Veneer Read Online Free PDF

haven’t actually done it.”
    “Oh,” said Ilya. “So you’re using it as incentive. Me too.”
    “Who are you seeing?” Rosalia was happy to change the subject.
    “No one right now.”
    “Any leads?”
    She shook her head, turned away to wash the shampoo from her hair. “I think I’ve played enough of the Central field. Though Deron’s friend is kinda cute, right?”
    “Sebo? Have you ever listened to him talk? He’s all veneer and no substance.”
    “Yeah, but we’re all that way.”
    “Maybe,” said Rosalia, dialing off the water.
    Ilya stepped out of her stall at the same time, but unlike Rosalia, she held her towel in her hand instead of wrapped around her body like a normal person. “Hey,” she said, before Rosalia could walk away.
    “Yeah?” Even though she told her eyes not to move, they still managed to inventory the slender Ukrainian.
    “See you in Pre-Cal?” The smile on her face didn’t match the banality of her question.
    “Sure.”
    Rosalia resumed her trek to the lockers and sat down on the bench facing hers. For a moment, the image of Ilya’s body flashed in her head but before a verdict of envy or judgment could be rendered, it was gone. Ilya might have been a model in the making, but Rosalia didn’t consider her more attractive than herself. Looking down as she dried her legs, she examined her body, wondered if Deron would ever prefer Ilya’s petite European curves to her own proportions.
    With a smirk, she pulled her bag from her locker and extracted the plain, unreconciled clothes. They were all the same dull gray, but they wouldn’t remain that way. All it took was a little concentration and she could be dressed in any style she wanted. Within reason, of course.
    4 - Deron
     
    Between classes, the halls of Easton Central were a mix of vibrant colors and positive reinforcement. Every square inch of real estate had a non-threatening image or a piece of sound advice. Sometimes it was overwhelming; Deron wasn’t always in the mood to be accosted by virtual cheerleaders or by flashy ads that promoted regular attendance and good citizenship. Now in his third year at Central, he had learned to tune out the audio-visual bombardment.
    When classes were in session and the halls were empty, it was as if the school grew depressed. The colors faded, the animated characters shuffled off into the virtual distance, and the maxims of the school’s guidance counselor lost their hypnotic luster. It made Deron think there was nothing sadder than a reconciled wall without an audience. They didn’t even take notice of him as he walked by.
    Getting out of class had been easier than expected. All he had to do was fake an illness, say that he was going to throw up and better to do it in the nurse’s office than at his desk. So with twenty-five minutes left in the period, he ventured out into the hallway with the confidence only a signed note from a teacher could afford. At the intersection with the atrium where he should have turned right to go to Nurse Hendricks’ office, he turned left and ducked into the dead-end hallway between the two band rooms. The door to the storage room was slightly ajar and Deron took a quick look around before he slipped inside.
    In the dim lighting, he could only make out the general shapes of various instrument cases and music stands with sharp edges pointing every direction. Deron made his way around the French horns and trombones to a small alcove hidden around a corner. There, he found an old couch that hadn’t been reconciled in years, a dusty piano with a few broken keys, and most importantly, Rosalia.
    She smiled at him from the couch and beckoned him to sit down. The cushion made a whooshing sound when he dropped onto it. At Rosalia’s level, her smile didn’t seem as genuine anymore, as if she were just using it to mask some minor trepidation.
    “What’s wrong?” he asked, nudging her with his shoulder.
    There was hesitation in her eyes and Deron was