The Whole Story of Half a Girl Read Online Free PDF

Since Mrs. Langley is also my Englishteacher for next period, I stay. Some kids leave and new ones file in. When the bell rings again, Mrs. Langley starts to talk about words, the importance of words, how they give us power, grace, the ability to connect with other people. It actually sounds kind of exciting, until she tells the class she’s going to give vocabulary quizzes every week. I’ve never taken a quiz. At Community we had some spelling and math tests, but mostly we just wrote essays or stories or created projects.
    I feel relieved when Mrs. Langley says we won’t have our new textbooks until next week. But then she takes out a huge stack of vocabulary lists and holds them in her upright palm like a pizza.
    “Hi,” whispers a girl in the desk next to mine as Mrs. Langley starts making her rounds with the lists. The sun flashes on her shiny blond French braid, making it look like gold. I smile at her and she sends a folded piece of bright pink polka-dotted stationery onto my desk. She gives me a quick nod as Mrs. Langley starts down my aisle. I grab the note and stuff it in my pocket when she’s turned the other way. The starchy feel of the thick paper stays on my fingers. Mrs. Langley moves toward me. She lingers between me and the girl with the braid and gives us our lists. I hold my breath. I’m actually going to get in trouble on the first day of school.
    The girl looks up at Mrs. Langley and flashes her a white, toothy smile. Mrs. Langley finally moves past us with a
swish, clomp, swish, clomp
of her rough dress and heavy shoes. I can’ttell if she saw the note and has decided to ignore it or didn’t see it at all. When she’s on the other side of the room, I fish it out and open it.
    I think your purple jeans are really cool.
    Want to sit together at lunch?
    Kate
    Kate signs the note with a heart at the end. I corner-eye her blond braid, pink shirt, and designer jeans suspiciously while she reads her vocabulary list. Nobody at Community looks quite like Kate. Take Sam, for instance. Sam has frizzy red hair and green eyes and she loves rainbows. She has rainbow T-shirts, rainbow barrettes, rainbow belts. Everyone at Community has their own style. I like to wear my wavy black hair as long as possible. I love purple too. I have purple jeans, lots of purple shirts, and even purple sneakers. Everyone here seems to dress alike. They all wear some version of a button-down in pink or white or blue with jeans or khakis. Some of the girls wear tank tops underneath. I stick out like a wart in my purple jeans and my lucky yellow T-shirt that has a picture of the Eiffel Tower on it. But at least Kate likes my jeans.
    I stuff the note back in my pocket and check out my vocabulary list. The first word is “
Nebulous
(adj): unclear and lacking form. Synonym: cloudy.” Just the word I’ve been looking for.

chapter seven
    “How was it?” Mom asks that night at dinner.
    Natasha pops a radish from the salad into her mouth and crunches down. “We sang a lot,” she answers first.
    “Sang?” Mom asks.
    “Yeah, three songs. And there was a kid, Barry, who pinched me on the playground, but then this other girl, Sarah, said he always pinches everyone, and then we went on the swings.”
    “So it was a good day?” Mom asks her. I’m surprised Mom didn’t grill Natasha about the pinching thing. Normally that’s something she’d be all worried about. But Mom’s jumpy tonight. She’s gotten up four times to get more napkins or another pitcher of water or to refill the bowl of broccoli.
    “Pretty good. Mrs. Price is funny.”
    I can tell that in a week it will be like
she
never went to any other school. If Natasha likes a new thing, she just packs her bags and follows it without looking back. All I can think of is calling Sam after dinner.
    “And Sonia, how’d it go for you?” Mom asks, turning her nervous face to me. Then she glances at Dad, who’s staring at his empty plate, rubbing his chin, a million miles