Read Online My Sweetest Escape by Chelsea M. Cameron - Free Book Online Page B

was right. Since I was new, the
    teacher, who went by Pam, didn’t call on
    me, but everyone else was fair game.
    She fired questions out like bullets, and
    if you answered too slowly, she’d move on
    to someone else. There was a lot of
    stuttering, a lot of red faces and a lot of
    people shooting their hands in the air to be
    called on so they could show everyone just
    how freaking smart they were.
    And then there were some, including
    Hannah, who gave the answers when called
    and didn’t elaborate unless Pam asked
    them to. Everyone sort of turned to look at
    Hannah when she talked, and I could see
    that more than a few people’s gazes
    skittered away from the burned side of her
    face, but she didn’t seem to notice or care.
    I didn’t get out my headphones the
    entire class. It was just too interesting. How
    she could make something as potentially
    boring as Colonial government riveting was
    beyond me.
    When the class was over, we all sort of
    walked out like we were in a trance.
    “Is it always like that?” I couldn’t help
    myself from asking Hannah as she crumpled
    up the empty Skittles bag.
    “Pretty much. Awesome, huh?”
    “It probably will be less awesome when
    she starts calling on me.”
    “Just do the reading. You seem like the
    kind of person who doesn’t have her head
    up her ass, so you should be fine.
    So, where did you transfer from?”
    “UNH.”
    “Boo, hiss. Don’t say that too close to
    anyone connected with hockey, or else you
    might get your ass handed to you.”
    So I’d heard. The hockey rivalry between
    the University of Maine and the University
    of New Hampshire had been going on for as
    long as they’d been playing hockey. I’d
    never gone to a game, but campus pretty
    much shut down so everyone could go to
    the games, and I bet UMaine wasn’t any
    different.
    I had some time before my next class,
    and I was already starving, so I headed
    toward the Union.
    “Do you have another class right now?”
    Hannah said as we got to the doors.
    “Because, although that bag of Skittles was
    totally satisfying, I could go for something
    else. Why does this sound like I’m asking
    you out? I’m totally not.” She shook her
    head.
    “Um, no. I’m available. For eating. Not
    the dating.”
    Her dark eyes went wide. “Because I like
    boys. I swear.”
    “Yeah, me, too.”
    We shared one of those nervous giggles
    that turns into full-on laughter, and by the
    time we got to the Union, I was wiping tears
    away.
    “I swear, I’m not normally this weird,”
    she said as we joined the lunchtime throng
    and descended into the food court. Only a
    second later she said, “Okay, that’s a
    complete lie. I am normally this weird.”
    “I won’t tell anyone,” I whispered as we
    scoped out what was available. The longest
    lines were for pizza and burgers and the
    pseudo “Taco Bell,” so we headed to get
    wraps since those were the quickest. I
    happened to be on Hannah’s “good” side,
    but I was more than aware of the stares she
    got. It was one of those things. You saw her,
    realized there was something different
    about her, did a look again to check and
    then couldn’t look away.
    She just smiled and giggled and acted
    like a normal girl. She got a hummus wrap
    and I ordered the special, known as the
    “Winslow,” which was basically a chicken
    caesar wrap with the addition of crushed
    croutons, which was such a brilliant idea
    that I couldn’t believe someone hadn’t
    thought of it sooner.
    Finding a seat turned out to be a
    challenge, but we found a table for the two
    of us in a corner. I was about to say
    something, but Hannah beat me to it.
    “So, in light of wanting to get things out
    in the open, yes, it’s a burn. It happened
    when I was a kid and it’s a long story and I’d
    rather not go into it because it’s a bit of a
    downer and a bit of a conversation killer
    and usually after I tell it I never see whoever
    I told it to again. Which is my weird way