Half Lives by Sara Grant Read Free Book Online

have noticed because she said, ‘Hey, hey. Don’t get upset. It’s only cheese – well, kind of sort of a cheese product.’ She popped it in
her mouth. The powdery orange from the Cheesoodle coated her lips and fingers. ‘Not so bad,’ she said, shoving a few more in her mouth. ‘Good for whatever’s bringing you
down and, if not, you’ll die a year earlier from all the preservatives. That’s win–win?’
    Win–win. My mum said that all the time. I would see my mum again. Mum and Dad would meet me at the mountain. They just had to. I wiped away one tear, only to have another one replace it.
‘Sorry about . . .’ I indicated the blubbering mess which used to be a normal face.
    ‘No problem,’ she said, stuffing a few more Cheesoodles in her mouth.
    She was Asian American and had the most amazing deep brown, almond-shaped eyes rimmed with jet-black eyeliner that drew to a point at the corner. Her lashes were thick and matted together,
giving her eyes a weight that made you forget her bare scalp. Countless earrings dotted each lobe as if providing a message in Braille. She wore a long-sleeved, button-down pink shirt that seemed
out of place with her faded, ripped jeans. The words ‘Cheer Captain’ were embroidered on the breast pocket of the shirt. She didn’t look or act like the wannabe-model-cheerleader
types at Capital Academy. Maybe she’d beaten up a cheerleader and stolen her shirt.
    I forced myself to eat a potato chip. I ate another and then another. Before I knew it, the bag was empty. ‘Um, sorry. I didn’t mean . . .’
    ‘No problem. Food is the best medicine.’ She looked up as if there were something immensely fascinating about the ceiling. ‘Or, wait, is that laughter? Laughter is the best
medicine, right after these.’ She nudged the Cheesoodles closer to me. ‘You need them more than I do.’
    ‘Thanks.’ I was a real conversationalist. ‘Beyond horrendous day,’ I offered in way of explanation. I finished the rest of the Cheesoodles. ‘Are you from
Vegas?’ I asked when the carbs and artificial colourings had kicked in.
    ‘Nope. I live with my dad in La La Land, you know, LA. Los Angeles,’ she said. She fidgeted with the abnormally large pink watch on her wrist. The band was hot-pink rubber, and the
square watch face was rimmed with diamonds. I could hear the seconds tick, tick, ticking away. ‘But my mom lives near DC. I was supposed to meet my cheer squad at a national competition
there,’ she said finally. ‘State champs two years running. I got a message from the coach that the competition has been cancelled.’
    ‘Weird.’
    ‘Mom and Dad had some fight over the phone about what to do with me. Mom was supposed to be dropping me off at the cheer competition hotel and then she was going to some convention. Dad
wasn’t expecting me home. I think he was having a slumber party with his new girlfriend. Mom bought me a ticket on the next plane – but she couldn’t get a direct flight.
I’ve got a two-hour layover before I get to ruin my dad’s weekend. Fantastic, huh?’ She gulped the rest of her Diet Coke. ‘I’m Marissa,’ she said, a cheerleader
perkiness springing into her voice. I almost expected her to spell it with a double clap between each letter.
    ‘I’m Isis, but everyone calls me Icie,’ I said, realizing for the bazillionth time how ridiculous both sounded.
    ‘Suits you. The white hair. Dreadlocks. Blue eyes. I get it.’ She nodded her approval. ‘Or is it because you’re like a mega-bitch from hell?’
    ‘Not a
mega
-bitch,’ I joked.
    We kept our conversation light and I almost forgot that something huge and horrible might be about to happen. I told her about being dumped after I’d already found the perfect dress for
the prom. Shimmering, silky lavender – sexy but not slutty. She shared her string of bad boyfriends. She caught one kissing another cheerleader. The next only had one thing on his mind: it
was the