Read Online Cheating Lessons: A Novel by Nan Willard Cappo - Free Book Online

the puddle, but it was like using a Q-tip to soak up a river.
    A McDonald’s worker materialized from nowhere.
    “Thanks.” She accepted his fistful of napkins and waited for him to leave.
    He didn’t. “Hey. My brother’s in your English class,” he announced, as though delivering good news. “You know, Anthony?” When he smiled his teeth flashed white against a fresh olive complexion. He could have stepped out of a TV commercial. Bernadette read his name tag: ASST. MGR. VINCE CIRILLO .
    She gaped at Nadine, who was not looking at her. McAss had a brother?
    Asst. Mgr. Vince took the soggy napkins and stuffed them in the trash can, talking the whole time. “Man, Anthony’s all hyped about that book thing with Pinehurst. I hope your team smashes them. If you’re in the market, I know a guy giving three to two.”
    Bernadette’s forehead creased.
    “On Wickham,” he added helpfully.
    Nadine came out of her trance. “You mean, like, a bookie?”
    Her rough voice seemed to fascinate him. “You got it. But the minimum bet’s twenty.” He shouted over the counter for a fresh coffee, then looked at their baffled faces. “Dollars, that is. In case you’re thinking pesos.”
    Oh, joy. Another Cirillo smart aleck. He did look like Anthony, in a way, tall and athletic, with the black curly hair Nadine had already noticed. But Vince was clearly older, with an air of worldliness Anthony lacked. He had a crooked wise-guy smile some people might find attractive.
    “Thanks.” Nadine purred. “We’ll think about it.”
    Bernadette found her voice. “Hey, Vince?”
    “Yo.”
    “How’d you know who we were?”
    “Anthony said. He just came on drive-thru.” Vince motioned toward the counter. Sure enough, there was Anthony’s curly head with an earphone stuck in one ear. He looked up from the soda machine and waved.
    Vince eyed Nadine. “You girls mind if I sit with you a minute?”
    “Actually, we’re in the middle of—”
    “Sit here.” Nadine patted the bench beside her.
    Vince gave her a smile that probably sold a lot of meal combos and went to fetch Bernadette a new coffee.
    “What are you doing?” Bernadette kept her voice low with an effort. “He’s a Cirillo.”
    “He’s cute,” Nadine said, and then it was too late. Vince came back with two coffees, one for himself. He dropped a pile of creamers on the table. Bernadette dumped all of them into her cup, with four sugars.
    “You know what? We just hired a Chinese kid. I bet you could talk to him better than me,” Vince said.
    Bernadette stirred busily so Nadine would not see the grin spreading across her face. He might as well have offered them chopsticks.
    Nadine’s smile vanished. “I am not Chinese,” she said icily. “I was born in Korea.” She did not call him a cretin, but it was in her voice.
    He heard it. “Korea, huh? That’s cool. I’m terrible at telling what people are just by looking at them, unless they’re black, and then they could be Jamaican or Puerto Rican or . . .” He trailed off. Or Cuban or Kenyan or really tanned—Bernadette almost felt sorry for him. “I guess Korean’s a lot different from Chinese, am I right?”
    “Right,” Nadine said shortly. She paused. A smidgen less coldly, she said, “Well, I think it is. I don’t happen to speak either one.”
    Vince’s nose twitched like a beagle’s at her defensive tone. He leaned toward her. “I’ll let you in on a little secret.” He tapped his chest with one finger. “Me neither.”
    Nadine choked on her drink, and even Bernadette’s lips twisted. Vince was kind of funny.
    Nadine thought so. Bernadette slunk down in her seat as her fellow National Honor Society officer tittered like a bad actress in a Tennessee Williams play, tossed her ruler-straight hair, and took off her glasses every few minutes to gaze into Vince’s eyes.
    Vince lapped it up.
    Bernadette finished her chicken sandwich. And the remaining fries. And the scraped-off