How To Be A Perfect Girl Read Online Free PDF Page A

“I play soccer.”
    “Really?” a girl a few feet away asked, “Are
you gonna try out for the team?”
    “Yeah. Of course.”
    “Cool, cool.” The girl nodded to herself.
“I’m on the team already. Have been for a year.”
    “Oh, that’s great!” Val exclaimed.
    Before she could say anything else, Mr.
Sharp cut her off, “Looks like it’s our turn for the locks, boys
and girls. Everybody take one.” He accepted a brown box from a
mousy looking teacher and set it on the floor, “And only one. Your
parents paid for ‘em, so there’s no need to worry about that. At
the end of the year it’s yours to keep.”
    Val was already standing, and so arrived at
the box first. She grabbed one of the silver locks; “You’ll want to
take off the card with the code, of course,” Mr. Sharp added. “Once
you have your lock, go into your locker room and put it on a
locker. You can choose whichever one you want, as long as it isn’t
on the bottom row—those are reserved for our sports teams. Please
don’t forget which locker you put your lock on; write it down on
the card with your code if you think it’ll help you remember.”
    The girls’ locker room was about the same
size as the one at Walker; a quick count of the number of lockers
revealed that there were enough for everyone in school to have one
of their own—or two, if they really wanted. Val was surprised they
would get to keep their locks, since Walker had insisted that
students return their locks at the end of each semester. Perhaps it
was another one of those public vs. private school things, or
perhaps it was just a Walker vs. Palm Lake thing. Maybe every high
school let students keep their locks, and it was only middle
schools that had to ask for them back each semester.
    The bell for the end of the class rang as
Val pulled the code card from her lock and found a pocket for it in
her bag, a large black satchel with purple trimming; it was large
enough to carry several books and binders.
    Next up on the Tuesday schedule was Italian
class; even though the classroom was a floor above Palm Lake’s gym,
and about as far away from it as possible, Val found it with two
minutes to spare. It didn’t hurt that a large portion of the
freshman class was headed to the same place; all she had to do was
find a few of her classmates headed in the right direction, and
follow them to Miss Wells’ room. The seats were arranged in two
groups, leaving a pathway down the center of the classroom.
    “Come in and sit where you like!” Miss Wells
beamed, “No assigned seats here. Sit with your friends or by
yourself. I won’t be offended.” She had a smile that made Valentina
want to smile too; it reminded her of her mother. “Oh, I love your
hair!” Miss Wells enthused, causing the whole class to turn and
look at the shy girl from Val’s algebra class. Her light brown hair
was arranged in curls that must’ve taken hours to organize.
“Thanks. I, uh, I like your hair too,” the girl said, in a voice
barely louder than a whisper.
    “Why, thank you! It’s not as beautiful as
yours, but I try!”
    The shy girl took a seat next to Val, and
smiled awkwardly by way of greeting; Val wasn’t sure if the girl
remembered her from earlier that morning. “Hi, I’m Val,” she held
out a hand.
    The shy girl accepted it, “Carrie
Turner.”
    Miss Wells swept to the head of the class,
red skirt billowing behind. “Welcome to your very first Italian
class! You’ll find that I don’t teach the ‘normal way’—I rely quite
a lot on speaking in Italian and actual exposure to the language.
After all, how can I tell if you know how to speak a language if
you never actually say a word in it?” It seemed like a valid
question. “Anyway, here are your syllabuses—or is it syllabi? I
never can remember. Oh well, grab one and pass the rest back.” Miss
Wells spoke rapidly; she barely paused for breath between words.
“Instead of reading the syllabi or syllabuses or