Drowning Instinct by Ilsa J. Bick Read Free Book Online

down my thigh and fallen off somewhere along the way. I looked around for paper towels and found nothing but a bank of blow-dryers. Great. A very progressive, environmentally minded school. I dove into the first stall and slammed the door. Hunkering on the toilet, I hugged my knees. Stupid, stupid, stupid .

    A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened again. A swell of hall chatter ballooned in. Peeking, I saw four feet as the girls crossed to the sinks. I heard the unzipping of purses, rummaging sounds.

    ―Oh my God,‖ one girl said. ―I almost died, it was so funny. Did you see her face ?‖

    ―She‘s in my English class,‖ said the other, and I recognized Danielle‘s voice. ―Her grandmother was some kind of crazy famous writer. Dewerman almost had an orgasm.‖

    ―I saw David with her.‖

    ―So?‖ Smacking noises as Danielle inspected her lipstick. ―He was just being nice.
    That boy and his strays . . . The more broken they are, the better he likes them, just like Anderson.‖

    ―Mr. Anderson‘s nice.‖ The click of a compact. ―I thought you liked him. You said he was cool.‖

    A pause. ―He is. You know, he talks to everybody, and he writes these killer recommendations. I just wish he‘d decide already if I can take over David‘s TA slot once the fencing season gets started. God, I hope that girl‘s got Schroeder for chemistry.
    Otherwise . . .‖ They went on like that for a while, eventually moving on to other losers.
    Then they left.

    I stayed in my stall. Not in school a full day and I‘d already made the gossip rounds of the mascara-and-lipstick crowd. At least, I now knew why Danielle hated me. She didn‘t have to worry. From that moment on, David Melman wouldn‘t get a drop of encouragement.

    I peeled off my soggy shirt to inspect the damage. My skin was alien and yellow under the bathroom fluorescents, the lumpy scars pale as tapeworms, the donor sites on my thighs only the faintest of rectangles.

    My body was a memory quilt, a patchwork of scars and moods and deeds best left to fester in the dark. Here , Matt ran with me from the house as my back boiled. There is where Mom smothered me with her coat. And that pucker on my belly there is where Grandpa MacAllister, still alive after the fire and senile, tried pinching my ass so I twisted a staple out of an informational pamphlet on Alzheimer‘s and jabbed until the blood bubbled.

    (Mom, screaming: Don’t you dare save . . . )

    I wanted so badly to cut, I could taste it. But the thought that someone like Danielle would tip the balance made me mad. No way would I give that bitch the satisfaction.

c
    I crept out about thirty seconds after the second bell. The river of kids had dwindled to a trickle. Mr. Anderson was leaning against the wall at the foot of the stairs but pushed off when he saw me coming. Too late, nowhere to run. The day wasn‘t even done, and I felt as if I‘d spent my whole life running into things and away from him.

    ―Here.‖ He dealt me a late pass. ―You might need this. You okay?‖

    No . But I gave an all-purpose shrug, hoping he‘d read it as yes and let me slink away.

    ―It‘ll get better. Just give it time.‖

    ―I should get to class.‖ Then I remembered: ―Actually, the library. I‘ve got study hall.‖

    ―Then walk with me for a second.‖

    I remembered what Danielle had said about Mr. Anderson liking the broken ones.
    Well, if that was true, what was her problem? Whatever. ―I‘m okay.‖

    ―All right,‖ he said, easily. ―No pressure.‖

    All of a sudden, I felt bad. He was just being nice. ―I‘m sorry.‖

    ―What for? You have nothing to apologize about, Ms. Lord. You‘re allowed your feelings.‖ He hesitated then said, ―Look, I run or bike every other morning. You get here so early, if you ever want to come along, you‘re welcome to. Runs are always nicer when you‘ve got a partner. And no pressure to join the team, I promise.‖

    ―Thanks.‖ I knew I