Code Name Cassandra by Meg Cabot Read Free Book Online

anything?”
    ”
Douglas
,” I hissed in a warning tone.
    “Oops,” he said. “Sorry.”
    “I better go,” I said. I could hear someone coming down the hall. “Thanks for the heads up and all. I guess.”
    “Well,” Douglas said. “I just thought you should know. About the guy, I mean. In case he shows up, or whatever.”
    Great. Just what I needed. Some reporter showing up at Lake Wawasee to interview Lightning Girl. Pamela wouldn’t freak too much about that.
    “Okay,” I said. “Well, bye, Catbreath.” I used my pet name for Douglas from when we were small.
    He returned the favor. “See ya, Buttface.”
    I hung up. Down the hall, I heard keys rattle. Pamela was just locking up her office. She came out into the main reception area.
    “Everything all right at home?” she asked me, sounding as if she actually cared.
    I thought about the question.
Was
everything all right at home? Had everything
ever
been all right at home? No. Of course not.
    And I didn’t think it’d be too much of a stretch to say that everything would never be all right at home.
    But that’s not what I told Pamela.
    “Sure,” I said, hugging the padded envelope to my chest. “Everything’s great.”

C H A P T E R
4
    I was forced to eat those words a second later, however, when I stepped outside the camp’s administrative offices, into the sticky twilight, and heard it.
    Someone screaming. Someone screaming my name.
    Pamela heard it, too. She looked at me curiously. I didn’t have time for questions, though. I took off running in the direction the screams were coming from. Pamela followed me. I could hear her office keys and loose change jangling in the pockets of her khaki shorts.
    Dinner was over. The kids were streaming out of the dining hall and heading over toward the Pit for their first campfire. I saw kids of all sizes and colors, but the two to whom my gaze was instantly drawn were, of course, Shane and Lionel. This time, Shane had Lionel in a headlock. He wasn’t choking him, or anything. He just wouldn’t let go.
    “It’s okay, Lionel,” Shane was saying. He pronounced it the American way, LIE-oh-nell. “They’re just dogs. They’re not going to hurt you.”
    The camp dogs, barking and wagging their tails delightedly, were leaping around, trying to lick Lionel and just about any other kid they could catch. Lionel, being so short, was getting most of these licks in the face.
    “See, I know in Gonorrhea, you eat dogs,” Shane was saying, “but here in America, see, we keep dogs as pets… .”
    “Jess!” Lionel screamed. His thin voice broke with a sob. “Jess!”
    There was a group of kids gathered around, watching Shane torture the smaller boy. Have you ever noticed how this always happens? I have. I mean, I know whenever I take a swing at somebody, people immediately come flocking to the area, eager to watch the fight. No one ever tries to break it up. No one ever goes, “Hey, Jess, why don’t you just let the guy go?” No way. It’s like why people go to car races: They want to see someone crash.
    I waded through the kids and dogs until I reached Shane. I couldn’t do what I wanted to, since I knew Pamela was right behind me. Instead, I said, “Shane, let him go.”
    Shane looked up at me, his eyes—which were already small—going even smaller.
    “Whadduya mean?” he demanded. “I’m just showing him how the dogs aren’t gonna hurt him. See, he’s afraid of them. I’m doing him a favor. I’m trying to help him overcome his phobia—”
    Lionel, by this time, was openly sobbing. The dogs licked away his tears before they had a chance to trickle down his face very far.
    I could hear Pamela’s keys still jangling behind me. She wasn’t, I realized, on the scene quite yet. Clutching my envelope in one hand, I reached out with the other and, placing my thumb and middle finger just above Shane’s elbow, squeezed as hard as I could.
    Shane let out a shriek and let go of Lionel just as Pamela