Read Online Places No One Knows by Brenna Yovanoff - Free Book Online
Authors: Brenna Yovanoff
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mother’s psych face. “Shocking.”
Autumn turns to the mirror, picking at her bottom lip. In the glass, her reflection looks stoic and mean. “I totally asked you a serious question just now, and you totally changed the subject. You, them,
why
?”
I shrug. Kendry and Palmer may not be astounding minds of our generation, but they know how to navigate the terrain of empty compliments and small talk, and never seem to mind too much when I don’t. “They have their uses.”
Autumn twitches away from the mirror. “Jesus
Christ,
you are a sociopath!”
“I’m a pragmatist.” The declaration seems too harsh for daytime-Waverly, and I add, kind of lamely, “There’s a difference.”
Autumn rolls her eyes. “Come
on.
Your friends suck so much it’s criminal. What could you possibly get from hanging out with those guys besides the satisfaction of knowing you’re better than them at everything?”
“It’s not actually as satisfying as you’d think.”
“Wow.”
I know how it sounded, but no matter how arrogant or mechanical I seem, the truth is worse. The alternative to formal dances and student council—to Maribeth and her minions—is to be deeply, unalterably alone. It’s a hazard that has always been there, drifting in the background since elementary school. And so I study hierarchies and social norms, abide by the rules. I restrain myself, and even when I slip up sometimes and stop having facial expressions or start talking about spiral galaxies, most of the time, Palmer and Kendry don’t actually notice.
For a second, I expect Autumn to scold me for my haughtiness the same way Maribeth would. Tell me, once again, the story of my own faulty wiring. But she just shrugs a broad, expansive shrug. “Hey, I get it. Your fatal flaw is that you have no people skills. Whatever, it happens to the best of us.”
I stare back at her, shaking my head. “You make it a hobby to intentionally piss off
every
one, and you’re blaming it on faulty
people skills
?”
“Oh, no—
my
fatal flaw is that I never lie. Totally different. If you want, though, I could probably give you a few pointers.”
“Thanks, but I think I’d rather stick to just not talking.”
She grins, but it’s more like she’s baring her teeth. “Waverly, please. It’s not like I don’t already know your dirty little secret.”
I have a guilty recollection of wandering through drunk, oblivious crowds in my pajamas, waking up with rotting leaves stuck to my feet. Marshall, his warm hands reaching for mine from under the picnic table.
I cross my arms over my chest. “What secret?”
“That you’re the smart one.”
When I laugh, it sounds relieved. “
Every
one knows that. They print the honor roll on the back page of the
Courier
every quarter.”
“I’m not talking about grades.” She waves her hand at the empty locker room. “I’m talking about
this.
The dances, the clubs, the passwords and the handshakes. You know it’s bullshit, and you play anyway.”
I don’t say anything.
“I bet you play chess,” she says.
I shake my head. “I quit in junior high.”
“Too dorky?”
“Yeah.”
“You were good, though, right?”
“I don’t do anything I’m not good at.”
We stand looking at each other over the carved-up benches. She’s wearing so much eyeliner that it’s starting to flake off in waxy pieces, like crayon.
“You didn’t quit,” she says finally. “You just found yourself a bigger board with fancier pieces.”
.
The run that night is long and dreamlike. I feel surreal, wired like a car battery, my engine clanking, my thoughts racing.
Autumn is unexpected. An unknown quantity.
I spend four blocks trying to anticipate all the ways her interest in me could end in disaster.
No matter what angle I consider, it’s hard to see a motive. It’s not that I’m guileless enough to believe she actually likes me. I just can’t think of anything I have that she would want.
I need more information.
Autumn turns to the mirror, picking at her bottom lip. In the glass, her reflection looks stoic and mean. “I totally asked you a serious question just now, and you totally changed the subject. You, them,
why
?”
I shrug. Kendry and Palmer may not be astounding minds of our generation, but they know how to navigate the terrain of empty compliments and small talk, and never seem to mind too much when I don’t. “They have their uses.”
Autumn twitches away from the mirror. “Jesus
Christ,
you are a sociopath!”
“I’m a pragmatist.” The declaration seems too harsh for daytime-Waverly, and I add, kind of lamely, “There’s a difference.”
Autumn rolls her eyes. “Come
on.
Your friends suck so much it’s criminal. What could you possibly get from hanging out with those guys besides the satisfaction of knowing you’re better than them at everything?”
“It’s not actually as satisfying as you’d think.”
“Wow.”
I know how it sounded, but no matter how arrogant or mechanical I seem, the truth is worse. The alternative to formal dances and student council—to Maribeth and her minions—is to be deeply, unalterably alone. It’s a hazard that has always been there, drifting in the background since elementary school. And so I study hierarchies and social norms, abide by the rules. I restrain myself, and even when I slip up sometimes and stop having facial expressions or start talking about spiral galaxies, most of the time, Palmer and Kendry don’t actually notice.
For a second, I expect Autumn to scold me for my haughtiness the same way Maribeth would. Tell me, once again, the story of my own faulty wiring. But she just shrugs a broad, expansive shrug. “Hey, I get it. Your fatal flaw is that you have no people skills. Whatever, it happens to the best of us.”
I stare back at her, shaking my head. “You make it a hobby to intentionally piss off
every
one, and you’re blaming it on faulty
people skills
?”
“Oh, no—
my
fatal flaw is that I never lie. Totally different. If you want, though, I could probably give you a few pointers.”
“Thanks, but I think I’d rather stick to just not talking.”
She grins, but it’s more like she’s baring her teeth. “Waverly, please. It’s not like I don’t already know your dirty little secret.”
I have a guilty recollection of wandering through drunk, oblivious crowds in my pajamas, waking up with rotting leaves stuck to my feet. Marshall, his warm hands reaching for mine from under the picnic table.
I cross my arms over my chest. “What secret?”
“That you’re the smart one.”
When I laugh, it sounds relieved. “
Every
one knows that. They print the honor roll on the back page of the
Courier
every quarter.”
“I’m not talking about grades.” She waves her hand at the empty locker room. “I’m talking about
this.
The dances, the clubs, the passwords and the handshakes. You know it’s bullshit, and you play anyway.”
I don’t say anything.
“I bet you play chess,” she says.
I shake my head. “I quit in junior high.”
“Too dorky?”
“Yeah.”
“You were good, though, right?”
“I don’t do anything I’m not good at.”
We stand looking at each other over the carved-up benches. She’s wearing so much eyeliner that it’s starting to flake off in waxy pieces, like crayon.
“You didn’t quit,” she says finally. “You just found yourself a bigger board with fancier pieces.”
.
The run that night is long and dreamlike. I feel surreal, wired like a car battery, my engine clanking, my thoughts racing.
Autumn is unexpected. An unknown quantity.
I spend four blocks trying to anticipate all the ways her interest in me could end in disaster.
No matter what angle I consider, it’s hard to see a motive. It’s not that I’m guileless enough to believe she actually likes me. I just can’t think of anything I have that she would want.
I need more information.
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