Here Lies Bridget Read Online Free PDF

there I was, putting on the familiar thinking cap spe-3 4
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    cifically designed for figuring out what the hell Liam meant by what he said.
    He told me to look out for you.
    Because she should get to know me, or because I am someone to avoid?
    I decided I would definitely have to use one of my other favorite techniques: bringing Liam up into every single conversation and asking what everyone else thought he might have meant.
    I had just decided to go to the nurse’s office because of imaginary cramps and say that I was really not able to stay the rest of the day when Brett popped up out of nowhere.
    “Hey, Bridget—ready for this test in NSL?”
    I always hated small talk about classes, particularly National, State and Local Government. Blech.
    “Ugh, Brett, what are you—” Wait. “What test?”
    “What
    test? ” He repeated my words with an entirely different inf lection, one that implied that I was very, very stupid.
    “The midterm, Bridget. You studied for it, right?”
    “No? When is it?”
    “Today, in like—” he looked at his watch—which, incidentally, looked like it was taken from the personal wardrobe of Inspector Gadget “—forty-six minutes.”
    He was still looking horrified at my unpreparedness.
    “How much is it worth?” I asked, feeling a little breathless.
    Today sucks, I thought.
    “Thirty percent, just like the final, and then the other forty percent is homework and the other quizzes and stuff.”
    Oh, no. I had gotten a D on the last quiz and forgotten about three homework assignments. On last week’s progress report I’d had a seventy-two percent in the class. I had to pass.
    “Brett, there’s no way I can study enough during this lunch 3 5
    period. You have to help me.” I said this last part like it was obvious.
    “I can’t help you study, Bridget, I have no time—”
    “No, not study, Brett, you have to help me during the test.”
    Technically, I was asking for a favor and, really, one shouldn’t treat the person she wants a favor from like he’s stupid. But Brett didn’t seem to notice. His expression just turned from worry for me to worry for himself.
    He understood exactly what I was saying. “I can’t, Bridget.
    If we got caught, I’d fail this test, then my grade would drop down to a sixty-six percent. I have to work really hard to keep my grades high enough to get into college.” He shook his head. “There’s no way.”
    “Oh, my God, we’re not going to get caught.” I had no idea if we’d get caught, but I tried to sound confident. “This’ll be so simple, she’ll never notice. Okay, are you right-handed?”
    “Yes?”
    “Okay, then you sit to my left, and I’ll sit behind Walco, he’s huge, Mrs. Remeley won’t be able to see me look at your paper. All you have to do is write really clearly and keep your paper diagonal toward me. It’ll be no problem, it’s how most people write, anyway.”
    He looked firm on his refusal. And then the obvious struck me.
    “Michelle. I’ll trade you Michelle!” I said it like I’d figured out the Da Vinci Code or something.
    Brett had had a totally annoying crush on Michelle since, like, first grade. She and I hadn’t really been friends yet at that age, but my mom knew her mom, so we played with each other. She used to get secret-admirer cards and letters. A fact I teased her about because I was positively green with envy, and resentful that no one sent any to me. Except for that one 3 6
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    I’d written to myself once, and claimed it was from resident cutie J.R.
    We didn’t know for sure who was writing them to her until one day in fifth grade, when I caught Brett in the cubby room writing one while everyone else was playing Heads Up Seven Up. I’d been cold and going to get my jacket when I found him.
    There he was, sitting in the corner with a piece of pink construction paper on his lap, writing in the boyish handwriting I recognized from all the other