The Evil Within Read Online Free PDF

bingo, too.
    With me beside him, Troy backed his T-bird out of our grease-stained driveway. I waved again at my family, my throat tight as they smiled and waved back, the two boys hopping up and down and wiggling their butts. I might die , I told them in my mind. I might never see you again.
    “Your family’s nice,” Troy said, waving too as we drove away and my little green house on the corner got smaller and smaller.
    “Thanks. You should unroll your window. I feel an awesome fart coming on.”
    He cracked up and slid a glance at me. “You’re funny. I missed you in Cabo.”
    “I missed you, too,” I said honestly. “What did you do there?”
    “Surfed, swam, hung out. You?”
    “Pretty much the same. Farted around,” I joked. It wasn’t exactly lying. Except that I hadn’t gone anywhere near our pool. And as for surfing, I had surfed the net for information on the history of Marlwood Academy and all my rich new schoolmates.
    “Partied with old friends?” he said, raising his brows above his hypnotizing eyes.
    Was that jealousy in his voice? Was he really asking about old boy friends? I felt a little smug, and very thrilled. Presents, jealousy—I was on a roll.
    “Some.” Okay, that was a lie.
    “Let’s go up the coast,” he suggested. “We’ll take the 5. It’ll morph into Pacific Coast Highway.” PCH was a Southern California historical landmark. The ocean views were the best to be had, and that was saying something.
    “Sounds good.”
    I studied his profile. Long, straight nose, cleft in the chin, dimple at the side of his mouth. Troy had modeled, as a lark. Friends of the family in the movie industry begged him to be in their films and TV shows.
    There is a dead girl living inside me , I thought as he took his ocean-blue eyes off the road and glanced at me. His easy smile warmed me; if an amazing, hot guy like Troy could like me, I could throw Celia out of my life.
    “What are you thinking about?” he asked me, a little lilt in his voice—as if he already knew.
    “Not much,” I said.
    He grinned. “Me neither.”
    I tingled. Of course it had occurred to me that we could stop the car anywhere we wanted. We could look for a secluded spot. Or Troy could rent us a hotel room. Jane had rented lots of rooms; like her, he looked older and he had lots of money. What would it be like? I’d made out with guys, sure, but I had never gone further than second base. Everyone assumed I had, but it was my one big secret, back in the day.
    He glanced at the road, then leaned sideways and kissed me, quickly, brushing his lips over mine. He smelled so good. His skin was warm and golden from the sun.
    “I really did miss you,” he said, and then he leaned in, and kissed me again.
    We made out in the car. A lot. We went pretty far, parked at various ocean vista stops along the way north. It was incredible—like flying: all these amazing sensations pulsating through me, far more intense than it had ever been with Riley. I tried to catch my breath and stay in control; but his skin smelled so good and his hair was so soft, and his lips were warm and he was gentle. . . . It felt like he was respecting me, in a way Riley never had. Riley had always pushed; when he and Jane had snuck into my parents’ room that night—she’d later asked me, “What did you expect? You teased him. What were you waiting for, an engagement ring?”
    Troy and I ate all CJ’s snacks—tangerines, cookies, sandwiches, Christmas turkey, guacamole, and cheese—and drank most of the sodas. Then around three or four in the afternoon, Troy insisted on stopping at a French bakery for an enormous pink box of all kinds of pastries, which we scarfed. And later, as we got closer to the mountainous northern region of the state, there was a spiffy sit-down steak dinner in a cozy, dark restaurant called La Vie En France—me in my raggedy jeans, gazing at Troy across a candlelit table, the light catching my necklace. He’d loaded an iPod