Fall to Pieces by Vahini Naidoo Read Free Book Online Page A

lip trembles and she collapses into me and I hold her. Her tears soak my T-shirt.
    “What are you doing here?” I repeat more softly.
    Does it have anything to do with what she and Mark aren’t telling me?
    A small earthquake rocks her shoulders. Her breaths come in gasps, knifing through her small frame.
    “I just thought,” she says, suddenly slamming her fist into Amy’s locker. “I just thought that she might have left something in here. Some hint about why, how she was feeling—”
    She breaks free of me. Slams her fist into Amy’s locker again. And again.
    Petal has never exactly been a pacifist. It’s why Mark and I were so surprised when she shut herself away after Amy died. We thought she would fight the sadness. But Petal didn’t leave her bedroom for two weeks aside from going to the bathroom. She didn’t shower. She didn’t speak to a soul. When she came out, she was ten years gaunter, ten pounds heavier; and she still barely spoke. At first. But Pick Me Ups breathed life back into her, brought back some of the fight that made her burn bright, bright, bright as if she were slightly mad.
    And she’s kicking the lockers now. Again, again, again, again, again. Kicking them so hard that her shoesleave slight dents in the metal. It’s extreme, even for Pet.
    Her new skin, the one that makes her pirouette and attempt to steal from vending machines, peels away. And the truth about her, her heart and her guilt and her lies, is on display for the world to see. It’s a shame that it remains unreadable, unfathomable to me.
    She collapses, slides down against the cream-colored lockers. Her butt hits the rich, burgundy carpet, and she makes this sound. Halfway between a sob and a swear word.
    “I just can’t believe Amy would do this to us,” she says. “I can’t believe it.”
    I don’t know what to say, because I can’t believe it, either.
    Silence. The dust motes float over us, flashing through the red light and then the green light. Petal’s sitting in the blue light shredding her nail, as if she doesn’t know what else to do.
    “Mark and I are going,” I say eventually, knowing that this is the only thing that might help her. “We’re going to the barn.”
    I don’t have to ask whether she’s coming. She gets to her feet and follows me down the corridor. She throws me a weird look when Explosive Boy tags along with us. He gives her a wide berth. Even the grenade boy knows not to mess with Petal.
    She watches him as we move through the corridors but doesn’t say anything.
    And then Petal’s banging open the door that leads to the parking lot in that typical, melodramatic way that all of us have. Me included. Weak sunlight floats over E and me, who are left standing in the doorway.
    E raises his brows at me. “Let me guess,” he says. “You’re all from rich-bitch central.”
    Because melodrama like this is reserved for the wealthy? Please.
    Only Amy was from rich-bitch central. And maybe me. I could have a locker in the hallowed older section of Sherwood High. God knows I would if my father had stopped working long enough to realize that the administration hadn’t already given me one. But this is my father and work we’re talking about—they’re going to the grave together—so that’s highly unlikely.
    If he ever comes home again, or if I discover where he’s hiding, maybe I’ll tell him. Maybe the injustice of my locker location will recapture his attention.
    “Just get outside, okay?”
    Mark stands next to Cherry Bomb. She looks just like she usually does—like a cherry-colored bomb. Yeah. We’re really imaginative when it comes to naming things.
    Mark looks like he usually does, too. Wonderfully idiotic. He’s smoking a lollipop. The strawberry-colored sphere disappears into his mouth, pops back out again. Puff, puff, puff. Imaginary bits of lollipop smoke cloud the air.
    “Mature, man.”
    Way. Too. Blunt. E.
    Mark takes the lollipop out of his mouth. “Sarcasm is the