Breathless by Jessica Warman Read Free Book Online Page A

polo team has been standing on deck in their swimsuits, tossing medicine balls around, waiting for their turn in the water.
    “Oh, thank God ,” one of them says, loud enough for everyone to hear. When I turn to look, out of breath and treading water halfway down the deep end, I see that it’s the same boy from last night—Estella’s boyfriend.
    Swimmers are hopping out of the pool in a hurry. Most of the puke has missed the gutter and is spreading across the surface of the water. Solinger is already heading toward the deep end with a net.
    One of the boys on the varsity swim team sidles up beside Estella’s boyfriend, nudges him, and says, “It’s always Dodd.”
    The two of them grin. They’re both gorgeous. They look like they could be brothers, but Estella’s boyfriend is a little taller, his grin a little more rotten. “Hey, Jamie,” he calls across the room. “Jamie Dodd! You ought to see a doctor about that weak tummy!”
    Glancing to make sure Solinger’s back is turned, Jamie holds up both middle fingers and mouths a string of obscenities. She’s still a little pale.
    In the locker room, while everyone is pulling on their clothes, Jamie says to nobody in particular, “I hate Stetson McClure.”
    “You should stop throwing up all the time, then,” Grace snaps. “Besides, he’s just kidding.”
    “I get cramps if I don’t eat for more than a few hours. Then I swallow some pool water and I can’t help it, I just—”
    “Then quit,” Grace says, “or stop whining.” She glances at me. I’m trying to pull on my clothes as quickly as possible over my swimsuit. “I was sure you’d be the one to puke. What’s your name again?”
    When Grace tugs off her swim cap, I see she has the same wavy blond hair as her mother. Her legs look like they haven’t been shaved all summer, which tells me she’s serious about swimming. The more body hair you have, the more drag it creates in the water. When you finally do shave, right before a race, you can go a few seconds faster.
    “Katie,” I say. “Katie Kitrell.”
    Grace only nods. “Well, Katie, you need to get down to the school store and order your suits, like, now.”
    “I didn’t think I’d have to wear my meet suit for practice—”
    “These are our practice suits,” Jamie says, frowning at Grace behind her back. She mouths a few more choice words in Grace’s direction and gives me a little smile. Jamie has braces on her teeth, and since she’s just barfed all over the pool, she needs to brush.
    “Oh. I didn’t realize. Well, what do you wear for meets?”
    Grace doesn’t blink. “We wear our meet suits.”
    “Okay. Well, what’s the difference between our practice suits and our meet suits?” Swimsuits are expensive. I can’t imagine having a custom suit printed just for practice.
    “We wear our practice suits for practice. We wear our meet suits for meets.” Grace pulls on a maroon sweatshirt that says “CAPTAIN” in big white block letters across her chest. “Got it?”
    I’m standing naked in the middle of my dorm room, toweling off from my shower after practice, when an unseen hand slips a heavy ivory envelope beneath my door. Inside the envelope is an invitation to the annual—no kidding— tea party for Woodsdale girls. It says the dress code is “white glove.”
    I don’t know what “white glove” means. I’m still shook up by how intense practice was, how mean Grace was, and I don’t want to risk showing up in the wrong pair of freaking gloves for a tea party.
    When I first met our house mother, Mrs. Martin, she’d made me promise I’d come straight to her with any questions or problems. The tea party is definitely both.
    “I was thinking I’d skip it,” I tell her, standing in the doorway to the hall that connects her apartment to the rest of the dorm.
    “Oh no, sweetie. It’s compulsory.”
    “Compulsory?” I raise my eyebrows, put my hands on my hips, hoping she’ll admit she’s only