The Thing About the Truth by Lauren Barnholdt Read Free Book Online

getting involved in someone else’s, thank you very much.
    “Not hurt?” the girl says. “Not hurt ? Does this look like the kind of face you would have if you weren’t hurt?” She points at her face. Which, while still beautiful, is streaked with tears and dripping eye makeup.
    “Well, no. But, ah, I just meant that you’re not physically hurt.”
    She turns from the mirror and stares at me. “What’s your name?”
    I swallow, not sure I want to tell her. “I’m Kelsey.”
    “Well, Kelsey, did you know that the pain of a broken heart causes the same activity in the brain as physical pain?”
    “No,” I say honestly. “I didn’t know that.”
    “Well, it does. There was a scientific study on it and everything.” She says it like all scientific studies are totally true, when everyone knows that scientific studies are totally dependent on the special interest groups that fund them. Not to mention that science is changing on, like, a daily basis. So whatever study came out even yesterday has almost instantly become irrelevant.
    “I’ve been there,” I say, “with the broken heart thing. And so, um, I’m really sorry you’re having to go through that.” I’m starting to shuffle my feet backward, toward the door, because like I said, I don’t want to get involved in her drama. I’m searching my brain, trying to come up with something I can say to her, something that will be both poignant and helpfulbut also put an end to our conversation, when she slings her bag over her shoulder and pushes past me.
    “Yeah,” she says. “Me too.”
    “You’re welcome for checking on you!” I yell after her. But she’s already gone.
    •  •  •
     
    When I get to the office, the secretary has me wait, like, fifteen minutes before she lets me in to see Mr. Colangelo, which makes me a little bit annoyed, because I made sure to get here exactly on time.
    And when she finally does usher me into his office, Mr. Colangelo’s on the phone. He motions for me to sit down in one of the chairs in front of his desk while he finishes his phone call.
    After a lot of “mmm-hmmms” he finally says goodbye to whoever it is and hangs up. Which is pretty disappointing. I mean, the first chance I get to eavesdrop on a conversation that the principal is having, and it’s not even about anything good.
    “Hello,” he says, giving me an easy smile. He looks down at my file, which is sitting open on his desk. “So, Ms. Romano, what is it I can do for you today?”
    I wonder if he had to look at my file to remember my name. If so, that’s kind of rude. Especially since he didn’t even want to take this meeting in the first place. I had to have a big conversation with the secretary this morning, where I begged and pleaded and practically promised her my firstborn. By the end she definitely hated me. I don’t understand what it is with me and secretaries. Why do they all hate me? Maybe it’s becauseI’m focused and kind of pushy. But it’s not my fault I know what I want.
    “Well.” I smooth my list out on the top of my binder and look at Mr. Colangelo across the desk, being sure to make meaningful and focused eye contact. “I’d like to start an extracurricular club here at Concordia Public.”
    He looks down at my file. Which makes me nervous. Why does he keep doing that? And why does he have to have my file in here, anyway? More importantly, what exactly does it say? I wonder if I could get a copy if I wanted it. There must be some kind of law, like the Freedom of Information Act or something.
    “Hmm,” Mr. Colangelo says. He takes a sip of this disgusting-looking cup of coffee that’s probably been sitting there all day and is now totally stale. “I don’t see anything in your file that would preclude you from doing so.”
    Yay! “Well, that’s wonderful news,” I say.
    He’s closing my file now, and his eyes flick to the clock over the wall. Does that mean that we’re done here? Is it that easy? Is he