Read Online Overworld Chronicles Books 1-2: Sweet Blood of Mine & Dark Light of Mine by John Corwin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John Corwin
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Children's Books, Fantasy, Fantasy & Magic, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Children's eBooks, Paranormal & Urban, Science Fiction; Fantasy & Scary Stories
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to follow through on. So I started off easy and made a checklist on my computer:
Haircut
Join Gym
New Clothes.
The tiny list looked pitiful on the vast expanse of empty computer screen, but at least it was a start. It was particularly pitiful in light of the fact that I had stayed up most of the night alternatively making that list and resisting the urge to punch holes in the walls. I'd once heard someone on TV say, "It's all about the G-T-L. Gym, tan, and laundry." At the time, it seemed awfully shallow advice. But maybe they were right. I looked like a shaggy overweight slob and felt horrible. Why should anyone else like me?
To do anything on my list I'd need money so, I sneaked into Dad's room while he snored away and found the shoebox he and Mom used for storing their rainy day funds. I'd looted from it before and since I was having a hurricane month, I took all of the cash—several thousand dollars—and stuck it behind a fake panel I'd built into the drywall in my closet a couple of years ago. Considering what my parents were putting me through I didn't feel guilty one little bit.
* * * * *
The next day during classes my head bobbed every few minutes as I dozed off. I actually face-planted on my desk in homeroom which amused Jenny and Annie to no end. My eyelids felt like they had tiny but chubby sleep fairies hanging on the lashes and pulling them closed. I think I must have sleep-talked something to that effect while dozing because Nancy Sanders asked me if sleep fairies gave out money for teeth too. Then she giggled hysterically. Our Literature teacher was not amused.
At lunch I found Crye and the gang and took an open seat.
"Hi," I said, feeling uncomfortable and unsure if they'd accept me back at their table again.
"Hey," Crye said and then yawned so hard and wide her jaw cracked. Apparently I wasn't the only one pulling all-nighters. Even with the powder-white makeup and dark rings of eyeliner, I could see the fatigue in her face.
Ash eyed me. "You look tired. Go to a rave or something?"
"Nah. Just did a lot of reading." I bit into the soggy square cafeteria pizza and forced it down my throat while mulling the list I'd made. "Do you guys think I'd look better if I cut my hair?"
Ash shrugged. Crye stood up and walked around the table, her black Victorian-era dress rustling as she walked. She wound some of my hair around her fingers and sniffed it. I noticed her black fingernails matched her lipstick.
Her violet eyes seemed to see right into me. They were not the peaceful color of flowers, but sparkling, fiery, and full of life despite the dark bags under her eyes.
"Do you wear contacts?" I asked, staring into those amazing irises.
She jerked from her reverie. "Yes—yes of course. Nobody has eyes this color."
"Looks cool," I said lamely. I'd almost said "beautiful" but figured that would've been over the edge.
Crye stared again at my hair as a tarot card reader would look at my fortune. "Your hair is a mess."
"I know that, but—"
She put a finger to my lips and shook her head, so I shut my mouth. Sometimes the hardest part of asking for advice is actually taking it to heart. I'd done things my way for long enough and look where that got me: relying on a Goth chick for fashion advice.
Crye held my hair so it stood on end. She looked from Ash to Nyte to me and grunted like a doctor who'd just found a potentially hazardous anomaly in someone's brain scan. "You have coarse hair. I think you should cut it to about six inches and spike it."
"Spike my hair?"
"Her mom owns a fancy salon. I'd listen to her," Ash said.
Crye wore her long black hair straight with a simple part down the middle like the matriarch from the Addams Family. The day before she had worn it in pink-bowed pigtails. If it weren't for the shrapnel-like piercings all over her face and the deathly white makeup, she might actually look cute. I could almost stand everything except the nose and tongue studs. The hygiene issues those
Haircut
Join Gym
New Clothes.
The tiny list looked pitiful on the vast expanse of empty computer screen, but at least it was a start. It was particularly pitiful in light of the fact that I had stayed up most of the night alternatively making that list and resisting the urge to punch holes in the walls. I'd once heard someone on TV say, "It's all about the G-T-L. Gym, tan, and laundry." At the time, it seemed awfully shallow advice. But maybe they were right. I looked like a shaggy overweight slob and felt horrible. Why should anyone else like me?
To do anything on my list I'd need money so, I sneaked into Dad's room while he snored away and found the shoebox he and Mom used for storing their rainy day funds. I'd looted from it before and since I was having a hurricane month, I took all of the cash—several thousand dollars—and stuck it behind a fake panel I'd built into the drywall in my closet a couple of years ago. Considering what my parents were putting me through I didn't feel guilty one little bit.
* * * * *
The next day during classes my head bobbed every few minutes as I dozed off. I actually face-planted on my desk in homeroom which amused Jenny and Annie to no end. My eyelids felt like they had tiny but chubby sleep fairies hanging on the lashes and pulling them closed. I think I must have sleep-talked something to that effect while dozing because Nancy Sanders asked me if sleep fairies gave out money for teeth too. Then she giggled hysterically. Our Literature teacher was not amused.
At lunch I found Crye and the gang and took an open seat.
"Hi," I said, feeling uncomfortable and unsure if they'd accept me back at their table again.
"Hey," Crye said and then yawned so hard and wide her jaw cracked. Apparently I wasn't the only one pulling all-nighters. Even with the powder-white makeup and dark rings of eyeliner, I could see the fatigue in her face.
Ash eyed me. "You look tired. Go to a rave or something?"
"Nah. Just did a lot of reading." I bit into the soggy square cafeteria pizza and forced it down my throat while mulling the list I'd made. "Do you guys think I'd look better if I cut my hair?"
Ash shrugged. Crye stood up and walked around the table, her black Victorian-era dress rustling as she walked. She wound some of my hair around her fingers and sniffed it. I noticed her black fingernails matched her lipstick.
Her violet eyes seemed to see right into me. They were not the peaceful color of flowers, but sparkling, fiery, and full of life despite the dark bags under her eyes.
"Do you wear contacts?" I asked, staring into those amazing irises.
She jerked from her reverie. "Yes—yes of course. Nobody has eyes this color."
"Looks cool," I said lamely. I'd almost said "beautiful" but figured that would've been over the edge.
Crye stared again at my hair as a tarot card reader would look at my fortune. "Your hair is a mess."
"I know that, but—"
She put a finger to my lips and shook her head, so I shut my mouth. Sometimes the hardest part of asking for advice is actually taking it to heart. I'd done things my way for long enough and look where that got me: relying on a Goth chick for fashion advice.
Crye held my hair so it stood on end. She looked from Ash to Nyte to me and grunted like a doctor who'd just found a potentially hazardous anomaly in someone's brain scan. "You have coarse hair. I think you should cut it to about six inches and spike it."
"Spike my hair?"
"Her mom owns a fancy salon. I'd listen to her," Ash said.
Crye wore her long black hair straight with a simple part down the middle like the matriarch from the Addams Family. The day before she had worn it in pink-bowed pigtails. If it weren't for the shrapnel-like piercings all over her face and the deathly white makeup, she might actually look cute. I could almost stand everything except the nose and tongue studs. The hygiene issues those
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