Liv, Forever Read Online Free PDF Page A

followed the sounds of Katy Perry or some other piercing pop singer who didn’t belong in this house. It was like a museum, exquisitely preserved. The beds were made perfectly. Pillows fluffed. There was even a crystal tumbler on the bedside table in the master bedroom. Behind what looked to be a closet door I found another set of stairs, long and narrow. Finally I came to a small circular room where the music was loudest. It was painted a deep dark red, but most of the walls were lined with books. As I stepped inside, the door slammed behind me.
    When I turned, there was no door.
    I was surrounded on all sides by curved, floor-to-ceiling bookcases. My pulse quickened. I banged on book spines. I could see the faintest outline of a door, but there was no latch or handle, no way out. I yelled for help and grabbedat the books, seeing if one might be a secret lever, but they all just slipped off the shelf into my hands. The song kept blaring—something about a party—and I couldn’t take it anymore.
    I found the spot in the room where the song blasted loudest. I seized books and threw them to the floor, completely ignoring the fact they seemed quite old and precious. Finally, there it was, underneath a vintage copy of
Paradise Lost
: an iPhone. I flipped off the song (it
was
Katy Perry), breathed in the silence, then realized I was holding something that might be useful.
    I quickly navigated through the phone. Jackpot: it belonged to Abigail Steers. I checked her phone favorites. I saw Mom, selected it, and put it on speaker phone.
    “Abigail,” I yelled, “I’m calling your mother!” But the phone immediately lost signal. I’d forgotten you can’t really make a call at Wickham Hall.
    “How about I read a text exchange instead? Let’s see,” I quickly glanced over her texts to find something juicy. “Here’s one about someone named Malcolm …”
    An instant later, the hidden door swung open, and Abigail stormed in with several others—some of the girls from the dorm and that smiling blond guy from the dance. She snatched the phone from my hand and snapped at me, “What are you doing in here?! You’re not allowed in here. This is a private room!”
    “Are you serious? You invited me … I think you
know
what I’m doing in here!”
    She looked astonished by my accusation, an almost convincing performance.
    “And, let me guess,” I added. “It’s a Wickham Hall tradition.” I turned and stormed out. At least the anger had trampled my tears.
    As I ran down the final flight of stairs, I noticed him slumped on the bottom step. I could tell from behind it was Malcolm. You couldn’t mistake his messy-haired silhouette. Seeing him, I could feel my emotions starting to rise up, so I gathered speed and blasted right past.
    “Hey, wait!” he yelled.
    But I kept running. I could hear that blond guy yelling after him. “Astor, what are you doing?! We have a meeting!”
    Malcolm was running after me, but I didn’t look back. I ran as fast as I could through what was, by then, darkness. When it seemed I’d lost him, I slowed down, catching my breath, but then tripped over a small headstone and wiped out right onto another one. I hadn’t even realized I was back in the cemetery. When I turned over, a figure towered above me. He was there.
    I stood, dusted myself off, and turned away from him. “Just go
away
!”
    “I wasn’t part of that. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
    I turned back to face him. “Then what were you doing there? With your friends?”
    He was silent. So I started to walk away again.
    “I can’t talk about it,” he said after me.
    I kept walking. He ran ahead to get in front of me. He put his hands on my shoulders, stopping me. “I’m not just saying that. I really cannot talk about it. There’s an oath involved.”
    “Of course there is,” I snapped. He laughed at that. And so did I, surprisingly. “But seriously, this place—is it all traditions and pledges and oaths?