Not Your Ordinary Wolf Girl Read Online Free PDF Page A

Dr. Alam. “Her eyes are unfocused and red.”
    Excuse me?
    â€œDrug-induced delusion,” agreed a male doctor. “So do a chem test and call psych.”
    â€œThat’s the plan.”
    There was a grunt of approval. “And you’re positive it’s that Sam Lee? The girl my daughter’s crazy about?”
    â€œNot too many half-Asian rock stars come through these doors. See for yourself.”
    I strained but missed the guy’s response. No way was I going to let them take a drop of my blood! They were two seconds from shipping me off to rehab. I snatched my jacket, rolled off the bed, and landed on the floor with a muffled thud. Scooting backward, I folded my five-foot frame into a tight ball between the bed and a cabinet on wheels. Worst hiding spot. Ever.
    One of the curtains swung open. If the doctors found me here it would confirm their suspicions that I was a drug-crazed musician. But with any luck, they’d take the empty bed at face value and assume I’d split. I couldn’t wait to get off this floor. I shuddered to think about the disgusting substances clinging to its tiled surface.
    â€œWhere’d she go?” demanded Dr. Alam. “She was right here!”
    â€œAnyone see a girl leave this room?” hollered the other doctor.
    Another voice shouted back—the E.R. nurse? “Sorry, I didn’t see anything.”
    â€œSuch a troubled young woman,” said Dr. Alam. She sounded genuinely concerned. I almost felt bad.
    â€œTelling my daughter I tested Sam Lee for drugs would’ve made me a rock star,” the guy replied.
    Patient files are supposed to be confidential! It took all my willpower to fume silently. I cursed the fact that I didn’t carry a digital recorder. Once they’d walked away, I got to my feet.
    Getting out of the hospital was a lot easier than getting in. Security didn’t give a crap who left, and the admitting nurse was preoccupied with an elderly man in a neck brace bolted directly into his skull. Ouch!
    Back on my bike, weaving in and out of rush-hour traffic, I vented by swearing at cars. What a massive waste of time! Now I hardly had a moment to eat before heading to the video shoot in DUMBO. And I was starved again.
    In my building, the elevator refused to come down and get me. Of course, the evil tenants had deliberately left the door open on their floor so that no one else could use it. After locking my bike in the lobby, I hurtled up the four flights. In less than two minutes I’d inhaled a serving of day-old takeout noodles with spicy tofu.
    I traded my sweats for skinny jeans and my favourite yellow T-shirt featuring a leprechaun dancing beneath the end of a rainbow. I shrugged on a jean jacket, slung Janis over my shoulder, and hurried back down to hail a cab and zip over to the production studio. The director expected us to be ready and on set when she arrivedat eleven, and her team needed a full hour to get me dressed and done up.
    When I tore into the studio, makeup and wardrobe almost lost it. I was sweating like a fountain and my hair took “windswept” to a new level. But the stylists worked their wonders, tidied my short hair, powdered my shiny face, lined my hazel eyes with forest green, and painted my lips dark red. Luckily, the bruise on my forehead was now all but invisible, and they were too discreet to ask about my other scars.
    A few minutes before eleven I was alone onstage, dressed in a black leather mini that had probably been brought into the world as a belt, two dozen plastic bracelets positioned strategically on my right arm. I picked at Janis’s strings, trying to figure out how I could possibly still be hungry.
    Then Harris wandered in. He crossed the room and stopped close enough for me to catch his scent, which was marked by a faintly spicy deodorant. I wanted to grab him and bury my nose in his hair. If he caught my eye I wouldn’t be able to hide the way I