Something Like Fate

Something Like Fate Read Online Free PDF Page A

Book: Something Like Fate Read Online Free PDF
Author: Susane Colasanti
trying to tell me something about his jogging pants.
    I was like, “Your what ?”
    He went, “I forgot my jogging pants.”
    And I was all, “You mean your sweatpants ?”
    But Connor didn’t know what those were.
    I lump the clay together again. I smack it down on the wheel. The clay needs to know who’s in charge.
    “Only press down a little on the pedal,” Connor advises.
    “I know, I’m trying.”
    “So let’s see.”
    I try again. This time, I don’t crush the mug I’m trying to form.
    “Looking good, eh?” he says.
    “Yeah, eh.” That’s another thing about Connor. He totally laughs when you imitate his Canadian speech habits, like saying “eh” all the time.
    Keeping my fingers together, I wrap my hands around the sides of the clay. Then I slowly push my thumbs down into the top.
    Connor goes, “A little faster is good.”
    I gently press my foot down on the pedal. I can feel the wheel working the way I want it to. I’m finally getting the hang of this. I pull my thumbs apart, still sinking them down into the top of the lump. As the clay spins, the place where I’m pressing my thumbs in gets wider. I can actually tell that this part is the inside of the mug.
    When my mug looks like a real mug the next day, I’m stoked. I bring it over to our table and show Connor. “Check me out!” I brag.
    “You rock,” Connor says. He’s glazing his piece. After we glaze our pieces, we’ll put them in the kiln and they’ll be ready to take home tomorrow.
    “How did you do that?” I ask. Connor made a beautiful vase. It’s tall, which is really hard to do on the wheel. The one time I tried making something half that tall it ended up collapsing in a heap.
    “Patience,” he says, “and practice.”
    “You sound like my mom.”
    “Your mom must be a very intelligent woman.”
    “More like annoying because she’s always right.” I start glazing my mug.
    “Did I say you could sit here?” Ryan growls at Sophie over at the next table. Sophie looks around for another space. There aren’t any left.
    “You can sit here,” I tell her.
    Sophie looks at me with so much gratitude that my throat tightens up. I hate how Ryan picks on her. Ryan is one of those people who senses weakness, then attacks. Anytime the two of them have a class together, it’s like his personal mission to humiliate her in front of everyone. She’s not the only one he hates. Ryan and his stupid prepped-out friends pick on anyone who doesn’t fit their warped standards, like kids who are geeky or overweight. Sophie happens to be both.
    Ryan also hates Blake something severe. I can’t figure out why. Blake lays low and tries so hard to blend in. But every time Ryan passes Blake in the hall, he gives Blake the nastiest looks.
    Last year, Ryan ripped up Blake’s English essay for no reason. Blake was just sitting there in class, waiting for the teacher to come in and collect everyone’s essays. Ryan went over to Blake’s desk, snatched up his essay, and ripped it to shreds. It was fifteen pages (fifteen real pages, not the bootleg ones with huge fonts and ridiculous margins) and worth most of his grade for the marking period. A bunch of kids saw Ryan do it, but no one told on him. Ryan got away with it. Blake got a zero. Blake was going to hand in the pile of shreds and explain what happened, but he decided to take the zero, as much as it killed him to hurt his grade like that. I think Blake had a feeling where Ryan’s hatred was coming from. The last thing Blake wanted to do was push Ryan over the edge.
    “Thanks, Lani,” Sophie says. She puts her bowl on the table next to my mug.
    “No problem,” I tell her. “Ryan is a dumbass.”
    I glare at Ryan. He makes kissy lips back.
    Dumbass.
    Some kids are watching as Sophie swings her leg over the bench. I’m not even sure if she can fit into the space between me and the hostile sophomore girl on Sophie’s other side, but I’m really hoping she can. I’m already
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