Rival by Sara Bennett Wealer Read Free Book Online Page B

seemed to be going out of their way to make it easy. Dina, Chloe, Angela…I could recall faces and voices, but I couldn’t remember all of their names. The onlyperson who stood out as a clear, fully formed person was Brooke, mostly because I’d already noticed her in choir—it was impossible not to, with her deep voice and her easy confidence. Even when we were freshmen and technically supposed to be keeping our heads down and paying our dues, she talked and joked around with the upperclassmen like she’d known them forever.
    I soon found out that she probably had.
    â€œDo you know who her brothers are?” Matt asked me when I showed him the pink slumber party invitation. “Bill and Brice Dempsey.”
    â€œReally?” I hadn’t been completely under a rock for the past two years; I knew about the golden twins who’d practically ruled the school before graduating the previous spring.
    â€œPeople are still talking about them,” Matt told me. “And it looks like Brooke is going to inherit all of it.”
    I reread the invitation as if the words were a new language to learn. “So why does she want me, I wonder?”
    â€œBecause you’re amazing.” He pulled a face of mock terror. “Oh noes! What if you become insanely popular? I’ll be so lonely!”
    â€œDon’t worry,” I said, folding the pink paper and tucking it inside my aria book. “I somehow doubt I’ll be deemed worthy.”
    But the amazing thing about that night was the feeling that I was worthy. Riding home from Brooke’s party in my father’s car, I switched the radio from the morning news to a pop station, and as we rounded the corner onto our street a song came on that I had danced to just hours earlier. Dad let me listen in the driveway until it was over, even though he needed to leave for a job fair.
    â€œWish me luck, Sweetpea?” he’d said as I gathered up my things. He wore his business suit, which made me sad every time I saw it. At his last job he only ever wore short sleeves and khakis; nerdy, but I preferred nerdy to formal. Formal meant résumés and waiting for interview callbacks and Mom working longer hours, clipping coupons, and staying up all night worrying.
    â€œGood luck,” I said, and kissed him on the cheek.
    Inside the house, Mom sat on the living room couch with her coffee and her morning crossword puzzle spread out across her lap.
    â€œThere you are!” she said. “I didn’t know when to expect you.”
    â€œIt’s not that late.” I ran my tongue over my teeth, hoping my breath didn’t smell like peach schnapps.
    â€œNot late at all. It’s just you have your first English paper due this week. I thought you’d want to get started on it.”
    â€œI’m going to work on it now,” I told her. My eyes were sandy and my brain felt sluggish from lack of sleep.
    â€œGreat!” she said. “Do you want some coffee to help you stay awake?”
    She loaded me down with an old French press, a mug, and a plate of buttered toast, then she sent me upstairs, but instead of going to the guest room where we keep the computer, I went to my own room across the hall and lay down on the bed. I closed my eyes and let my mind fill with images—Brooke’s elegant house, her brothers coming home at three a.m. and entertaining us with stories about the party they’d just attended, the other girls in their pajamas, dancing around Brooke’s room like actors in a TV commercial. We’d polished one another’s nails. We’d chatted online with some sophomore guys, giggling when they mooned the webcam. We’d seen one another in our underwear, retainers, and zit cream; I fell asleep with these things in my mind.
    Three hours later, I woke up to the phone ringing.
    â€œKathryn!” my mom shouted from downstairs. “It’s for you!”
    I stumbled into the