The Merciless II Read Online Free PDF

stretches of flat, dusty land and spindly trees. A headache pounds at the back of my skull. My eyes droop . . .
    I must have fallen asleep because, a second later, I’m blinking my eyes open and wiping the drool from my chin. We’re not in Friend anymore. Tangled tree branches drip over the road above us, blocking out the sky. A thick layer of moss covers their trunks and knotted roots creep up from the ground like huge, muscular snakes. It’s like we’ve driven into a Gothic fairy tale.
    Sister Lauren has the radio turned to some Christian rock station and she’s singing along under her breath. She turns the volume down when she notices me stir.
    â€œYou awake?” she asks.
    â€œYeah.” I groan and roll my head, trying to stretch my sore muscles. The road has changed from paved cement to packed dirt, making the minivan rock. “How long was I out?”
    â€œAbout an hour. We’re getting close.”
    I nod and peer out the window. Sunlight trickles through the trees like gold dust. It feels different than the sun in Friend. Softer. Like someone’s found the dimmer switch. Wind moves through the trees, making the branches sway lazily.
    We roll past massive houses with peeling painted and shuttered windows, and weave through a small business district. It’s the middle of the week, but most of the shops are dark, and CLOSED signs hang in their windows. I frown and glance behind us. No cars on the street and no people on the sidewalks. The whole town has a dreamy, unreal quality to it. It makes me think of Sleeping Beauty . Not the Disney movie, but this older fairy tale my mom used to read to me before bed. In that version, the whole town fell asleep when Beauty pricked her finger. They’d slept for a hundred years before the Prince rode in to rescue her.
    â€œIt’s pretty here,” I say. We pull off the main street and down another dirt road that’s lined with twisted, dripping trees.
    â€œIsn’t it?” Sister Lauren says. “I’m still getting used to all the moss and weeping willows.”
    â€œYou aren’t from the South?”
    â€œNope. I’m a new girl, just like you. I started at St. Mary’s this year, actually. I almost missed the deadline to get my resume in for the job, but I guess the Big Guy was on my side, because I made it in just under the wire.”
    Sister Lauren smiles and touches the tiny silver cross hanging from her neck.
    â€œWhat do you teach?” I ask.
    â€œEnglish lit.”
    I twist toward her in my seat. “That’s my favorite subject. Or it was at my old school.”
    â€œYeah? What were you reading?”
    â€œLots of Shakespeare and Dickens. And we just finished a unit on The Great Gatsby .”
    Sister Lauren places a hand over her heart. “Oh, Gatsby ,” she says in a swoony voice, like she’s talking about an ex-boyfriend. “That’s one of my favorites. You’re a junior, right? You’re probably in Period 1 English with me on Mondays. I’ll see you bright and early at seven thirty.”
    â€œSeven thirty in the morning ?”
    Sister Lauren laughs. “Intense, right? Father Marcus runs a tight ship.”
    â€œSounds like it.” I study Sister Lauren’s face. She has big eyes, and the kind of friendly smile that’s almost familiar. “Is Father Marcus the principal?”
    â€œHe’s the dean,” Sister Lauren explains. “He’s been with St. Mary’s longer than any other teacher. You’ll meet him today.”
    I knot my hands in my lap, trying not to show my nerves. Sister Lauren pulls up to a stop sign and glances over at me.
    â€œDon’t look so terrified,” she says. “None of the teachers at St. Mary’s bite.”
    An anxious laugh escapes my lips, and the sound is so unexpected that I flinch. I haven’t laughed since Mom died. Heat rises in my cheeks. I’m not sure