Busted Read Online Free PDF Page A

“Um, yeah.”
    Brandon stares Zach down triumphantly, then smacks my back again. “Wow, and to think, all this time I thought you were a total loser.” He sweeps his arm across his body as though preaching to everyone present. “But you’ve shown us we need to be open-minded … Turns out, not every guy who plays the f lute is a complete fag.”
    It’s as close to a compliment as I’ve ever heard from Brandon, and even though I feel like I’ve just been adopted as the group’s geeky mascot, I can’t suppress a smile. I’m going get through this after all.
    Now all the guys except Zach are cheering and stamping again, and with my fears temporarily assuaged, I bob my head in time with their rhythmic clapping. The room hums with energy as Brandon reaches into his bag and presents me with a folder emblazoned with the words “Book of Busts.”
    â€œFor the record,” he whispers conspiratorially, confident that everyone is listening, “I’ll take care of Morgan Giddes. Word is, the chick’s a virgin, so she might need some special attention.”
    While Brandon silences the applause that follows his every announcement, I can’t help wondering what happened to Tiffany. But as no one else seems to be concerned with this particular detail, I figure there must be an explanation.
    â€œIn the meantime,” continues Brandon, “you can start with the measurements of that girl you hang out with … Abby, right? You must have had her a few times by now.”
    I want to believe I misheard him—but I know I heard him perfectly. My head stops bobbing and I begin hyperventilating. I feel like I’m about to pass out, but since that won’t do much for my new reputation, I bury my head in the folder instead.
    There’s not much inside—just a few pages reproducing the senior portraits of every girl in the class. And below each photo are spaces for her measurements: bust, waist, hips.
    Bust, waist, hips.
    Bust. Waist. Hips.
    Oh crap. The Book of Busts, in which are recorded the bust, waist, and hip sizes of every senior girl …
    I know I’m burning a peculiar shade of red right now, but I can’t help it. My body’s wired on adrenaline, my brain’s popping like static. One moment I’m calculating the distance to the door in case I decide to make a break for it, the next I’m considering if it’s too late to transfer schools. I try to refocus by turning away from the cheering throngs and staring out the window that overlooks the main corridor.
    As the guys serenade me with one last round of applause for not being the ignorant dork I actually am, Principal Jefferies passes along the corridor with Ms. Kowalski. Hearing the cheers, they stop to peer through the little window in the door, watching in surprise as I’m welcomed into Brandon’s hip fraternity.
    Jefferies nods approvingly, in stark contrast to Ms. Kowalski—who shakes her head disappointedly and quickly strides away.

5
    A s fate would have it, English with Ms. Kowalski is my first class after lunch. I hope that the past ten minutes have been enough time for her to suffer comprehensive short-term amnesia.
    Ms. Kowalski stands behind her desk, methodically scanning the class as it settles down like she’s weighing each student’s worth. It’s a study of extremes, that’s for sure. In this particular group, the brightest and the stupidest members of the senior class coexist in a state of barely concealed disdain, united only in their utter contempt for me. Which is why it’s just as well Ms. K is always on my side. At least, she usually is, but I keep waiting for her to make eye contact with me and she never does. I sense my foray into Brandon’s World is about to prove costly to my grade.
    â€œDo you all know about the Graduation Rituals?” she finally asks, fiddling nervously with her bangs.
    â€œOf