Unfit Read Online Free PDF Page B

step in. “Introduce me to these friends of yours already. You know I’ve only met one.”
      Arms linked, he leads me off.
     

  Under the terms of the deal with Greg’s parents, I’m to study three hours a day after school at their house. I’m to stay there for the weekdays in a guestroom, since it will be late. I’m to return to my parents home on weekends to help out with my “important sail-mending activities”.
      I discover that Greg has been sent to live at his uncle’s three doors up the road. I’m joining two other girls in the lessons. One is Panne, Greg’s niece, a girl about my age. The other is Alešan, who is careful to write her name in large print where I can see it, so I will know not to spell it “Alley-shan” like it’s pronounced.
      Panne is friendly enough, but a kind of warm-neutral to me. Her mind reads curiosity whenever she looks at me. Alešan appears to be a family friend, though no one offers to explain. She is overtly hostile, so I don’t even try to get a reading from her. As she takes pains to avoid even the slightest contact with me, this proves rather easy.
      As I expected, the first day’s calculus lesson is way over my head. The numbers form a jungle of insects crawling across the page, waging an inky blood-dripping battle. I play games by drawing walls to keep them apart.
      “Kwan, you mustn’t draw lines there,” says the tutor. “That’s not mathematically sound.”
      Shows how much she knows. My work now has nice little cages to keep my numbers safe from eating each other.
      Mrs. Lanarr shows up after the first hour and takes over to teach poetry. She calls on me first.
      “Kwan, lets start with a study of rhyme schemes, shall we? Here’s an anthology, it’s written in Standard. You do read Standard, do you not?”
      “Oh yes, but I’m not very fast at it.” It’s not much, but finally something I can do, after that last fruitless hour.
      “Very well, turn to page fifty-one and read aloud the first stanza.”
      I open the book to page one. It’s in funny squiggly text I’ve never seen before. Does Standard have a cursive handwriting version? Or are they trying to trick me? I flip to page fifty-one as she asked, and all the pages are in that funny text.
      I look up from the book. All three of them are staring at me. A quick peek at their public minds confirm this actually is Standard. Just a form I haven’t learned.
      “She can’t read Standard,” says Alešan, setting down her pen.
      “I can read the cover. It says ‘8 th Study of Poetry. Printed in Suff’ But not the inside.”
      “Tsk, what do they teach in those schools?” asks Mrs. Lanarr, although her thoughts show no sign of surprise.
      Alešan radiates smugness. Panne feels sorry for me. There’s a faint thought from her that she would want to teach me. I will take her up on that if she comes out and says it.
      “Very well, Alešan will read,” says Mrs. Lanarr.
      Alešan clears her throat and shakes her head in a way that causes her intricate curls to ripple, before setting to reading the verse. Just you wait, Miss Alešan. I will learn all these sciences, and writing systems well enough to impress you all.
     
      It’s such a pain trying to sleep in a strange bed. This bed is way softer than I’m used to. It feels like a puff of packed, silky cloud instead of a mattress or otherwise sleep-worthy surface. The Lanarrs have a giant clock downstairs on the main floor. It dings once every hour, waking me up. As if the city bells aren’t bad enough.
      Finally near Still-Hour, I tire of trying to sleep. I rise and change from my PJs into my navy blue dress, planning to sneak into the kitchen. A cup of warm milk should settle things nicely after that rich duck and berry-sauce dinner.
      There’s one light on down the hall, at the study. Probably someone getting in some late night reading. I creep down the stairs quietly to avoid disturbing them or