d hated it. I mean, yes, I’d been physically safe at Tuttle, unlike at my old school or even at home, but I hated going someplace where everyone was rich and beautiful and treated me like I was vaguely—if I’m
    honest here, not even vaguely—dirty compared to them just because I was poor. The fact is, here, in this
    apartment, where I’m being held prisoner, I’m actually happier than I’ve been in a long time, and these
    people—this freakish boy, blind man, and their maid—are the closest I’ve had to a real family since my
    mother died. We have dinner together.
    And yesterday, Magda taught Adrian and me to make flan for dessert. Will and I do yoga every morning,
    and we have a baseball pool going. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m part of something. Maybe it’s Stockholm syndrome, but if so, I’m moving to Stockholm.
    Finally, I said, “No, I didn’t really like it. I mean, it was a good education, but the people there were snobs.”
    “I’m sorry,” he said.
    “What are you sorry about? They’d have been just as snobby to you.”
    More snobby, I was thinking. He looked thoughtful, and for a second, I was worried I’d hurt his feelings.
    But then he said, “Well, that’s obvious. Good thing neither of us have to go there, right?”
    And I agreed that it was a good thing, then changed the subject back to baseball. Fortunately, we had a lot to talk about.
    October 23
    Last year, when Kyle Kingsbury gave me that rose at the dance, I thought that whenever I smelled roses, I would think of him.
    I was wrong.
    It’s fall now. It has been three months since I came to live with Adrian, three months, studying every day in his rose garden. Now, the scent of roses has become hopelessly, irrevocably associated with Adrian.
    Sometimes I think I’ve become used to it, and I ask him if we can study someplace else for a day, so the
    next day, I can experience it anew.
    It’s hard for me to believe I missed the beginning of school. I wonder if people have even noticed I’m
    gone. If they have, they probably just think I went back to my old school. I don’t miss Tuttle, where I was so invisible.
    Other Things I Don’t Miss
    —Guys lurking on our doorstep
    —Weird noises outside at night
    —My dad not coming home for days or nights on end
    —Being alone and frightened
    Sometimes I do worry about my father. I don’t know if he actually went to rehab. Chances are, he didn’t.
    But I push that fear back. After all, he ditched me here. I’ve at least earned the right not to obsess over him.
    Now, my life has routine. Here’s my schedule.
    6:30 a.m. Wake up
    6:45 a.m. Yoga with Wil
    7:45 a.m. Shower and dress
    8:30 a.m. Breakfast
    9-2:00 School