Read Online Dark Companion by Marta Acosta - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Marta Acosta
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classroom.
“Hello, Joan, right?” The teacher at the table was almost as small as me, dressed in navy slacks and a blue button-down shirt. She wore a daring slash of ruby-red lipstick and had a short, spiky haircut.
“Jane Williams, ma’am.”
“Nice to meet you, Jane. I’m Ms. Chu, the journalism teacher. Are you interested in our newspaper?”
“I thought this was expository writing.”
“Yes, that’s what journalism is: expository writing.” Ms. Chu handed me a pen and a clipboard with a sign-up sheet. “What are your career plans?”
“I’m thinking about going into forensic science.” I tapped the pen against the clipboard.
“Really?” Ms. Chu brightened. “Which field of forensic science? Are you interested in being a medical examiner?”
“No, I would like to be a crime lab analyst. It would all be lab work, but I’d have to write reports, too. I wanted a course that would help me write essays for college applications.”
“Then you’ve got to take this, because journalism can help train you to write lab reports. You’ll learn to be objective and accurate, and meet deadlines,” she said. “It’s exciting to put the paper to bed. That’s what we call it when we meet our deadline and go to press.”
Although I wasn’t completely convinced, Ms. Chu seemed nice enough, and I signed the sheet and then had my photo taken for my school ID. I went to the restroom and washed my hands for too long, then smoothed down the unruly waves of my hair. When I could no longer avoid the inevitable, I headed to the refreshment break.
The cafeteria was a long, open, bright room. At one end was a lounge with rugs, potted plants, and sofas. Between old black-and-white photos of the school were student-made posters extolling excellence, honor, and duty. Tables with food and drinks were set along a wall. Girls mingled in groups and I felt their eyes on me as I got a plate of fruit salad and a glass of juice.
“Hi, Jane.”
I turned to see the pretty auburn-haired girl I’d met in the drugstore. Her shining hair was in a sleek ponytail and she wore small gold earrings with pearls. Her hazel eyes were framed with long, thick lashes. She was several inches taller than me and slim, but with curves.
“Hello. We met in town, right?”
“Yes, I’m Hattie, Harriet Tyler.” She smiled with even white teeth. “I’m a junior, too, and Mrs. Radcliffe asked me to show you around. Come meet my friends.”
She wasn’t the type of person who was usually friendly to me, so I was wary as I followed her to the lounge area, where older girls were hanging out. She introduced me to a dozen girls and we exchanged bland hellos.
A beautiful, plump girl named Mary Violet asked, “Are you living in the groundskeeper’s cottage?” Her hair was a cloud of silver-blond curls and she had a golden tan. She was wearing shiny pink lip gloss and thin gold chains around her neck and wrists. She leaned toward me eagerly.
“Yes, I moved in last week.”
“It must be fabulous to live in your own place!” She raised her cornflower-blue eyes toward the ceiling. “If I lived alone, I would have many passionate affairs with debonair men !”
The other girls giggled, and someone said, “You’d have a short commute.”
“Yes! I would rise from my silk sheets late after a night of untamed sexual coitus, bid my lover adieu—he would beg me to stay—and then I would dash breathlessly to class as the last bell rang. My hair would be romantically tousled.” Mary Violet waved her arm, sloshing juice over the rim of her glass.
“You mean you’d be a disaster and wouldn’t have the common courtesy to shower,” said Constance, a thin girl with dark brown skin, braids, and huge glasses that magnified her almond-shaped eyes. She had introduced herself with a handshake, saying, “I’m Constance Applewhaite. Pleased to meet you.” Her voice had an attractive lilt, and I wondered where she was from.
“Let me have my
“Hello, Joan, right?” The teacher at the table was almost as small as me, dressed in navy slacks and a blue button-down shirt. She wore a daring slash of ruby-red lipstick and had a short, spiky haircut.
“Jane Williams, ma’am.”
“Nice to meet you, Jane. I’m Ms. Chu, the journalism teacher. Are you interested in our newspaper?”
“I thought this was expository writing.”
“Yes, that’s what journalism is: expository writing.” Ms. Chu handed me a pen and a clipboard with a sign-up sheet. “What are your career plans?”
“I’m thinking about going into forensic science.” I tapped the pen against the clipboard.
“Really?” Ms. Chu brightened. “Which field of forensic science? Are you interested in being a medical examiner?”
“No, I would like to be a crime lab analyst. It would all be lab work, but I’d have to write reports, too. I wanted a course that would help me write essays for college applications.”
“Then you’ve got to take this, because journalism can help train you to write lab reports. You’ll learn to be objective and accurate, and meet deadlines,” she said. “It’s exciting to put the paper to bed. That’s what we call it when we meet our deadline and go to press.”
Although I wasn’t completely convinced, Ms. Chu seemed nice enough, and I signed the sheet and then had my photo taken for my school ID. I went to the restroom and washed my hands for too long, then smoothed down the unruly waves of my hair. When I could no longer avoid the inevitable, I headed to the refreshment break.
The cafeteria was a long, open, bright room. At one end was a lounge with rugs, potted plants, and sofas. Between old black-and-white photos of the school were student-made posters extolling excellence, honor, and duty. Tables with food and drinks were set along a wall. Girls mingled in groups and I felt their eyes on me as I got a plate of fruit salad and a glass of juice.
“Hi, Jane.”
I turned to see the pretty auburn-haired girl I’d met in the drugstore. Her shining hair was in a sleek ponytail and she wore small gold earrings with pearls. Her hazel eyes were framed with long, thick lashes. She was several inches taller than me and slim, but with curves.
“Hello. We met in town, right?”
“Yes, I’m Hattie, Harriet Tyler.” She smiled with even white teeth. “I’m a junior, too, and Mrs. Radcliffe asked me to show you around. Come meet my friends.”
She wasn’t the type of person who was usually friendly to me, so I was wary as I followed her to the lounge area, where older girls were hanging out. She introduced me to a dozen girls and we exchanged bland hellos.
A beautiful, plump girl named Mary Violet asked, “Are you living in the groundskeeper’s cottage?” Her hair was a cloud of silver-blond curls and she had a golden tan. She was wearing shiny pink lip gloss and thin gold chains around her neck and wrists. She leaned toward me eagerly.
“Yes, I moved in last week.”
“It must be fabulous to live in your own place!” She raised her cornflower-blue eyes toward the ceiling. “If I lived alone, I would have many passionate affairs with debonair men !”
The other girls giggled, and someone said, “You’d have a short commute.”
“Yes! I would rise from my silk sheets late after a night of untamed sexual coitus, bid my lover adieu—he would beg me to stay—and then I would dash breathlessly to class as the last bell rang. My hair would be romantically tousled.” Mary Violet waved her arm, sloshing juice over the rim of her glass.
“You mean you’d be a disaster and wouldn’t have the common courtesy to shower,” said Constance, a thin girl with dark brown skin, braids, and huge glasses that magnified her almond-shaped eyes. She had introduced herself with a handshake, saying, “I’m Constance Applewhaite. Pleased to meet you.” Her voice had an attractive lilt, and I wondered where she was from.
“Let me have my
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