Dreaming of Antigone Read Online Free PDF Page B

pretty sure my sister didn’t choose to die. Not that we’ll ever know for sure, but what fate would she have been trying to avoid? She had it pretty good until the drugs got out of control. She had an adoring group of friends, a hot boyfriend, a driver’s license, and a wicked car our parents bought for her. Decent grades and a few trophies for playing soccer on a championship team. She was healthy. Normal.
    But now I wonder. What did she believe? Did she believe her life was hopeless? Did she think drugs were a way to escape something she didn’t think she could handle anymore? If so, Iris, why couldn’t I have changed your mind?
    There is no happy ending in this story, I write across the top of my Antigone notes.
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    Exhausted and hungry and depressed, I drag my butt into the library after class to beg and plead for Verla’s extra-credit assignment. I don’t think it will be any problem sorting through old books of poetry. If I don’t bring my English grade up to a C or better, my parents won’t let me take the driving test, seizure-free or not.
    Someone else is talking to Verla in the tiny office behind her desk. I hop up onto the desk to wait, looking at one of the books she has lying there.
    Robert Frost. I’m flipping through the pages, reading about fire and ice and snow and stars, when they come out of the office.
    â€œOh, Andria,” Verla is saying. “I’m glad you’re here too. This will be your extra-credit partner.”
    I don’t have to look up to know who it is. My luck sucks that way.
    Alex Hammond drops his book bag on the floor and steals the book from my hands.
    Of course it’s him.
    I glare at Verla. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet. Do I have to work with him?”
    She looks from one of us to the other, startled. I see in her eyes the moment she realizes what she’s done. She’s heard the whispers and the rumors. This is the boy who killed my sister. She takes the stack of books in her arms and cradles them close to her chest. “I don’t see how we can do this any other way. We’ve got to get these books cataloged by the end of next week. I’ll need both of you here after school every day from three thirty to six.”
    Alex glances up from the book at me, but says nothing. He’s daring me to chicken out. I glare right back. “How much extra credit are we talking about?”
    Verla leans against the counter. “Your teacher has promised two 100s that count as test grades.”
    That would definitely help erase the 47. “No problem, Miss V,” I say.
    She breathes a visible sigh of relief. “Great. If you can make arrangements to start this afternoon, that would be wonderful.”
    â€œI’d have to call,” I say. I’ll need a ride home, but I’ll be damned if I mention that in front of Alex.
    â€œI’m good.” Alex holds on to the Robert Frost book and follows Verla to a computer station and a stack of plastic containers filled with the donated poetry collection.
    I send a message to my mom and tuck my phone back in my purse. I’m already dreading the ride home. I’ll have to listen to her lecture me about my English grades.
    By the time I catch up with Alex and Verla, she’s showing him the catalog system on the computer. “Each book will need to be entered into the system,” she’s saying. “Title, author, publisher, pub date, ISBN number.” She’s pointing to a long line of numbers in one of the front pages of the book in her hand.
    Alex moves over so I can see better.
    â€œOnce you have the book in the database, you can print out the barcode sticker and attach it to the corner of the front cover.” She glances up at the tiny label printer and frowns. “I seem to be missing a cable. Well, you can still type in the information while I hunt one down. Once you’re done with these crates, there are