Possessions Read Online Free PDF Page A

one of the whiteboards, and a chubby man with freckly brown skin emerged with a pile of handouts balanced on top of a large hardback book. I glanced down at the prinout of my schedule. His name was Mr. Bhutto.
    Kiyoko sat up straighter, giving him her full attention, while most of the others kept chatting.
    “All right, ladies, please, settle down,” the man said.
    I sat down quickly in an aisle seat.
    “Today we continue our discussion of Nathanial Hawthorne,” he said. “As you know, he was a descendant of one of the original judges in the Salem witch trials. He struggled with an identity crisis, and added the w in his name to distinguish himself from his ancestors.”
    Wow, I thought, Nathanial Hawthorne 2.0.
    “Before we go, I’ll put you in pairs for your next project. Here’s the rubric. You can also download it and save one of our precious pine trees.”
    Pairs? Project? Next project?
    He stepped forward and extended his stack of handouts to Kiyoko. She took one and passed the rest to the girl on her right. When it came around to me, I skimmed. We had to create a presentation that centered on an American short story written in the first half of the nineteenth century. “While you’re looking that over, let me introduce our newest student. He paused and looked up. “Lindsay Cavanaugh, please stand up.”
    And that was the second time that day I realized I should have changed my clothes. I got up slowly and I saw his eyes narrow; then, for some reason, I glanced over at the Amy Winehouse wannabe and she flashed me a huge grin. I wished it would make me feel significantly better, but I only cheered up slightly.
    Mr. Bhutto took attendance. I missed the first couple of names on the roll, which went with poised, polished, glamorous girls who looked as if they were models. One of them looked very familiar, and I realized with a start that I’d seen her in a movie. Several, in fact.
    There was Charlotte Davidson, kind of an upscale goth, slightly overweight; and a few others, but not many, who didn’t look like they were going to a fashion show. The beehive girl who had smiled at me was named Rose Hyde-Smith. Kiyoko’s friend was Shayna Maisel. Kiyoko was the very last. Yamato.
    “All here, which is no surprise,” Mr. Bhutto said flatly. “Lindsay, you’ll be expected to attend class unless you’re in the infirmary. Open your text books, please.”
    Call it wacky, but that was the moment I fully grasped that I was at a boarding school. That I’d eat all my meals with the girls I went to classes with; that I’d go to bed and wake up with strangers, and walk to my classrooms with girls who tied each other up behind hedges. Suddenly, I felt a little panicky. I had left everything behind. No one even knew I’d left to come here, except for my father, my stepmom, my two stepbrothers, my cousin Jason, and his boyfriend, Andreas. I hadn’t even said goodbye to Heather Sanchez, who had once been my best friend, back before I turned into a popularity addict.
    I was crazy to think I could do this. I’d only made it in because of my killer personal essay on the application, and my extreme need to get out of town.
    Mr. Bhutto explained the project in greater detail. I tried to focus, but it felt like everything was sliding away from me again, all the bits and pieces of the universe suddenly having not much to do with me. My heartbeat picked up.
    Again.
    Mr. Bhutto started calling out the pairs. I concentrated on my breathing and brought myself under control. No one could tell, of course. The turmoil was all inside.
    “Susi Mateland and Gretchen Cabot . . . Rose Hyde-Smith and Charlotte Davidson. Shayna Maisel and Aliya Rashid . . . ” There didn’t seem to be a pattern. It wasn’t alphabetical or anything.
    “Lindsay Cavanaugh and Kiyoko Yamato.”
    “Huh,” I blurted, hopefully too softly for anyone else to hear. Kiyoko jerked up her head from her book and gazed around the room as if she had absolutely no