Bad Girls in Love Read Online Free PDF Page B

amazement that they had never before noticed how cool he was.
    After a few long seconds, real clapping began.
    Shawn Macavity let it go on for the perfect length of time—a slow count to four, or ten, or fifteen—before he smiled, a smile that fell over them like sunshine, no more concerned with them than sunshine is. Then he bowed elaborately, with abroad flourish of his arm, bowed deeply from the waist, like a prisoner about to be executed by a firing squad because he wouldn’t reveal the names of the other members of his resistance group. “Don’t shoot!” you wanted to cry out, or like Pocahontas with John Smith, run up and throw yourself in front of him, to save him, or to die beside him.
    Because Shawn Macavity was handsome. He had dark, dark hair, and skin as white as marble, and bright blue eyes. His nose hooked out, like on an ancient Roman coin. This was the same nose that got him teased when he was younger, like last fall, before everybody could see what a great nose it was, which today they did. When Shawn Macavity smiled carelessly at them from up on the stage, the whole room got brighter and the girls who had boyfriends were sorry. He was so tall—five nine or ten, at least—and so skinny that you worried he wasn’t eating enough. He was so confident, and mocking, that you were afraid he’d never look twice at you.
    The applause continued on after Shawn’s deep bow, as if it had forgotten it was supposed to stop.
    Mikey wasn’t applauding. For once she had nothing to say. Margalo would have said something to Mikey about her silence, but as the applause was finally dying down Ms. Larch called out one last name—
    But there were no more parts in the play—
    But the name was hers.
    â€œStand up, Margalo Epps, and let everyone get a look at you. You’re not shy, are you?”
    Furious, Margalo stood up. What was Ms. Larch calling on her for? Loam! Compost! Topsoil! This wasn’t fair, nobody had warned her, and she hoped her face didn’t give away what she was thinking.
    â€œMargalo is going to be my assistant director,” Ms. Larch announced. Her dark, dramatically outlined eyes and hoarse, low voice made this a really big announcement. Nobody applauded or said anything. They waited to hear what made it so big. People in the audience turned their attention back to the stage, so only the five people onstage were still staring at Margalo.
    Furious, she sat down. She didn’t want to be the subject of any big announcement, and especially not of any big unexpected announcement. “What—,” she started to ask Mikey, and then, “Assistant director?”
    But Mikey was lost in thought. Or lost in dreams. Or just lost, lost in place.
    Ms. Larch concluded, throwing her arms out wide, with a rippling of scarves and a falling free of hair, “I am very enthusiastic about this wonderful play with these wonderful actors.” She raised her arms above her head and smiled proudly down on everyone, until they started clapping again, so that she would be satisfied enough to leave the stage and let them get on with their lives.
    After that Mr. Saunders dismissed them. The audience got up, in a hurry to leave because they were getting five extra minutes of free time before classes started. Talking, shoving, people crowded into the wide aisles.
    But Mikey sat.
    Like a bump on a log. Like she’d been beaned with a bat. Like a pet rock, a scoop of mashed potatoes, a dead body.
    Unlike any Mikey Elsinger that Margalo had ever seen.
    As people streamed out of the auditorium the air filled with the sounds of voices and footsteps. Still, Mikey didn’t move.
    Could Mikey be having a blood clot? Margalo wondered. She was too young for a stroke, wasn’t she?
    It was as if Mikey had been changed into something entirely different from her usual self, magicked away (but Margalo didn’t believe in magic) or stolen out of herself by