Deadly Little Secret by Laurie Faria Stolarz Read Free Book Online Page A

rehash all the details?”
    “Of course we do,” he says. “Just picture it: it’s before class, and Kimmie’s on her way up to the front of the room to sharpen her pencil, not even realizing her underwear is falling down around her ankles. The next thing you know, Davis Miller grabs for it—”
    “Okay, first of all,” Kimmie interrupts, “let’s just say there’s been a lot of drama going on at my house as of late. A girl—even the most fashionably minded—doesn’t always get it right, especially when she’s racing out the door first thing in the morning for fear her dad might ask for another lesson on setting up a Ferrari blog. By the way, he wants everyone to call him Turbo from now on.”
    “And second of all?” Wes asks.
    “Davis Miller is clearly the result of birth-control failure,” she says. “He looks like a walking Mr. Potato Head with those bulging eyes, that bulbous nose, and those blubbery lips.”
    “But he does play a mean electric guitar. Have you heard his rendition of ‘Walk This Way’? Seriously, it’ll bring tears to your eyes.” Wes uses the corner of his sleeve to dab at the invisible tears on his cheeks.
    “Because it’s so horrible?” Kimmie asks.
    “Because it would make Steven Tyler proud.”
    “ Who ?” Her face scrunches up.
    While the two continue to argue over what makes great music, I keep an eye on the door, until I notice them staring at me, arms folded, awaiting my response.
    “What?” I ask, feeling the color rise to my cheeks.
    “My question exactly,” Wes says. “What’s up with you today?”
    “Nothing.” I sigh.
    “Not nothing,” he says. “You look like the old woman who swallowed a fly.”
    “I guess she’ll die,” he and Kimmie sing in unison.
    “Very funny.” I laugh.
    “No.” Kimmie corrects me. “Funny would be Wes continuing to dress like a third grader on school-picture day. I mean, honestly. Dickies and boat shoes?” She tsktsks at his outfit. “Totally two decades ago.”
    “This from the girl who wears enough black eyeliner to paint a large hearse, casket included,” Wes says.
    “Not to mention granny panties,” I add.
    “Okay, minus the geriatric Skivvies, it’s called style,” Kimmie argues. “And we need to get Wes some, pronto. Camelia, are you in? Something tells me you could use some shopping therapy. Nothing like a fresh pair of undies to lift the spirits.”
    “That’s what I always say,” Wes says, girl-ifying his voice by raising it three octaves.
    I nod somewhat reluctantly, warning her that I have to be back early for a tutoring session with Matt.
    “Don’t worry about it.” She links arms with me. “We’ll have you back in ample time to rendezvous with your ex.”
    We move quickly down the hallway, en route to our lockers, Kimmie blabbering on about how she’ll be forever remembered as the girl with the huge-ass granny panties.
    Before we turn down the hallway to get to our lockers, I glance back one last time in the direction of the chemistry lab.
    And that’s when I see Ben, standing in the doorway, staring right back at me.
    “Hold up,” I say, stopping us in our tracks. “I think I forgot something.”
    “What did you forget?” Kimmie asks.
    “Something,” I say, pretending to search in my bag.
    “Something, huh?” Kimmie looks in the direction of the chemistry lab.
    Ben is still there.
    “Something tall, dark, and dangerous, maybe?” She puts her hands on her hips. The poodle on her skirt glares at me, foaming at the mouth (a Kimmie-designed appliqué).
    “Maybe.” I shrug.
    “And maybe you’re too transparent.”
    “Like tissue paper,” Wes adds.
    “Well, Kimmie should know about tissue paper,” I say, gesturing toward her stuffed bra. “I really think he wants to talk to me.”
    “So, then, why doesn’t he come over here? Why is he just standing there, gawking at us?” Kimmie asks.
    “The angoraphobia thing,” Wes whispers, to remind her.
    “That’s agora