Ripple by Mandy Hubbard Read Free Book Online Page B

wait a few moments longer than I should and then grab the edges of mine and spin around, until I’m staring at Sienna’s hostile face. I glance at Cole. His sweet, unassuming smile catches me off guard. How can he look so relaxed when he knows what it’s like between Sienna and me?
    “I’m thinking fantasy,” I say through gritted teeth. “Maybe one of Eva Stonewall’s novels.”
    “Do you even know how weird you are sometimes? You look like you swallowed denture glue.”
    “What’s that? I couldn’t hear you because your prepster shirt is so loud,” I say. Her eyes flutter momentarily as she glances down at the bright pink and yellow V-neck she’s wearing. She glares at me.
    Cole glances between us but ignores our verbal smack down. “Those are girlie books. How about something by Carl Levison?”
    “Ick. His books are boring,” Sienna says. “If you’ve read one, you’ve read them all.”
    “Are you kidding me? That man’s a genius,” Cole says.
    Sienna shrugs. “Let’s do Manhattan Prep. ”
    I snort. “Leave it to you to choose something trashy like Manhattan Prep. Mrs. Jensen will never let us do that—it’s right up there with comic books.”
    Sienna rolls her eyes at me and crosses her arms. “Not if we play it right. We can tell Mrs. Jensen we plan to explore whether the books are an intentionally satirical view of the privileged. Maybe the author’s true motivation is to show how shallow the elite really are by exaggerating the behavior of the characters. She’s mocking them, not glamorizing them.”
    Cole doesn’t hesitate in countering her. “There’s no way those books are meant as satire. They’re just trashy soap-opera novels. Mindless drivel.” All of a sudden, he pauses. His eyes light up and he sits up straighter. “What if we use that format for our presentation? We can stage a debate for the class—are the books meant to be tongue-in-cheek, or are they nothing more than trash?”
    Sienna crosses her arms. “Uh-uh. We can do a normal presentation, one where we separately memorize our parts. No . . .”—her voice trails off, and she glares at me—“interaction required.”
    “Come on. I thought you were valedictorian?” Cole says.
    She snorts. “I am valedictorian.”
    Cole gives her a pointed look. “Prove it. We do something unexpected, something inventive, and we’ll nail this.”
    Sienna huffs, her need to succeed outweighing her desire to avoid me. “Whatever.”
    Cole leans back against his chair, a smug expression on his face.
    I turn away and stare at the scribbles of permanent marker on the corner of my desk, trying in vain to keep the panic at bay. I can’t do this. I can’t work with her. With them.
    When I look up, Cole is grinning at me, sending my heart scrambling. “You in?”
    I smile weakly, nod, and yank my desk away, counting down the seconds until I can slip into my lake tonight.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    T hat night, I sit at the dinner table across from my grandmother. Behind me, the wood stove crackles, warming my backside. I pick up a pretzel twist from the bowl in between us and chew off the pieces of salt. Gram reaches out, sliding four tiles up next to an S. BOATS. How ironic.
    She looks at me as she lines it up on the Scrabble board, and for a second I think she’s going to say something, but she doesn’t.
    “Do anything fun today?” I ask.
    She chews on her lip while she reaches into the plastic bag and draws her replacement letters. “Oh, not really. One of my exercise sessions at the center. How about you?”
    I stare at my tiles. I drew a bunch of consonants, and only one vowel—a U. The fire crackles again as a log splits, and the light of the room turns a little more orange. “We got a new assignment in English. It’s a group thing. We have to read a novel, and then we’re going to debate about it in front of the class.”
    “Oh?” She raises a brow.
    I spell out HURRY on the board and take a measly handful of points. My