The Red Cardigan Read Online Free PDF Page A

unwritten law of social etiquette. Antonia blatantly avoids Evie and Evie still feels the shame.
    â€˜Hi, Evie,’ Alex says, blushing.
    â€˜Hi.’
    â€˜Antonia was just telling me the video store’s closing down.’
    â€˜Really?’
    â€˜You’re not pissed off because I –’
    â€˜Of course not,’ Evie says. ‘It’s a free world, Alex.’
    â€˜Sure?’
    â€˜Hey, remind me to give you the blue cardi. Taylor’s party is this weekend, isn’t it?’
    â€˜Have you changed your mind?’
    â€˜No way. I’m doing something with my dad.’
    Evie prefers not to lie but sometimes it’s a self-preservation policy.
    Powell raves on about the Renaissance period, as if it were something he was personally responsible for. His voice grows louder with each new slide, and at one point his arms wave around so much he disconnects the remote control from the projector.
    Evie stares at the slides, thinking how the women look a bit like Antonia. Thick hair, pale skin, big boobs, a large bum and super rosy cheeks. Evie tries not to think about that day. How the colour drained from Antonia’s cheeks and the way she screamed and cried. It still makes Evie want to throw up.
    She wraps her cardigan tightly around her chest and the slides begin to blur. Her left eye waters. She rubs it, making it worse, and for a second can’t see out of it at all. She blinks hard and gradually the slides fall back into focus.
    A practical session follows art theory. Evie lays out her work on the desk. She smooths down the edges of the paper, careful not to smudge the lines, and waits for Powell as he does his rounds. He always starts at one desk, working around the room in the same order. Evie wonders why he never varies this routine. He’s the sort of teacher that loves to catch you out. Evie smiles at his missed opportunities. She will watch him every class, just in case. She will not be caught out. Not again.
    Powell studies Evie’s drawing. He walks behind her desk, moves to the left and then to the right. He even takes an upside-down view. Evie holds her breath.
    â€˜Not bad, considering.’ And he moves to the next student.
    She stares at the funny-looking clay figures belonging to the Year 7s. They are lined up, lopsided and quiet, waiting their turn to be fired and glazed. Evie knows she has to become like them: patient.
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    All week, Evie works hard on her drawings. The first completed portrait is due in two weeks. But drawing Alex’s eyes is tricky. No matter what changes she makes, Evie cannot capture Alex’s true expression. She knows handing it in even a day late will bring unwanted attention and she’s determined to show everyone that she can pick up a pencil or piece of charcoal and draw again. No worries, no fears. If she can act like nothing happened maybe others can, too.
    â€˜You’re working hard on your portraits,’ Nick says one night, as they stack the dishwasher.
    â€˜Evie, don’t scrape the plates like that.’
    â€˜Sorry, Mum.’
    â€˜Yes,’ adds Robin. ‘You have been spending a hell of a lot of time in your room.’
    Evie doesn’t reply. Instead she thinks about the clay figures.
    â€˜I’d like to see your portraits, too.’
    â€˜They’re not quite finished, Mum.’
    â€˜Well, I can wait,’ she replies. ‘I’m good at that.’
    Evie absorbs those words, knowing her mother still waits. Waits for her daughter to be different. Different, meaning the same. The same as everyone else’s daughters.
    â€˜I’m just pleased you’re drawing again, darling,’ Nick says. ‘I’d love to be able to draw. You’re lucky – you inherited your mother’s talent as well as her good looks.’
    Robin clears her throat. Evie excuses herself and goes up to her room.
    She isn’t sure if she actually hears her mother say