Devilish Read Online Free PDF Page A

aerosol can of French spring water with her to spray on the undersides of her wrists. I once spotted her in the second-floor bathroom between classes rubbing her knees with vitamin E oil. Lai was always putting drops in her eyes, the theory being that she needed to after clubbing in Boston all night. Maybe the weirdest—and boldest—was Tracey Pils, who was seen on numerous occasions putting Preparation H under her eyes. I have heard that professional models and pageant contestants do this because PH is the best antiinflammatory on the market. And I think Tracey was a pageant person once. But still. It takes a certain amount of confidence to be seen doing that.
    Being lizard-like, they were perfectly suited to this lung-deflating heat. I passed them on the way out the door after school, sitting all in a row on a concrete bench, passing around a tube of shea butter.
    “Hey, Jane,” Tracey said as I passed. “Come here a second.”
    I don’t like being ordered around, but I also didn’t feel like causing a scene by ignoring them and walking past. I compromised by stopping and moving a step or two closer so that I was within earshot but hadn’t actually gone all the way over to where they were sitting.
    “How’s Allison?” she asked. “We heard she was sick earlier.”
    It was said innocently. There was barely a trace of malice in that stone-white, heart-shaped face of hers. But just that they were asking was enough. The temptation to say something to her that would send her groveling back to the sinkhole she had obviously crawled out of was strong, but I remembered my lecture from earlier in the day. I needed to be moderate. My attacking Tracey wouldn’t help Ally.
    “Recovering,” I said, as breezily as I could.
    “Guess she didn’t manage to get a little, then?”
    “Yes, she did.”
    That wasn’t me who said that. The voice came from behind me. The lanky sophomore from the bathroom trailed up, thin and long as a shadow. Lanalee hooked around in front of me and squared off in front of the A3. Her rust-colored hair was hanging long and free now, all the waydown her back. She reminded me of one of those Renaissance women who got locked up in towers and had to let guys climb up their hair to rescue them.
    “I’m her little,” she said. As she spoke, she was casually unwrapping a Twinkie. She consumed this in three easy bites, snapping the golden crumbs off her fingers.
    “Who are
you
?” Elise said, taking in Lanalee in a long and totally undisguised up-and-down glance.
    “Lanalee Tremone. I just transferred here from Bobbin.”
    All three of them looked surprised at that one. Bobbin was the best school in the area. It had the highest population of celebrities’ kids anywhere outside of New York or LA, and it was famous for its “make your own curriculum” policy. Bobbin students started their own businesses or went to live on goat farm communes in France or staged massive art installations where they all got naked and painted each other’s bodies with condiments. It was about as different from St. Teresa’s Preparatory School for Girls as it was possible to get. Going to Bobbin instantly made you interesting.
    “Why are you here if you went to
Bobbin
?” Tracey asked.
    “I got into a little trouble there. My great-grandparents thought I needed a
more structured environment
, and they were paying the bill.”
    This caused a bit of visible doubt in their eyes.
    “What house did you live in at Bobbin?” Lai asked.
    “Walker.”
    “Walker? I partied at Walker!” Lai leaned forward. “Do you know Paul Weller?”
    “Tall Paul? Yeah. He lived in the room on the corner.”
    “You know Alex Rye?” Lai asked, her eyebrow arching.
    “Rye? He ended up blowing the door off of his room last year doing a
science experiment
of a very illegal nature.”
    “Allesandra Fuller?”
    “Look, do you want to borrow my face book so you can look these people up?” Lanalee said. “I’m not sure
you
actually