My Invented Life Read Online Free PDF Page A

her lovely black hair and nibbles on the tip. It makes the point rather effectively without a single eye-roll. I don’t like the direction this conversation is headed. I return to my original mission.
    “Eva’s been acting a little strange, don’t you think?”
    “You’re rubbing off on her, I guess,” Carmen says.
    I punch her arm—lightly, of course. “Has she said anything about me?”
    “No.”
    “What’s the big secret?”
    Carmen’s eyes harden. “I’m not playing your asinine game, whatever it is.”
    Frustration at my failure sets in. “The SATs are so over,” I say. “You can stop using the ten big words you learned for the test.”
    That came out nastier than intended. It’s not entirely Carmen’s fault that she uses uppity vocabulary. Her mom made her take three SAT prep classes. Then again, I don’t need to tiptoe around her. When it comes to dueling, the point on Carmen’s rapier is almost as sharp as mine.
    “I prefer the taciturn Roz to the garrulous one,” she says. “Or do I mean verbose? No, loquacious.”
    Which is pretty funny, actually, but I’m not in the mood to let her win this conversation.
    “Nice top,” I whisper. “Were they out of your size?”
    “Don’t be a
sheep-biting moldwarp
,” she says.
    Dang. She found the online Elizabethan curse generator too. While I ponder my next insult—
sour-faced malignancy
perhaps—the sharp crack of wood against desktop startles me into looking up. Mr. Beltz shakes his medieval wooden pointer our direction. “Christmas is so over, girls. Do I need to separate you this morning?” He’s the original Grinch.
    “We’re done talking,” I concede graciously.
    Your typical theater geek spends the lunch minute hanging around the school theater (a converted barn), attempting to outperform the other theater geeks. Whoever can do the best impersonation or pop out the funniest line from a playclaims the most attention. More talking happens than listening. Most drama types would rather plumb the depths of hell than set foot in the cafeteria. Eva crossed over to the other side, though, when the cheerleaders started eating there.
    Today I skip both options in favor of the library computers. Our stray mutt—a mascot of sorts for Yolo Bluffs High—accompanies me. After he stepped into a bucket of blue paint last year, someone dubbed him BlueDragon from a video game. The name stuck, though he’s more round-nosed dope than fierce serpent of the sky. My special relationship with BlueDragon comes from our shared social status. When Sierra left, I drifted between groups during lunch. Everyone acted friendly toward me and would give me a few pats on the head, but I never felt welcome to stay long. Maybe I have doggie breath, too.
    In the library I take surreptitious bites of marinated tofu while keying in my get-Carmen project. The resulting page is perfectly wicked. Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall. Translation? Good behavior is for losers. Before school lets out, I sneak a copy of my dastardly deed into Sapphire’s office.
    Soon after the last bell, every drama wannabe piles into the Barn. The old plank walls are covered with movie posters and funky tapestries. Nothing can mask the faint but permanent odor of anxiety, the underarm kind. Slanted light from the window illuminates the dust kicked up by herds of jittery feet. Before Sapphire starts with the actual auditions, she introduces us to her nephew from Bakersfield.
    I’d pictured Jonathan as a minor badass sporting atorn denim jacket and a sexy eyebrow stud. Instead, his retro shirt, brown corduroys, and Afro give him the look of a
GQ
saint. Sapphire didn’t lie about his looks; he’s a hottie through and through. But she neglected to mention a minor detail. He’s African-American, which she is not.
    Bryan reads first for the dashing Orlando. In seconds, I fall under his spell. He practiced a lot, and it shows. I take a bite from my high protein bar, careful to chew with