Bad Girls in Love Read Online Free PDF

doesn’t make me want to leave town. He reminds me of Piglet.”
    â€œSweet and helpless.”
    â€œBut nobody could be that innocent in eighth grade,” Mikey decided.
    â€œSomebody two years younger could be.”
    â€œMudpies, Margalo. Remember us in sixth grade?”
    Margalo didn’t bother arguing. Besides, Mikey was right. So Hadrian was pretending, up there, acting his part, and nobody doubted him—and that was a curious thing, now that she thought of it. If Hadrian Klenk could act, that meant he could probably lie, too—curiouser and curiouser.
    â€œI wish I had gotten the part,” Margalo said to Mikey. “You could have told me what I look like, up on stage.”
    â€œI can tell you now: like a beanpole. An overdressed, underfed beanpole.” Then Mikey had a better idea. “Or a praying mantis. Have you ever heard what they do to their mates?”
    Margalo jabbed at her twice with a bony elbow, once for beanpole , once for overdressed .
    â€œThey eat them,” Mikey said.
    Margalo jabbed again and caught her in the ribs.
    â€œAfter,” Mikey said.
    Jab.
    â€œStarting at the head,” Mikey concluded, blocking the last jab with her arm.
    At this point Ms. Larch emptied the stage, sending theseven actors back to their seats before she announced the final four parts, the four biggest roles. First she called Melissa Martinez, who had dark eyes and long brown hair. Melissa had many wanna-be boyfriends in the eighth grade, even though the rumor was that she already had one, from summer camp. There was a lot of applause and a few whistles for Melissa, who curtsied shyly.
    Next, Ms. Larch called Timothy Farmer, a quiet, round-headed, blushing boy, the kind of boy who would never even dare to think about having a crush on Melissa. Margalo thought that they must be playing the young couple, and that maybe Ms. Larch was someone who knew how to pick the right people for a play.
    â€œAimi Hearn, you’re next,” Ms. Larch called, and stepped forward to hold out her hand to the tall, dark-skinned girl who had taken Margalo’s part. Aimi approached the stage and ascended the stairs, like a model or a queen or a dancer, with her long back straight, her head high, proud.
    â€œWhat do you know about her?” Mikey whispered to Margalo.
    â€œNot much. She keeps to herself. She plays baseball.”
    â€œYou mean softball.”
    â€œShe looks like she might be interesting,” Margalo said just as Ms. Larch summoned up the last member of her cast.
    â€œShawn Macavity. Show your face up here, young Shawn.”
    Who? Shawn who? For a minute, nobody remembered any Shawn Macavity.
    An uneasy silence rose up from the gathered seventh and eighth graders, who turned to their friends in puzzlement, then looked around to figure out who this person might turn out to be, to see who was getting up and starting down the aisle.
    Ms. Larch started clapping her hands to fill the silence, and Mr. Saunders joined in, and a few of the students, too, the kind of people who always clap first and ask questions later. But the clapping faded quickly as a boy came striding down the center aisle, a dark-haired, long-legged boy in black jeans and a pale, old blue work shirt. He took the steps two at a time, nodded briefly to Ms. Larch, and then turned to face the audience.
    They started to remember. “Oh, yeah, him.” “Didn’t he used to wear glasses?” “He’s in my math class.” “He never says a word in class.” “I think he was in my grade school—but never in my section.” “Who’s he hang out with?”
    Shawn Macavity could barely keep from laughing as he looked down at everybody and saw how surprised they were. Surprised, and amazed, and stunned, too. He wasn’t surprised. He had expected to see just what he was seeing, first surprise and then—the expressions changing—almost immediately,