Bad Girls Don't Die Read Online Free PDF

the desk. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him take a self-conscious step backward and felt a pang of guilt.
    “I should get to class,” Carter said. He patted a stack of papers on the desk and leaned down a tiny bit toward the nurse. “I’ve done my civic duty.”
    Civic duty? Was he just using me as a cog in the oppressive machinery of the white male hierarchy? A line on his college application? Part three of a Boy Scout badge?
    To think I almost felt sorry for him. All so he could enjoy the smug satisfaction of being a good citizen, get into a fancy university, become a lawyer, and help sleazy rich guys dump toxic waste wherever they felt like it.
    He looked at me. “If there’s anything I can—”
    “There’s not,” I said.
    The breezy look on his face faltered.
    “Stop.” My head was starting to throb, and my mood was souring by the moment. “I can take care of myself.”
    Everyone was quiet. The second hand on the old wall clock was the only sound.
    “Just go to class,” I said.
    “You’re the boss,” he said, touching his finger to his forehead in a tiny salute.
    Then he disappeared.

O N MY WALK HOME FROM SCHOOL I heard a car horn and looked around for the honker, even though not once in my entire high school career had someone honked for me.
    The responsible party was Carter Blume, in all his J. Crew glory, driving a shiny green Prius. He pulled up next to me, and the passenger window rolled down with a happy hum.
    “Can I give you a ride home?” he asked.
    I leaned down to look at him across the car, but didn’t answer.
    He shifted into park. “Hi,” he said. “How’s the skull?”
    “I have a bump,” I said. “But I got some sweet aspirin out of the deal.”
    “Seems like they’d at least let you sleep through one class when you’ve been knocked in the head”—he paused—“by an evil Young Republican.”
    “They like it when kids get minor head injuries. They think it builds character.”
    He nodded. “Glad to see I didn’t knock any of the pink out of your hair.”
    I reached up to brush a strand of hair off my forehead and winced when I touched the lump.
    “Please let me drive you home,” he said again. “It’s really the least I can do.”
    “You mean it’s Section Four of your ‘How to Be a Good Citizen’ handbook?”
    He scrunched up his forehead.
    “Don’t worry,” I said. “You’ve completely fulfilled your civic duty .”
    His eyes widened. “No—that was a joke. You didn’t think I really meant it, did you?”
    I didn’t answer.
    “Trust me,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “There are a lot easier ways to serve my community than dealing with you.”
    Hmmph. Young Republicans have weird senses of humor.
    “As a personal favor,” he said. “Please let me drive you home.”
    All right, then. Fine.
    I sighed and opened the door. “You’re the boss.”
    “What if your friend sees you?” he asked. “Are you willing to deal with the consequences?”
    “Oh, please. I am not afraid of the Doom Squad,” I said.
    “That’s an excellent name for them,” Carter said, smiling. “Maybe we can arrange a rumble between the Young Republicans and the Doom Squad.” He shifted into drive. “So where do you live?”
    I pointed down the street. “Three houses down, the one with the yellow shutters.”
    He laughed. “I guess I have bad timing.”
    “Yeah, well,” I said. “You seemed pretty determined. I hated to disappoint you.”
    He pulled into my driveway and put the car in park again.
    “Wow,” he said, looking up at the house.
    Our house is pretty cool, I must admit. It’s the oldest house on the block—probably the oldest one in town. It’s big and ornate, with elaborate details everywhere—not just shingles, but little scalloped pieces of wood, and not just columns holding things up, but arches connecting the columns—that kind of thing.
    The oak tree in the front yard adds to the effect. It’s enormous and gnarled; it hangs over the