The Rule of Won Read Online Free PDF

to point up, you drag the front foot up, which causes the skateboard to drag up and get higher. You lift your back foot and eventually stop the drag while the skateboard stops rising. The back rises up to the same level as the other side of the skateboard. Then you land on all four wheels, rolling away. —Alex
    â€¢ Nicole and I were BFF since grade school, but now that we’re at Screech Neck High she’s gone all tech-nerd on me and I can’t understand a word she’s saying. Last week she got this seriously tricked-out iPhone that makes everyone’s eyes bug out. It’s not that I’d like an iPhone like that myself, but I’d really like hers to break. —Sophia

4
    You never know what you can do until you do it. Then again, you also never know what you shouldn’t do until you do that. For instance, the moment I finished writing my Crave, even if I didn’t believe in magic, I actually felt good about it. It was an honest, fearless expression of my feelings of alienation, a cry for help from my fellow man. Maybe it would even make people be nicer to me.
    Seconds later, though, when it was posted on the board, I felt like a jerk. What was I thinking? Everyone who already hated me would laugh their asses off when they read it—Juvenile Delinquent Dunne doing the sensitive New Age guy thing.
    Crap.
    I even tried hiding my head under my overshirt as I made my way out of the Screech Neck Public Library, where I’d used the computer. Probably no one would have noticed if I’d just walked out, but because of the funny way I was moving, everyone stared.
    Almost everyone. Ethan Skinson was at one of the terminals, straight-backed, shoelaces shining. It was surprising to see someone like him stuck at a public computer. I figured he’d have his own rig.
    I didn’t say hi because, well, I was trying to hide, but past that, I wasn’t sure whether to call him Ethan or Mr. Skinson or My Crave Master. He was too busy to notice me anyway, probably reading my post and struggling to hold back the laughter.
    As the days passed, though, the mockery I feared never materialized. Not everyone knew about the message board, I guess, and those who did had their own Craves to feel uncomfortable about. They rat me out, I rat them out. Mutually assured destruction. Like we all had nukes.
    It did score me points with Vicky. She not only called it “brave,” but by Wednesday, she had agreed to have a meal with me. Yeah, it was lunch, during school hours, and in the cafeteria, but it was a start. At least I thought it was a start.
    After we’d loaded up our Styrofoam trays with steaming heaps of God-knows-what, instead of finding a quiet spot to chat, she led us right next to the table traditionally occupied by our b-ball team, the Screech Neck Basket Cases (I know . . . I didn’t name them). They were hooting and carrying on as if they hadn’t lost every single game they’d played. I guess you could chalk that up to the lack of a gym, but really, they just sucked. And they were loud. I could barely think, let alone talk.
    â€œGet together after school?” I shouted at Vicky as one ofthe players leaped up on the table and poured some soda on his screaming teammate.
    â€œWhat?” she said, holding a hand to her ear. This week her fingernails had little rainbows on them. With her fingers all together against her head, they made a multicolored wavy line.
    Annoyed, I tried to stab a soggy french fry with my spork. Damn spud was so springy, the tines kept bouncing off. Then the cheap spork snapped. Fed up, I grabbed a pen and paper from my notebook and wrote in nice block letters:
    DO YOU WANT TO GO OUT TOGETHER AFTER SCHOOL?
    I held it up for her to read.
    â€œOh,” she said. “Not today, sorry! I’m hanging campaign posters!”
    I scratched that out and wrote:
    HOW ABOUT I HELP U?
    â€œUh . . . you don’t have to do that! It’s very,