Read Online siobhan vivian - not that kind of girl by Siobhan Vivian - Free Book Online

up and said, "Natalie, we have a serious problem." "What? The wood? It's still not here?" I searched around for Connor Hughes and started to panic. What if Connor never planned to bring the wood in the first place, just to make me look bad? What if this was a big joke made at my expense, because I'd beaten Mike Domski in the election? Martin shook his head. "No. I mean, I don't know if the wood is here yet or not. But that's not the problem." I stepped out of the way of Autumn's crayon. "What's the problem?" "Nick Devito has the flu." "So what?" "So...there's no one to dress up as Ross the Eagle for tonight's game." "Can't we get one of the freshmen reps to do it?" "I can try. But a lot of those kids are on the freshmen teams or in band." "What about Dipak?" "Dipak has serious claustrophobic issues. He'd hyperventilate inside the costume." "What about you?" I asked, my eyes narrowing. "I'm supposed to be selling the merchandise at the game." I took a deep breath. "Martin, are you telling me that I'm going to have to be Ross the Eagle tonight?" He nodded solemnly. "Yes, Ms. President." "Come on. Hold still!" Autumn said, grabbing my face and steadying her crayon. "Promise me you won't get this stressed out and miserable over every student council thing this year, okay? Everything is fine. The hallway looks great. Relax. Let's have fun!" "Okay, okay," I said. She had a point. It was time to enjoy the fruits of my labor. Suddenly, it was way too loud in the hallway. Connor Hughes and other seniors on the football team, dressed in jeans and their jerseys, headed to their lockers in a pack. Everyone cheered. "Sorry, Autumn," I said, pulling away from her. "Give me a second." The greasy crayon squiggled wildly to my earlobe, but I didn't care. "Connor!" I shouted as loudly as I could, trying to push my way toward him. "The wood?" Connor turned around and looked confused, possibly at the blob on my face. Then he gave me a thumbs-up. The wood had arrived. Everything was going to be fine. There was another noise. Music. A dancey song that I knew from the radio, only played faster and with more bass, growing steadily louder. The crowd suddenly parted. Autumn and I found ourselves pushed backward until we were pressed up against the lockers. I stood on my tiptoes. Ten freshmen girls marched down our hallway in two lines, as if they were in a parade. They were led by Spencer. She had a pink iPod strapped to her bicep and she was holding two white portable speakers, one in each hand. She strutted like a model on a runway. Autumn jumped, straining to see. "Doesn't she know that freshmen aren't allowed in the senior hallway on pep rally day?" Of course, rules like that were ridiculous. You could go anywhere you wanted. Still, they were rules. And there seemed to be lots of them Spencer didn't know. The girls had their hair up in ponytails tied with curls of white satin ribbon, and white terrycloth shorts that were way too short for any real athletic activity. I didn't recognize all of them, but I did spot Susan Choi, who was another one of my freshmen reps. Each wore the same fitted, blue, child-size T-shirt. Murmurs and whispers overtook the cries of "Go home, freshmen!" as the girls strutted by to the beat. I heard laughter. Whistles. Catcalls. I pushed forward to the edge of the crowd. Each shirt had a pair of bulbous footballs positioned like pasties over their boobs. And above them, the same single word was printed across the chest, curling in a perfect arch.

    Rosstitute. Autumn shook her head. "What the hell?" The girls passed, and I noticed that underneath each swishing ponytail tip, the name and number of a varsity player was printed across the backs of the shirts.

    Domski 27 Phillips 4 And on the back of Spencer's: Hughes 14. Suddenly, it hit me. Like an SAT vocab word after breaking down the root.

    Ross Academy + Prostitute = Rosstitute The realization seemed to trickle out of my head and through the crowd. I saw delight on the