From a Dream: Darkly Dreaming Part I Read Online Free PDF

severe bun, always wore high-necked, ankle-length dresses that looked like they were from the Old West. She also had a voice that resembled nails on a chalkboard. Having her for first period was punishment for a crime I had committed in a past life, I was sure. Sean, who was taking Calculus, told me that Mr. Aguilera threw candy to the students when they got answers right—instead of rapping on desks with a pointer and yelping “ Wake up !” like Ms. Kluman did to the kids who couldn’t stay awake in my first period.
    Lucky for me, math passed by uneventfully. Ms. Kluman didn’t even rap on anyone’s desk. Second period was Health Sciences, which I didn’t mind. I was doing pretty well, but Mr. Morgan didn’t exactly strain himself preparing the lesson plans. The material was straight out of the book, making it easy enough to keep up by simply reading the chapters. Taking AP History and AP English was my way of making up for the fact that I wasn’t taking Physics or AP Calculus.
    During nutrition, I studied my notes from History, determined to return to my typical state of invisibility by paying attention to Mr. Anderson’s questions instead of staring out the window. His lectures were actually pretty entertaining when I could keep myself from being lulled to sleep by the rain outside, but my favorite class at Winters was Ms. Gilbert’s third period AP English class, mostly because it allowed me to spend my time reading. I could tell that For Whom the Bell Tolls was going to end tragically—mainly because most great literature had a sad ending, in my experience at least. In fact, I was already trying to guess the ending, and I was almost sure the characters I cared about were going to die.
    It wasn’t that I wasn’t enjoying the book, but I always found myself getting too involved with authors’ fictional characters, like they were real people I knew. As a result, my moods tended to reflect whatever I was reading. I wanted Hemingway’s serious young idealist, Robert Jordan, to make it out of Spain alive even though I knew the chances were slim. The thought of Hemingway’s character dying bothered me more than it should have.
    For the first half of the day, I had managed to keep my thoughts trained on school, tuning out any lingering creepiness from the day before. When I got to fourth period, I made a vow to pay attention and avoid getting lulled into a trance by the rain. Sean was already sitting a few rows over. I wouldn’t have minded sitting next to him, but given Mr. Anderson’s fondness for alphabetical seating, Sean sat behind Allison Monroe. Several seats in my row remained empty, which I didn’t mind at all.
    As the classroom grew noisier, I concentrated on keeping my eyes off the windows. With my textbook opened to chapter four, I waited for the second bell. Mr. Anderson was just beginning to write a few dates on the board when an excited murmuring began to spread from the back of the classroom. I turned in my seat, mildly curious.
    From where I sat, I could just make out the frizzy red hair of Ms. Gerber, the guidance counselor who always wore horn-rimmed glasses and mid-calf plaid skirts like she was trying to resurrect the 1950s. She had her back to the door and appeared to be talking to someone. When she turned, her expression was flustered. It almost looked like she was blushing. Strange—she usually never left her office. On my first day at Winters, she had acted like I had pissed in her Cheerios when I had told her I wanted to take AP U.S. History. It had taken her all of an extra minute to switch my Health Sciences period, but I remembered thinking that the guidance part of her job title was a little misleading.
    “Yoo-hoo, Mr. Anderson, could I have a word?”
    Mr. Anderson took off his glasses and turned, sighing when he saw Ms. Gerber. As he walked out into the hallway, I tried to listen to their conversation, but the classroom had already erupted into a dozen different conversations.