She's So Dead to Us by Kieran Scott Read Free Book Online Page A

backslap me,” David said.
    “I’ll slap you right now,” Annie offered.
    I laughed, wondering if Shannen would ever even give David Drake the time of day. Maybe, if the ice ever melted with the Cresties—if they ever realized it was my dad, not me, who had screwed them over—I could try to hook them up sometime. But even as the idea occurred to me it seemed inconceivable that Shannen and I would ever be close again. My spirits sagged.
    I had started to turn back to the table when my eyes caught Jake’s. He stopped laughing. Our gazes locked for a long, intense moment during which all oxygen disappeared from the caf. He blinked first, and I blushed and turned my back on him. Great. Now he probably thought I was ogling him. Jerk. I couldn’t believe that lame attempt at an apology he’d made that morning. Like, what? I was going to swoon and kiss his feet for acknowledging me after the complete diss of the night before? Maybe if he’d been at all genuine—if he’d said anything true rather than getting all defensive—I might have cared. But that? That was crap. Clearly he was that hot guy who got all the girls but had the depth of a puddle. So not what I needed right now.
    No. From now on I was steering clear of Jake Graydon, in thoughts and deeds. Besides, if I so much as flirted with him, my friends would probably think I was trying to use him to get to them, and I wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction. No way, no how.
    No matter how long my residual blush lasted.

ally
     
    The first Backslappers meeting was held in the bleachers alongside the soccer field, where David, Jake, Hammond, and the rest of the team were huddled around the coach on the sidelines. This was my first time up at the field since I’d been back, and I suddenly flashed on a memory of a gorgeous fall day back in freshman year when Chloe, Shannen, Faith, and I had spent an hour jogging around the track after school, pretending we were exercising, when really we were checking out the hot junior and senior boys on the soccer team. Every time we caught one of them looking we’d up our speed and ridiculously overexaggerate our conversation to show them just how oblivious to them we were. In hindsight I’m sure they were all laughing at us. Faith had been totally in love with this junior named Mike Mancinelli at the time, so when practice was finished, I’d gone over and talked to him for her. I’d always found it easier to talk to guys when I was doing it for my friends rather than for myself. Mike had been kind of a jerk, giving me some line about how he’d take Faith out if I came along, so I’d told him off, much to the amusement of his friends, and then we’d all taken Faith to Scoops to drown her sorrows in peanut butter fudge ice cream.
    The memory made me feel sad, so I trudged over to a bench near the back of the growing crowd and hunkered down. Chloe, Shannen, and Faith were already seated in the front row, chatting happily. Had they all forgotten about the stuff we used to do together—all the fun we used to have? Why did it mean so much to me and nothing to them?
    It was a gray day and breezy, so I’d worn my Hancock East basketball sweatshirt from my school in Baltimore, which drew confused and irritated looks from every girl who settled in around me. Note to self: When joining a school-spirit club, it’s best not to baffle the natives with the name and colors of another school.
    “All right, everyone! Let’s get this meeting started!”
    The girl calling us to order was Trista Strickler, Crestie senior and major joiner. Even back when I was a freshman and she was a sophomore, she’d been either a member or president of at least half a dozen clubs. She had red curly hair held back by a Burberry headband, and a smattering of freckles across her upturned nose. Her sweatshirt was the proper colors: maroon with her name embroidered in gold on the left breast. On the back was the Orchard Hill High tiger in