Love? Maybe. Read Online Free PDF Page B

spending my afternoon with Lucy and Dom, I have to spend lunch in detention.
     
    “Ouch,” Claire says. “Sorry.”
     
    I shrug and try to be cavalier about it. “No big. Maybe I’ll finally get caught up on my homework.”
     
    She nods. “I’ll grab you something from the caff,” she says. “Sushi?”
     
    “Burger,” I say.
     
    “Your mother would be shocked.” She smiles the tiniest bit when she says it. My mother is a well-known health nut.
     
    Thinking less of my mother and more of my last three “meals”—peanut butter, bacon, and a cinnamon roll—I amend my order. “Veggie burger and carrot sticks.”
     
    “Enjoy The Pit.”
     
    I snort. Not one of my more ladylike characteristics. “Not likely,” I say.
     
    Claire smiles a little before heading toward the cafeteria,which is a relief. At least little bits of Claire are still poking through. I start heading toward The Pit, a quaint nickname for the shop room where they have detention. Nothing like a little sawdust and the smell of motor oil to make you hungry. My phone buzzes again. I take a look before heading down the steps to the basement.
     
    Thanks, P. Love M. I roll my eyes. She didn’t even wait for my answer. She just assumed that I don’t have anything else going on. And the sad thing is, other than homework, she’s actually right.
     
    I step into the land of cars and power tools and walk over to a stool near the back. I’ve only been here once before and that was because I refused to dissect a cat in biology. Ms. Heimer wanted me to spend the whole week in here, but one call from my mom and all I had to do was one day. I wipe at the decade of grime on the table with a rag that’s been left there. I give up when I notice all I’m doing is moving the dirt around. I sit and drop my bag on the table in front of me. Mr. Bell, the shop teacher, is supposed to sit with us during detention, but all he does is take roll and give us a couple gruff sentences about hanging us up by our ankles if we mess around. Then he heads into his office and shuts the door. About three seconds later we hear the opening chords of a Zeppelin song.
     
    I slide my Brit lit book out of my bag, trying to ignore the grunting from the other side of the room. Today’s distraction seems to revolve around lifting something very big andvery greasy. It’s better than last semester, when they had a chew-spitting contest. I still feel vaguely ill when I smell anything wintergreen-scented.
     
    The Pit is populated half by people in detention and half by students I’ve never seen anywhere else except here. Pitters don’t look the same as the rest of the students. To be totally honest, I sort of admire Pitters. Even if they’re gross, at least you know they’re real.
     
    There is a burst of yelling from the other side of the room as the Neanderthal Games really get going. I look over at Mr. Bell’s office door, expecting it to fly open at any minute, but his only response is to crank up the squealing guitar solo. I sigh and try to find my place in my lit book. Mr. Reyes, ever the romantic, has assigned us Valentine’s Day–related words for our homework. Just another reminder of how inescapable the holiday is. We’re supposed to be prepping for the PSAT, and since Mr. Reyes is a self-proclaimed “logomaniac” (word lover), we just keep getting lists and lists of vocabulary. I’ve complained about him so much that my Christmas gift from Charlie was a calendar for my desk at home. It’s called 365 Obscure Words. So far I’ve learned that mundungus is something that smells really bad and that mytacism is the incorrect use of the letter
m
. Useful stuff.
     
    I look around The Pit and decide that this is the epicenter of mundungus-ocity. It’s weird though. While The Pit is full-on nasty, the cars in here are pretty nice. From where I’msitting, I can see one Mercedes, one BMW, one Lexus, and half a Hummer. In all truth, Montrose Academy is about as