Read Online From Where I Watch You by Shannon Grogan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Shannon Grogan
Tags: Young Adult Mystery
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can look.”
“No. You can’t!”
“Whatever, we’re not married. I can look all I want.” He turns to Nick. “Can’t I, Nick?”
Before Nick speaks, Kellen turns and looks between the two of them. “You guys are both pervs.”
Nick drops his pizza, palms up. “What did I do? Don’t bring me into it.”
Kellen folds her arms down and scowls at him. “Well, gee, kinda hard not to when you are always around!” She turns back to Tad. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe I have feelings? Can you go one fucking minute without checking out some other girl’s ass?”
Tad leans back and takes another huge bite of pizza. Kellen huffs and scowls at me, which makes me slink into my chair a little farther.
“You’d probably hook up with my own sister if you had the chance,” Kellen declares.
I almost choke on my pizza.
“Hey, Kel,” Nick chimes in. “Leave Kara out of this. What’s the matter with you? She’s only twelve!”
“Thirteen,” I correct.
“Yeah, thirteen. Just a baby,” Nick adds.
“Too bad.” Tad leans into Nick and lowers his voice, but I can still hear him. “Shit, she’s Kellen’s clone, only smaller and without the big mouth.”
He chuckles and I want to run away.
Kellen chucks a slice of pizza and it skims Tad’s shoulder, leaving a smear of sauce. When I look at how red my sister’s face is I really want to run away.
“You’re a fucking asshole, Tad. But hey, wait around a year or two and you can have her!”
9. Add sugar.
..........................................................
Smells like betrayal. i like how you think you can just wander the streets at night.
My name is Kara McKinley, and I’m being stalked.
During homeroom this morning we had to go around the room and introduce ourselves to Cassie, the new girl from Oregon. We had to tell Cassie one sentence to sum ourselves up. This is what I wanted to say but I didn’t.
On my way to lunch I passed Ms. Phillipe, the school psych, or counselor, or whatever title the school gives her depending on their budget for the year. Today was the second time I ever wanted to talk to her. Not about Kellen—I never wanted to talk about Kellen.
The first time was in October. Noelle and Mason dragged me to a football game, and after the first quarter they disappeared, during which time Ms. Phillipe planted her skinny ass right next to me in the bleachers. I wanted to tell her to go sit with the old people. But then it was okay, because she didn’t seem like her regular school self.
Her hair was up in a ponytail; she wore jeans and a hoodie and ate nachos like she was actually one of us. And I’d had a fight with Mom earlier, plus a note—the second one. It wasn’t a pattern yet, but somehow I sensed it would be. I wanted to tell Ms. Phillipe. But I didn’t. Plus it was too loud anyway.
Today I really wanted to tell her.
But when she smiled that smile, that pathetic I’m-here-whenever-you’re-ready-Kara smile, her words came back to me from last year, when she was her regular school self.
I used to meet with her as an excuse to get out of PE. She talked about my grades and my attitude toward school and how it could all be blamed on my not dealing with grief. She told me that people who don’t work through their grief inflict tremendous harm on themselves—whether they planned to or not. So she’d probably decide I’m writing myself the notes as a way of dealing with the grief I don’t feel.
Not to mention, Ms. Phillipe has a reputation for breaking the rules of confidentiality. She’d tell the principal and he’d probably call Mom.
No way. I can handle it on my own.
When I was little, I used to stand in the doorway to my room and estimate the spot on the floor I needed to jump from to get on my bed without the imaginary monster grabbing my ankles and pulling me into his giant maw under the bed. Now there is a real monster, and he waits for me around every dark corner.
How’s that, Ms.
“No. You can’t!”
“Whatever, we’re not married. I can look all I want.” He turns to Nick. “Can’t I, Nick?”
Before Nick speaks, Kellen turns and looks between the two of them. “You guys are both pervs.”
Nick drops his pizza, palms up. “What did I do? Don’t bring me into it.”
Kellen folds her arms down and scowls at him. “Well, gee, kinda hard not to when you are always around!” She turns back to Tad. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe I have feelings? Can you go one fucking minute without checking out some other girl’s ass?”
Tad leans back and takes another huge bite of pizza. Kellen huffs and scowls at me, which makes me slink into my chair a little farther.
“You’d probably hook up with my own sister if you had the chance,” Kellen declares.
I almost choke on my pizza.
“Hey, Kel,” Nick chimes in. “Leave Kara out of this. What’s the matter with you? She’s only twelve!”
“Thirteen,” I correct.
“Yeah, thirteen. Just a baby,” Nick adds.
“Too bad.” Tad leans into Nick and lowers his voice, but I can still hear him. “Shit, she’s Kellen’s clone, only smaller and without the big mouth.”
He chuckles and I want to run away.
Kellen chucks a slice of pizza and it skims Tad’s shoulder, leaving a smear of sauce. When I look at how red my sister’s face is I really want to run away.
“You’re a fucking asshole, Tad. But hey, wait around a year or two and you can have her!”
9. Add sugar.
..........................................................
Smells like betrayal. i like how you think you can just wander the streets at night.
My name is Kara McKinley, and I’m being stalked.
During homeroom this morning we had to go around the room and introduce ourselves to Cassie, the new girl from Oregon. We had to tell Cassie one sentence to sum ourselves up. This is what I wanted to say but I didn’t.
On my way to lunch I passed Ms. Phillipe, the school psych, or counselor, or whatever title the school gives her depending on their budget for the year. Today was the second time I ever wanted to talk to her. Not about Kellen—I never wanted to talk about Kellen.
The first time was in October. Noelle and Mason dragged me to a football game, and after the first quarter they disappeared, during which time Ms. Phillipe planted her skinny ass right next to me in the bleachers. I wanted to tell her to go sit with the old people. But then it was okay, because she didn’t seem like her regular school self.
Her hair was up in a ponytail; she wore jeans and a hoodie and ate nachos like she was actually one of us. And I’d had a fight with Mom earlier, plus a note—the second one. It wasn’t a pattern yet, but somehow I sensed it would be. I wanted to tell Ms. Phillipe. But I didn’t. Plus it was too loud anyway.
Today I really wanted to tell her.
But when she smiled that smile, that pathetic I’m-here-whenever-you’re-ready-Kara smile, her words came back to me from last year, when she was her regular school self.
I used to meet with her as an excuse to get out of PE. She talked about my grades and my attitude toward school and how it could all be blamed on my not dealing with grief. She told me that people who don’t work through their grief inflict tremendous harm on themselves—whether they planned to or not. So she’d probably decide I’m writing myself the notes as a way of dealing with the grief I don’t feel.
Not to mention, Ms. Phillipe has a reputation for breaking the rules of confidentiality. She’d tell the principal and he’d probably call Mom.
No way. I can handle it on my own.
When I was little, I used to stand in the doorway to my room and estimate the spot on the floor I needed to jump from to get on my bed without the imaginary monster grabbing my ankles and pulling me into his giant maw under the bed. Now there is a real monster, and he waits for me around every dark corner.
How’s that, Ms.
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