Servants of the Storm Read Online Free PDF Page B

curling iron in Jasmine’s face, and she recoils.
    “That ain’t mine. These curls are real, old man,” she says, wagging her head.
    “I seen things that would really curl your hair, girly,” he says, shoving right up into her face, even though she’s at least half a foot taller than him.
    Most girls would back away that close to a face like Old Murph’s. Maybe even I would. But Jasmine leans over, looming, her forehead almost touching his.
    “I. Seen. Worse,” she says, and he stares at her for another second before bursting into laughter.
    “You keep foolin’ yourself, sugar,” he says, snapping his suspenders as he waddles back out the door. “Just don’t burn my theater down doing it.”
    “Oh my God, he’s so creepy,” Tamika says. She picks the curling iron up, plugs it in, and goes back to making perfect curls. The other girls return to their primping.
    “Thanks, Tamika,” I mutter.
    She gives me a warmer smile than I deserve or expect.
    “I’m just glad you’re talking again,” she says. “I hope what you’re doing works. I really missed you, Dovey.”
    The corners of my mouth twitch and turn up slowly, like the muscles have forgotten how to work, and I return her smile. I’m not ready for further revelations, so I pull my costume out of my backpack and head for the painted Japanese screen in the corner. It’s old and rickety and doesn’t hide much, but it’s better than changing in front of everyone.
    I slip out of my clothes and slither into my tights and leotard as quickly as I can. When I emerge from behind the screen,I’m hunched over, with my arms crossed over my chest. I haven’t worn the leotard in two years, and needless to say, it no longer fits. I uncross my arms and look down. Sometime in the last year, without noticing, I grew boobs.
    “Whoa, girl!” Tamika says appreciatively. “You’re busting out all over!”
    “I think I need a new costume,” I say.
    And Jasmine mutters, “Or maybe two.”
    I grab my hoodie from behind the screen and put it on over the stretched-out leotard, hoping Mrs. Rosewater won’t hassle me about it too much. After all, this is exactly why we have dress rehearsals. I have plenty of time to get a new leotard. Tamika hands me a tutu, and I step into it gratefully.
    The stage manager opens the door and yells, “Curtain in five!”
    “Hey, Dovey,” someone says, putting a hand on my shoulder. I startle and jerk back, but it’s just Nikki, another girl I used to be friends with. “I’m all done. Want me to do your makeup?”
    Her smile is genuine, and I have to smile back. It’s weird, like I’m learning the social dance again. They smile, I smile back, we talk. Maybe one day soon I’ll be a real girl again.
    “Thanks,” I say. “That would be great.”
    Once my face is painted with swirls and glitter, we’ve only got a minute before the curtain goes up. We trip through the door in a clot of cloth and spangles and surge down the hall to where the boys are already waiting. They don’t even hide their ogling. Everyone is in costume for the first time, and it’s almost too much totake in. The fairies, the togas, the glitter, the teased hair, the guy in a jester suit. It doesn’t really make sense, doing The Tempest in Grecian outfits, but Mrs. Rosewater says it came to her in a dream, so we’re stuck with it. Everyone is hugging and laughing and flirting, and their emotions fill the air, infecting me, too. The little hall is filled to bursting with electricity and excitement and magic, and the only thing missing is Carly.
    A hand lands on my arm, and I’m amazed to find Baker attached to it, transformed into a wild half monster as Caliban. His dark hair is tangled with twigs and vines, and his face is rendered ferocious by eyeliner and blush. His eyes, lined with black, are startling, the color of blueberries. I guess I haven’t really looked at him, at anyone, for a year. Just as my old leotard seems suddenly smaller, Baker