Ferocity Summer Read Online Free PDF Page B

out to the dock. They hadn’t bothered to bring bathing suits, and the one girl had ditched both her shirt and her bra before getting in the water. I watched her run around on the dock, her pale breasts glowing in the moonlight. She looked cold, carefree, and completely drunk, and I wished I could be her instead of me.
    Somewhere behind me, I heard a couple of boys talking about something. I heard the word “ferocity” mentioned a few times and tried to listen harder. I couldn’t make any sense of the conversation.
    I think that’s about when I knew it was going to be my shittiest summer ever, as impossible as that seemed.

June
    P riscilla, Mr. Berm informs me that you are failing history,” Ms. Shirley, my guidance counselor, said.
    I sat across from her wearing my best Dutiful Student face. It wasn’t easy. There was a week left of school but my mind had already gone on vacation.
    Shirley’s office was bursting with motivational posters, plaques, and knickknacks. I imagined she had some sort of insatiable craving for the crap. I pictured her at a flea market, unable to resist a faded and worn copy of the Serenity poster. She probably had to avoid office supply stores altogether in case she accidentally came across a display of those encouragement posters.
    â€œYou don’t seem surprised,” Shirley said. She glared at me through her oversized glasses. It was no real shock that she wasn’t married. I wondered if she had been laid any time in the past decade.
    â€œIt’s only history,” I said. “I’m passing everything else.”
    â€œYou won’t graduate next year if you don’t get a passing grade. I spoke to Mr. Berm. He said you could make up your work in summer school.” She made it sound like she had done me a big favor. Does the world really need guidance counselors? They never seem to provide the guidance we really need.
    What I wanted to say to her was, My friend’s trying to poison herself with drugs, I can’t maintain a normal romantic relationship to save my life, and there’s a very strong possibility I might have to go to jail for killing someone. What should I do, oh great guidance provider?
    Instead I said, “I can’t go to summer school. I have to work. I need the money.”
    â€œWell, dammit, Priscilla, maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to stop going to history class.”
    I hadn’t completely stopped going. I was sure I’d been there at least once that week. And it wasn’t like I had any issues with Mr. Berm, except for his stupid alphabetical seating chart that forced me to sit directly next to Joe Bullock. Was it surprising that I preferred to hide in the media center rather than sit there and put up with Joe’s stupid comments?
    â€œWell, you’ll have to talk to Mr. Berm yourself, then,” Shirley said. “And for godsakes, drop the attitude.”
    I glanced around the room for something that displayed this particular sentiment, because I thought it was a sort of a catchy one, but no such luck. Most of them were way more flowery.

    Berm’s office was as cluttered as Shirley’s but it seemed to lack any real theme. Most teachers didn’t even get their own office, but he was head mucky-muck of history and was therefore awarded a small and cramped room probably designed as a supply closet. I had nothing against Berm or history in general, other than the fact that of all school subjects, it seemed to be the least relevant.
    â€œYou know, Davis,” Berm said, “I think I had your mother as a student here a long time ago.”
    â€œMy mother didn’t go to school here.”
    â€œJenny Davis. Well, she looked like you at least.” Berm glanced past me, at something infinitely more fascinating on the bookshelf behind me.
    â€œUm, Ms. Shirley said that I was failing and that I needed to talk to you about making up some work, but