Read Online Teen Frankenstein by Chandler Baker - Free Book Online Page B

“It’s all here. I e-mailed it to the school last night, but we have it just in case.”
    â€œAnd your voice mail?”
    He punched a number on his phone. It played a muffled recording of my voice, donning my best midwestern accent. “You’ve reached Marjorie Smith. Due to recent family events, I am tending to personal matters. I will return your call as soon as I’m able.” Beep.
    He nodded. “What’s it called when a plan’s a step below bulletproof?”
    â€œShot to hell,” I said.
    He grimaced. “Right, that.”
    As we got closer to the school, my legs began sticking to the fake leather seats, and it felt like ripping off tape every time I pressed the brakes. My armpits were Slip ’N Slides, and I knew my cotton socks were doing their fair share of sopping up my nerves.
    My head was ringing louder than a bell tower as we neared the school. Buildings started popping out of the cotton fields. We passed the sprawling expanse of the Beverly-Tate plant, where the lion’s share of this country’s feminine pads and toilet paper was proudly produced.
    We then took a right and my heart began hammering harder. The stadium loomed in the distance. “Adam?” I said as we pulled into the parking lot, the brick and mortar of Hollow Pines High sprouting out of the ground in front of us. “Just act normal.”
    We unclicked our seat belts. Car doors slammed. I ducked my head into the backseat. “Are you coming?”
    â€œI am coming. Wait for me.” Adam didn’t notice when the top of his head rammed against the roof of the car. Each large foot clomped into the gravel and, once standing, he dwarfed me.
    â€œThis,” Owen gestured, “is Hollow Pines High.” Adam grunted and backed up against Bert. Owen thumped him on the back. “I agree, buddy. It’s frightening. But you get used to it. Shall we give you the tour?”
    The school was crawling with its morning bustle. Hollow Pines High School was a biosphere in which all species were forced to mix. A pickup truck sped past us, kicking up gravel and dust. We paused to cough and swat it away. Adam stuck close to my side.
    â€œThose kids,” said Owen, looking over to where the pickup was squeezing itself in among a line of other gas-guzzlers, “are called the Wranglers.”
    â€œAs in the jeans,” I explained.
    â€œYou thought that Wrangler jeans went out of style in the 1980s and you’d be right,” Owen continued. “But the Wranglers believe it’s their God-given duty to wear starched denim twenty-four-seven-three-sixty-five. Check out the ironed-in creases on those babies.” We shuffled past three guys sitting in the bed of a pickup, sharing dip from a tin can of Skoal tobacco. They passed around a Styrofoam cup and took turns spitting into it. I shuddered and looked away. “Rumor has it, they even sleep in them.”
    Adam’s face cracked open with what I believed was supposed to be a smile. He raised his hand in the air and waved furiously. “Hello, Wranglers,” he shouted.
    The kids in the truck glanced up and shook their heads before stuffing in another wad of chewing tobacco.
    I grabbed Adam’s arm and forced it to his side, shuffling him off past the line of trucks. My face flushed with heat. I made a quick wave and muttered an apology to the confused wannabe cowboys.
    â€œAren’t those your friends, Victoria?” He pointed back to the Wranglers.
    â€œDefinitely not. Come on. We’re headed that way.” I gestured toward the mouth of the main building, where a stream of students was already pouring in. Owen and I had the worst parking spots. It was a hike.
    â€œOn your left, you’ll see that we’re entering the Bible Belt.” A collection of kids wearing matching shirts busied themselves unloading posters from the trunk of a car. “They’re harmless mostly, but if you so