What Curiosity Kills by Helen Ellis Read Free Book Online Page B

eyes flash from her to Nick and then rest on me. She asks, "Ling Ling Lebowitz, what business is this of yours?"
      "My boyfriend's my business!"
      Nick doesn't deny it.
      Coach says, "I don't care if you two are Mr. and Mrs. Dr. Phil. This is my gym!"
      I don't hear what either Coach or Ling Ling says after that. Or what Nick doesn't say. The dress-out bell rings. I head toward the locker room. At the door, other girls crowd behind me. They want me to move faster, so I do. But it's really something else that compels me forward. That something is so enticing, I forget about Nick and what we just shared.

chapter seven

    There is a smell you wouldn't expect coming from the locker room. I'm not going to describe the additional smells you would expect. If you're not home-schooled, you can list the smells for yourself.
      Girls rush past me as I stand motionless, sniffing, trying to identify what the special smell is. We have fifteen minutes to change before our next class. Marjorie grabs a clean towel from the cubbies and tosses it to me. I toss the towel to Mags because I am not stripping off these knee socks to jump in the communal shower.
      Octavia has a free period after gym. She sits on a bench to wait for the rest of our class to clear out so she can shower in private. No one at Purser-Lilley, including me, has ever seen her bare torso. Freshman year, Ling Ling got detention for saying that my sister had Thug Life tattooed across her stomach. Octavia didn't dignify the accusation with a response or raise her camisole to prove it wrong, but I could tell she was hurt. So, she's super self-conscious about her body—so what? That's not the worst thing in the world. I join her in front of our lockers.
    I ask, "Don't you smell that?"
      "Smell what? Your pheromones? What was up with you and Nick?"
      I ignore her. I don't want to talk about him. Even if I did, I couldn't. The smell in here is too distracting. "It smells herbal, like one of Mom's poisons."
      Octavia stares at me with either impatience or worry. "I don't smell anything."
      I wave my cupped hand under my nose.
      Octavia pinches hers. She says, "Eau de B.O."
      "We're sitting on top of it."
      "It's your socks."
      "It's not my socks." I cross my ankle over my knee, bend forward, and take a whiff to make sure. My sweaty socks don't smell good, but they're not what I'm after. I sit up. "It's coming from one of the lockers."
      Steam filters through our small alleyway of narrow metal doors. Soon, the alley will be jam-packed with girls in their underwear. Deodorant, lotion, and perfume will be applied and overpower the mystery scent I am compelled to root out. I lean forward and press my nose to the nearest locker grate.
      "That's my locker, Nancy Drew."
      I scoot over and press my nose to another locker. I smell cigarettes. Which one of my classmates sneaks smokes on the side? I scoot again and smell Listerine. Who has gingivitis? I hear one of the squeaky shower knobs turn off. I scoot farther and smell "deodorized" tampons and pads. Girls' voices grow clearer as less and less water runs to drown them out. I scoot yet again and smell more sanitary stuff. The other girls will be back any second. I'm running out of options. As I press my nose to the grate of the last locker, I nearly tumble off the end of the bench.
      I've found it.
      Whatever the odor is, it is rich, earthy, and intoxicating. I want to spread it out on the floor like an emptied suitcase full of money and roll around in it so I can bask in it all day long. Purser-Lilley uses the honor code, which means no locks on our lockers. When I pull up the handle and stick my hands inside to grope for the source, Octavia gasps. So does everyone else who has come back in time to see me try to steal from Ling Ling.
      Don't worry—she's not standing right behind me. Fortysome witnesses are dramatic enough. Ling Ling's still on the defunct basketball court with