Leaving Paradise by Simone Elkeles Read Free Book Online Page B

passing.
    I should purposely flunk it; that’ll show ’em. Then I can skip my last year of high school. There’s no way my ma will let me be a junior again. Or will she?
    I fill out answers until my pencil wears down and my ass is numb from sitting on the hard metal chair. It’s a fifty-fifty chance I’ve passed Morehouse’s stupid test. Only two more of the things to go before I can leave for the day.
    Two hours later, I answer the final question on the last test. I almost smile. Almost. My brain is too tired to use any facial muscles. So when Meyer dismisses me, I practically run from his office.
    I have to take a bus to the hardware store. Bus number 204 from Hampton will stop a block away from school at three twenty-nine.
    My watch says three twenty-seven.
    That gives me two minutes to run to the bus. I’m ready to book as fast as I can to catch the thing, because if I don’t, Damon’ll know I was late.
    As soon as the bus is in sight, Brian Newcomb steps in front of me, holding his hand to my chest and stopping me.
    “Caleb, buddy, I’ve been looking all over for you.”
    Brian and I had been best friends since kindergarten. We haven’t talked for almost a year. I told him not to visit me in jail, so I don’t know if we’re still buds. But right now isn’t the time to find out. Community service sucks, but I have to do it. My freedom depends on it.
    “Wha’s up, Brian?” I say quickly, then look behind him as the bus pulls away from the stop. Shit.
    “You know. Nothing . . . and everything. What up with you?”
    “Oh, you know. Getting used to living without bars in my bedroom.”
    There’s one of those really long pauses, where Brian looks like he doesn’t know how to respond, before finally saying, “That was a joke, right?”
    “Right.” Not really.
    Brian laughs, but there’s something else behind it. Nervousness? What reason does he have to be nervous? The guy knows me better than my own mother.
    I narrow my eyes at my friend who’d been my confidante since kindergarten. “Are we cool?” I ask.
    There’s a slight, almost unnoticeable hesitation. But I see it, and, more importantly, feel it. “Yeah, we’re cool,” Brian says.
    The bus turns the corner. “I gotta go.”
    “You need a ride? My dad got a new Yukon and gave me his,” Brian says, jangling the keys to the car in front of my face.
    I’d settle for an old, rusted junker at this point. I murmur a “No, thanks,” because I learned in jail not to have expectations or rely on others.
    “Listen, I’m sorry I never wrote. There were crazy things going on and you told me not to visit . . .”
    “Don’t sweat it. It’s over, man.”
    Brian shifts his feet. “I’d still like to talk about it.”
    “I said it’s over. I really got to go,” I say, then start walking toward The Trusty Nail.
    The last thing I need is my best friend acting stranger than my mom. I have enough to deal with right now, like how Damon is going to spit fire when he hears I was late for my first day of community service.

twelve
    Maggie
    I borrowed a Frommer’s book about Spain at the library today. Looking in the mailbox after school, I say a little prayer, hoping the information packet arrived.
    There’s a letter from the program, not a packet. I rip the envelope open, getting a paper cut as I slide my finger between the folds. I don’t care. This is my ticket out, my chance to get away from Caleb and Paradise. Time to forget the accident and get psyched about independence and anonymity.
    I unfold the letter quickly, as if it’s the Golden Ticket in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory . I have a huge smile on my face as I read the letter.
    To: Miss Margaret Armstrong
    From: International Exchange Student (IES) Program
    Dear Miss Armstrong:
    It has come to the attention of our IES committee that the scholarship for which you originally applied was an athletic scholarship. Since your records indicate you have not been active on a high school