Read Online Survival of the Fiercest by Anna Carey - Free Book Online

some things men just couldn’t do.
    â€œAnyway,” Myra continued, cutting back into the pig heart. “What do you think my chances are?”
    Stella glanced around the room, which smelled of formaldehyde and bleach. Analeigh Price watched in horror as her lab partner picked the heart up, making it “dance.” Mrs. Perkins was sitting cross-legged on the corner of her desk, reapplying her lipstick. “Chances of what?” Stella asked, confused.
    â€œOf making it into your sorority?” Myra pulled off her gloves. The heart was pinned open on the wax tray.
    Stella tried to smile, but her skin felt as hard as plastic. Statistically speaking, Myra’s chances were not even point one percent of point one percent. Cate would rather let Heath Bar use her Balenciaga bag as a litter box than let Myra Granberry, Mathlete president and proud owner of a ferret named Pythagoras, into Chi Sigma.
    Stella looked down at the heart. She imagined a depressedMyra eating a frozen dinner at her kitchen table, lit up by a single exposed lightbulb. Her father would keep on about the inner workings of his newest invention, pausing every so often to drop some crumbs to Pythagoras. “You have as good a chance as everyone else,” she offered.
    â€œGosh,” Myra said, clasping her hands together. “Thanks!” She enveloped Stella in a hug, squeezing her tightly.
    Stella closed her eyes and hoped Cate would never find out she’d extended the invite. But more than that, Stella hoped Myra would have a last-minute Mathlete meeting, a sudden cold, or a cousin in on a surprise visit from Albuquerque—anything that would keep her from actually showing up.
    Â 
    Â 
    TO: Cate Sloane
FROM: Blythe Finley
DATE: Wednesday, 7:22 p.m.
SUBJECT: Desperate much?
    Saw your flyer around school today. I heard Liza Bartuzzo (you know, the head of the marching band flag twirlers?) was particularly excited about the open call. You’ve really given all the Ashton underlings something to strive for.
    I’m off to Sophie’s now—Beta Sigma Phi is having its first midweek sleepover. Good luck sorting through our leftovers.
    Blythe
Blythe Finley
President of Beta Sigma Phi
    â€œWith great power comes great responsibility.”—F.D.R.
    Â 
    Â 
    TO: Blythe Finley
FROM: Cate Sloane
DATE: Wednesday, 7:26 p.m.
SUBJECT: Missing me much?
    Dearest Blythe,
    I know this is hard for you. And I know these e-mails are just your lame attempt to talk to me. You’re lonely, I can tell. Who can blame you? No one knows how you’re surviving, now that you have no one to give you a constant stream of fashion advice, or decide what you’re going to eat for lunch.
    I can’t really e-mail, though—Stella and I have to finish planning the open call, and I have to decide what I’m going to wear tomorrow. Eli invited me to his game (you know, Eli Punch? The newest member of the Haverford varsity basketball team?).
    Cate Sloane
Co-president of Chi Sigma

CHI SIGMA…ALPHA?
    A ndie hit the shuttle with her racquet, sending it soaring over the net. It was Thursday morning gym class, and Mrs. Taft had paired her off with Hannah Marcus. Andie had always hated badminton. It was like a lame version of tennis, for people who were over seventy-five or just plain lazy. Hannah fell into the second category. Playing with her was like playing with a statue—she refused to move even six inches to keep the game going.
    Hannah swung her racquet and missed, the shuttle falling a few feet to the right of her feet. Andie gazed longingly at Cindy, who was running around the corner court, having a quick back-and-forth with Addison Isaacs. “So,” Hannah said, as she walked to retrieve the shuttle. She was moving so slowly, it was like she was stuck in mud. “It seems like Cate is coping okay without Blythe.” When she bent over, her purple tank top rode up, revealing her chubby