Bounce by Natasha Friend Read Free Book Online

me whips around. “I was at the game on Saturday. I saw everything. Look at your face. Ajax must feel awful! His own sister.”
    â€œYeah, I’m not really his—”
    â€œHe’s your stepbrother, right? Didn’t you just move in with them?”
    â€œUm. Yeah. We moved a few weeks ago. From Maine? My dad’s marrying his—”
    â€œAbleson, Chelsea.” The homeroom teacher, Mrs. Kilgallon, is taking attendance. But nobody’s listening.
    â€œNo way, ” says a girl a few desks down. She comes running over. “You live with Ajax Gartos? What’s he like ? Does he like anyone?”
    Suddenly, I’m surrounded.
    I heard he likes Wendy Rhenes.
    Nuh-uh. He likes Jana Benson.
    Does he wear boxers or briefs?
    Mrs. Kilgallon raises her voice. “A-ble-son. Chel-sea.”
    Oh, he is definitely a boxer man.
    Erica Sussman said that Carli Meyers said that her brother Paul said that Ajax does a hundred push-ups every day at soccer practice.
    Don’t you love the name Ajax? I love the name Ajax.
    â€œGirls!” Mrs. Kilgallon is mad now. She picks up a stapler and bangs it on her desk. “Sit! Down! Or you! Will get! Detention!”
    Everyone scatters. The room is dead calm.
    â€œAbleson, Chelsea.”
    â€œPresent,” says the girl to my right.
    When Mrs. Kilgallon isn’t looking, she leans over and whispers, “Hey. Sit with us at lunch?”
    I smile. Ableson, Chelsea, smiles back.
    The girl to our left, Jaime, smiles, too.
    And miraculously, I forget that my face looks like roadkill.
    For the rest of the morning, I feel like a celebrity. People stop me in the hall. They ask me how I’m doing, where I got my shoes, if I want a piece of gum.
    At lunch, a table of headbands flags me down, and I go over. Each one is prettier than the next, and I know right away these are the It Girls—the ones everyone wants to sit with. And they saved a seat for me.
    â€œAjax Gartos is your brother?” they ask.
    I nod.
    They move their chairs closer, and I start opening my lunch.
    â€œYour brother is the hottest guy at Thorne,” I’m told by a girl with blond, wavy hair. Her name is Andrea, but it’s pronounced On-DREY-a, and she is clearly their leader.
    â€œWe need to know things,” Andrea says, opening my milk for me and sticking in a straw.
    â€œLike who he likes,” says another girl.
    â€œAnd if he’s going to the social next Friday,” another pipes in.
    â€œIs he?” asks a girl with shiny lips. “Going to the social?”
    I have no idea. I don’t even know what the social is. But I know what I’m supposed to say. “I think so. Yeah.”
    Little squeals of excitement all around.
    Andrea nods. “Good. What else?”
    Everyone is looking at me. Suddenly, I’m the one with the answers.
    I have to come up with something good.
    â€œWell,” I say slowly, “he has a poster of that Russian tennis player on his wall. You know—the really pretty one with the braids?”
    Andrea smiles. “He likes blonds.”
    â€œUh-huh.” I pause to take a sip of milk. “And he likes spicy food. And hummus.”
    All around me, heads nod. They want me to keep going, so I do. I tell them everything I know.
    When the bell rings, Andrea stands up.
    â€œFind out who he likes,” she tells me.
    I say I’ll get right on it.
    â€œYou do that.” She gives me a little pat on the shoulder, for encouragement. “‘Bye for now,” she says, and I say, “ ‘Bye, Andrea.”
    As I walk away from the table, it occurs to me: The whole time I was sitting there, no one asked my name.

CHAPTER NINE
    It’s Thursday night, and we are having a “family meeting.” This is yet another example of Birdie’s new vocabulary—right up there with “quality time” and “sibling bonding.” I call it Al-Speak, and it makes me want