Second Nature Read Online Free PDF

each other like a form of elite camouflage.
    The girls wore earthy
floral like it was my mom’s prom in the eighties again, and the guys had a
casual look to them, as if they were trying to be grungy even though everything
they wore cost a fortune.
    The laid back “maybe I
camped on the beach” look was complimented by dark-colored beanies and
backpacks. The canvas backpacks were simple with leather straps and the odd
Canadian flag, hinting that each of them was well traveled.
    It wasn't that I doubted
they were well traveled. I just doubted they backpacked alone.
    They were likely all rich
kids. Not all of them were from my family’s level of wealth, but still very
upper middle class. Their trips were paid for by the same parents who bought
them their high-end cameras with which they took their #sociality
#authenticliving #adventure Instagram pictures.
    The level of confused,
narcissistic, privileged youth was growing with every single waxed cotton
utility jacket sold by Burberry. Yes, the kids of my generation looked
comfortable and relaxed in their non-portentous outerwear, but each one of them
had used a family-paid credit card to purchase what was made to look secondhand
or even military issue.
    They were plain, even
plaid, but it was designer .
    #Authentic had become
something of an oxymoron for the morons I was being reared amongst.
    If my family were upper
middle class my mother would have been the chairperson for #EastCoastliving and
#authenticity. Thankfully, I didn't have to try to blend in.
    I was #elite and
#blueblood, and my mom always looked like she might be meeting #JackieO for
lunch.
    Not that my life wasn't
just as phony. Behind the façade of perfection, my life was a mess. In every
corner there were arranged marriages and careers chosen to suit the family and
connections.
    Even with all that, I was
glad to not be a hipster.
    My best friend standing
outside the Shack could have blended easily. She was absolutely hipster
material.
    She was like #NancyDrew
and #HarrietTheSpy, but looked like she was raised on the #WestCoast. In her
wildest dreams she was sporting a Polaroid camera and wearing canvas. She could
have easily fit in with grungy kids who had #coffeelove and
#originalideasbythemasses.
    Lindsey would rock casual
comfort wear if she were allowed. Just the same as I would rock my pajamas and
glasses and never leave my room.
    She was getting away with
it more and more since her dad and Louisa, the stepmonster, were quite close to
splitting up. Her dad was doting on everyone but his wife to make her feel like
an outcast, and Louisa was sucking up to Lindsey in hopes of getting her on her
side. She had gone from hardly being noticed to smothered .
The last month had been hard on her snooping. She hadn’t really had a moment
alone. But I wondered if she really minded or if she liked always having people
around, after being hunted by the killer in her own yard.
    I stepped out of the car,
wrinkling my nose at the scent wafting from the little dive. I didn't mind
coffeehouses at all; I just didn't love this one. It was filled with people
trying a little too hard to be like Bob Marley, hence
it always smelled like weed.
    It was exactly the sort
of place we shouldn't be. I hadn’t been forced here in awhile. Going back might
not be a bad idea though, what with it being the spot Lindsey had snapped her
photo of Skip, the illusive hipster Rachel had been seen making out with.
    He was our best bet of
being the driver who took us to the party at Rachel’s, plus he was the valet at
the funeral.
    He was one of the missing
pieces of the puzzle. For that I would suffer through the insufferable Shack.
    But if my mom saw me here
I would have to go to all the events she demanded, while wearing whatever she
picked as punishment so she wouldn't tell my dad. I shuddered and remembered
the pain of the fat-sucking-in thing she made me wear last time I let her dress
me. It was something horrible called a Spanx, and it