Exile Read Online Free PDF Page B

calling “Nooo!” in slow motion.
    Somewhere else, Postcards from Ariel and Ethan Myers are on the road doing God-knows-what.
    Here, now, I am saying:
    “Okay.”
    Caleb smiles. I thought it might be victorious, but actually, he just looks relieved.
    “Come on.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
    HarperCollins Publishers
    ..................................................................
4
    Formerly Orchid @catherinefornevr 3m
So bummed to be in calculus right now!!
    For the first few moments after leaving school, across the sidewalks, through the main parking lot, I keep looking over my shoulder, expecting alarms to go off or for someone to come running out after us. Another part of Catherine’s cover story is her near-perfect attendance, and so this feels like breaking cover.
    But nothing happens; the sky remains blue; the birds chirp; the school’s doors stay closed.
    “You know seniors are allowed to go off campus for lunch, right?” says Caleb.
    Actually, I’d forgotten that. We’ve only been seniors for four hours. “This isn’t lunch period, though.”
    “Well, no, but, since we missed lunch, we’re nowapplying critical thinking to a situation. Isn’t that what they’re always telling us to do?”
    I smile. “Sure.”
    Neither of us adds anything, and then ten seconds go by . . . then thirty . . . and then, uh-oh, somehow we’ve been walking for almost a full minute in silence. For someone who just invited me on a school-skipping date, I expect Caleb to be chatty, but now it’s getting awkward. We’ve exited the school parking lot and still nothing. One of us will need to say something important to justify breaking the world’s longest silence—
    “What bands do you like?” Caleb finally asks.
    Phew. We talk bands, comparing notes as we weave through the labyrinth of strip mall that stands between us and Taquitas, which itself is part of an outdoor food court. My parents have described a time when Mount Hope was a quaint town with something called “charm.” At some point, though, the town decided to allow a series of factory outlet stores in. The kinds of places that have last season’s seconds perpetually on sale. The kinds of places that make you think: Does the world really need this much everything ?
    After that it was like a zombie breakout, one block affecting the next. There is still one strip of downtown that’s “historic,” with a single art-house movie theater and an old Spanish mission and a chrome diner called Smackie’s, but—no joke—if you want to meet your friend to shopfor sweaters at, say, J.Crew, you have to specify which one (there are three).
    It’s far too hot to be wearing my denim-hoodie combo. I push up my sleeves and tie back my hair, feeling sweat breaking out on my neck and forehead, my cheeks getting red. Nice look. A skirt would have been good. Sandals. But dates were not on the first-day-of-school schedule! And besides, manager Summer doesn’t dress up for business. Then again, I’d vowed never to let my heart hammer again during business hours, and here it is, hammering away.
    We find common ground on Arcade Fire, Passion Pit, Deathcab, Particle Board. Our first big disagreement comes as we wait in line to order from the window, over Radiohead. “They haven’t made anything good since OK Computer ,” I say.
    “Tuh,” says Caleb. “Everything they’ve made that’s good has been since OK Computer . That’s when they started acting like a real rock band, not giving a crap about what anyone thinks.”
    “But they don’t write songs anymore.” As I say this, I wonder if it’s my opinion or Ethan’s. Radiohead was a band he got me into. Now here I am acting intelligent about them. Except I do know them. Except it feels like I’m faking it. Oh my God, stop worrying!
    “They already wrote some of the greatest songs in music history.” Caleb runs his finger through the air. “Check.Their newer music is like a trip into a