Broken Monsters Read Online Free PDF Page B

aftershave he always wore for special occasions. She feels a burn of nostalgia for that little kid and that happy family.
    “Later,” Dor says now, kicking away.
    “Bye,” she says, going for casual disdain, which seems to work on boys like him, along with lots of eyeliner. And tits. And being three years older, and not such a colossal dork. God, she’s so screwed.
    Her mother is watching her in the rear-view mirror, with that little crease tugging downwards at the corner of her mouth, the one that didn’t used to be there. It’s a PD thing. “You know, there are studies that show—”
    “Yeah, yeah, I know, Mom. Weed corrodes the brain, I’m gonna be sorry when the only job I can get is flipping burgers. Or worse. End up po-lice.”
    “Sure wouldn’t want that,” her mother says mildly, but Layla knows she got to her by the way she pulls away, jerking the steering wheel into a hard U-turn toward the freeway.
    “I had a weird case today,” she says. Opening gambit. Layla’s not falling for it. She engages super-surly mode from the drop-down menu of emotional options in her head.
    “I wish you wouldn’t talk to my friends.”
    “Don’t worry. The feeling’s mutual. Dorian, anyway. I like Cas, though.”
    “And don’t rate them either. This isn’t the friend Olympics. They don’t get a score out of ten.”
    “Do you want to walk home?”
    “Dorian could have given me a ride.”
    “I suppose he is cute, in that deadbeat stoner way.”
    “Mom!” Layla dies inside. If it’s that transparent to her mother, then the whole world knows. Which means it’s obvious to Dorian as well, and that’s too hideous to contemplate.
    “All right, all right. Truce. I bought you some lipgloss.”
    “Swell,” Layla says. She sits up, pulls out her phone and starts typing a text to Cas.
    >Lay: Finally! 3 HOURS late!
    >Cas: More time for loooo-oooobe with Dorian
    >Lay: Excuse me?!?
    >Cas: Aaargh! Loooooove. Love! Not lube! Autocorrect.
    >Lay: Freud much?
    >Cas: :) :) :)
    “I had to use some of it,” her mother says. “Hope you don’t mind.”
    “Mom, this stuff’s a con. It dehydrates your skin so you have to keep applying it.”
    But the thought of the soft, sweet slick of the gloss is suddenly very appealing. She presses her lips together to see how dry they are. Pretty dry. She runs her tongue along the edge of her incisors, which makes her super-aware of how her teeth are part of her skull. She feels a little queasy at the thought of the exposed bone, right there in the open. The inside out. She drags her mind back to the last thing her mom said through the warm blur of the weed. Lipgloss. Right. “What flavor is it?”
    “Cherry. Don’t you want to know what I used it for?”
    “Putting on your lips?” Layla says. Drop-down menu: maximum sarcasm.
    “To cover the smell of a body.”
    “That doesn’t work. I saw it on the crime channel. Anyway, gross. I don’t want to hear about some dead person.”
    >Lay: Disgusting cop stories #Yay #notyay
    >Cas: U like it
    >Lay: Little bit
    “You sure? Not even the part where I punked the rookie? Who, unlike you, does not watch the crime channel.”
    “If you’re so desperate to talk about it, go ahead.”
    “I shouldn’t tell you. It was messed up.”
    “Or don’t. Whatever. I’m not your therapist.”
    “I’ll give him this. He turned green, but he didn’t spew.”
    “That’s pretty cold, Mom.”
    >Lay: OMG. She’s SO immature
    “Poor guy. Guess he should watch more TV.” She turns thoughtful. Enough for Layla to lower the phone. “Poor kid, too.”
    “It was a kid?”
    “Like I said, it was messed up.” Her mother glides away from the conversation like Dorian on his skateboard.
    >Lay: Shit. Dead kid
    >Cas: What! What!?!?!?!? All the deets. I wantz them
    >Lay: Later
    “Someone I know?”
    “I don’t think so, baby. And you know we don’t talk shop.”
    “I thought we just were.”
    “Yeah, I know. That was indiscreet of me.”
    “So