Girls Don't Fly by Kristen Chandler Read Free Book Online Page B

I’ve survived my first night in the dungeon. I get out of my sleeping bag and grab my pen flashlight so I can find the light switch without killing myself on the junk spread all over the floor. The fact that I could go to sleep in this subzero pig pen is a sure sign I’m in denial.
    I go upstairs to shower and thaw. I write a note to my parents telling them that I’m going to a prep class for the AP biology test, which I feel guilty about, but it’s not totally a lie so I do it anyway. They’re going to be mad about me taking Moby, but I’ll be back before anybody’s even out of their pajamas.
    Right before I walk out the door Carson wanders into the dark kitchen. “Where are you going?”
    “I have a class.”
    He rubs his eyes and looks me over. “It’s Saturday.”
    “It’s a special class.”
    “Who’s going to make me breakfast?”
    I go to the cupboard and quietly get his favorite cereal and a bowl. “All you have to do is get the milk. But go back to bed first. It’s too early.”
    “What time will you be back?” he says.
    “Right after breakfast.”
    He walks down the shadowy hallway. I wait until I hear him get in his bed. I count to ten to make sure he keeps the light off, and then I leave.
    I turn on Moby. The Suburban makes a racket in the cold. I watch for the lights to go on in my parents’ room but they don’t. Not even a flicker. I put my head on the steering wheel for a second, trying to get the guts to drive away.
    I can’t believe my mom was pregnant before they got married. How could they have done that? How could they have not told me all these years? Is that why Mel got pregnant? Do I come from a habitually reproducing family? Am I next?
    I was almost next.
    I bob my head on the steering wheel. This is stupid. I can’t raise money or write a science paper that’s better than Erik’s. But when I go to turn off the car, I look back at the dark windows of my house. I know I will suffocate if I go back inside.
    I drive to the Great Salt Lake State Marina on the winding road that leads past the edges of the plant, with gray trucks and gray tailings piles and gray fences and a gigantic smelter. The weather has turned cold again, but there is no snow or rain to soften the edges of the wind. I drive through the park gate and pull in next to the office. I see Erik’s white truck. Of course he would be early.
    When I walk into the room I’m surprised by the number of kids who are desperate enough for a vacation to be here this morning. There must be almost a dozen of us. But then most of these kids actually care about school. They’re the average-raisers that I parted ways with in junior high. They probably get up at this time of day every Saturday.
    The room we’re meeting in also surprises me. I follow the other kids past the front desk into a clubhouse-looking room with couches and tables. There are trophies lining the bookshelves and tiny flags plastered on the walls. It’s more like someone’s living room than a classroom.
    When I walk in I see Erik talking to some pasty-faced goth girl. He sees me and his eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t say anything. I force myself to keep walking to a chair. I can do this, I promise myself. If I’m going to get out of this town, away from moments of torture just like this, I’m going to have to live through this morning.
    At the front of the room is Pete the biology guy. He’s wearing the same clothes he was when he came to our class. He waits until everyone is seated and then says, “Welcome to the Galápagos project training class. If you’re here for home ec you’re in the wrong room.”
    Everyone laughs, even Erik. It’s a little less funny to me.
    “Seriously, we’re having the meeting here because I thought it would be nicer to be near the subject that you will be writing about.”
    A tall black kid with a buzz says, “I thought we were writing about the Galápagos Islands, not Utah’s toilet water.”
    “That toilet