Becoming A Butterfly (The Butterfly Chronicles) by Mia Castile Read Free Book Online Page A

bottom of the steering wheel.
     
    “ The light’s green.” I gunned it. I could not get home fast enough.
     
    When I walked through the front door my parents were in the great room watching a romantic comedy. I went up to my room where Jade was on the computer, and Tasha was reading a magazine.
     
    “ Farrah’s been busy,” Jade said, as she scrolled through the news feed.
     
    “ Not busy enough, and it was a misdate if I ever saw one.” I had texted them once it was decided that I would stay for the movie. They went into Farrah mode online, posting and making her busy. I proceeded to tell them about my uncomfortable evening and disturbing conversation with Henry on the ride home, ending with “He hates me.”
     
    “ Reality Bites then,” Tasha said, rising and going to my media cabinet.
     
     
     
    Chapter 8
     
    Henry avoided Farrah the rest of the weekend even though I sent him a long message after Jade, Tasha, and I came up with a plausible excuse for why she couldn’t come up from Columbus. We ended it with Farrah confessing that she felt too much pressure to be this perfect girl that she hardly was and that she just needed a little more time. I didn’t sit around waiting for him either. I had a history report on my favorite decade of American history due the next Friday. I had gone through two rough drafts and had one more round of grammatical edits before I was ready to type up my five-page paper. I spent most of Saturday avoiding it and watching a Jersey Shore marathon. Sunday evening, as I was finally ready to begin my edits, my computer dinged. I smiled as I brought up the screen, confident that Henry was ready to talk to me. It wasn’t Henry.
     
    Chase Livingston: Hey Farrah.
     
    What did he want?
     
    Farrah Leevar: Hi.
    Chase Livingston: So you go to Columbus East High School?
    Farrah Leevar: Yeah.
    Chase Livingston: I used to go there. Go Olympians .
     
    I could almost hear his voice, dry with sarcasm.
     
    Farrah Leevar: I like it. New this year.
    Chase Livingston: Do you have Mr. Chestney for English class?
    Farrah Leevar: Yeah, he’s all right.
    Chase Livingston: Really? Because he teaches earth science at the middle school.
     
    My heart pounded in my ears. I quickly Googled the school, and he was right. I searched through the directory.
     
    Farrah Leevar: Sorry, I thought you meant Mr. Charles.
    Chase Livingston: Nice try, Lacey.
     
    If my life were a movie, this would have been when the camera zoomed in closely to my terrified eyes.
     
    Farrah Leevar: What do you want?
    Chase Livingston: What makes you think I want something?
    Farrah Leevar: If you didn’t, you would have broadcasted it to the school already; and not IMed me.
    Chase Livingston: Good point. Meet me behind the bleachers, free period, tomorrow.
     
    I avoided Chase as much as possible at school the next day. If he was coming down the hall one way, I turned and went the other. I hadn’t had a chance to tell Jade or Tasha about our conversation. I just had to find out what he wanted. At lunch I didn’t have an appetite or enjoy the usual banter. Finally, free period came around. I put on my favorite hoodie and zipped it; I pulled the hood up and made my trek to the bleachers. I saw him leaning against one of the posts as I approached.
     
    “ So, I’m here now. What do you want? I don’t have all day.” I put on my best bad-ass attitude.
     
    “ Word on the street is you’re really good with computers.” Chase did not seem like the kind of kid who said “word on the street.” I felt like I was in some old private eye movie. “Now see here, sonny.”
     
    “ Get on with it?” I rolled my eyes at him, matched his lean, and tried to look bored.
     
    “ I have a band with some friends of mine from Columbus. We recorded a demo, but I want it mixed; and our website needs updated and maintained.”
     
    “ Website I can help you with, but I don’t mix music.” Who did he think I was? OK, for that matter,