Read Online The Carlyles by Cecily von Ziegesar - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Cecily von Ziegesar
Tags: United States, Fiction, General, Family & Relationships, Romance, Juvenile Nonfiction, People & Places, Juvenile Fiction, Travel, Social Issues, Interpersonal relations, Brothers and sisters, New York (N.Y.), Girls & Women, FIC009020, Schools, wealth, Northeast, Middle Atlantic, High schools, Adolescence, Lifestyles, City & Town Life, Triplets
Ads: Link
brother is gorgeous! He was supposed to be a Valentino runway model, but he decided to stay in the United States. Also, he’s supposed to go to the Olympics, and he wears a lucky Speedo under his clothes all the time. The same one, apparently,” Jiffy finished importantly. Avery felt her heart stop—they were definitely talking about her family. No one but Owen wore Speedos instead of boxers.
Jiffy glanced in Avery’s direction, a wave of recognition flashing across her dark brown eyes. Avery turned abruptly away and walked quickly to the back of the auditorium, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach and wishing she could be anywhere but here.
“Is anyone sitting there?” Avery motioned to one of the only seats that hadn’t been taken, next to a tall, thin girl with shaggy, chin-length brown hair pulled back in bobby-pinned twists.
“You are, aren’t you?”
Avery wasn’t sure if it was a question or an order. She hovered awkwardly over the empty seat as the girl stared up at her. Her blazer was unbuttoned and she was wearing a sheer white tank top and ridiculously tall, six-inch stripper-style platform boots. Avery wasn’t sure, but it sort of looked like her nipples were pierced. She averted her eyes before the girl caught her staring at her chest.
“Go for it.” Nipples patted the seat impatiently and turned back to her book. As soon as Avery sat down, she heard the girls in the row behind her giggle and exchange whispers. She shifted uncomfortably and glanced at the book the girl was reading. Look Both Ways: Bisexual Politics . Avery scanned the room to see if she could move somewhere else without seeming rude, but there were no more empty seats. She sighed and sat back, hoping the assembly would start quickly so she wouldn’t be roped into a conversation about the politics of nipple piercing or something equally gross.
“Are you new?” the girl asked, closing her book. Avery didn’t look over. “I’m Sydney Miller.” She held out her hand.
“Avery,” she mumbled, shaking the offered hand. The girl nodded knowingly.
“That’s a great name. My parents named me Sydney because it was where I was conceived. Then, of course, they got divorced three years later. I’m the only reminder of their stupid Australian sexfest.” She cocked her head in anticipation, like she was waiting for Avery’s own conception tale.
Avery tried not to stare in disbelief. She wasn’t about to share the fact that her mom had gone to some hippie sexfest at a gross outdoor concert in New Hampshire and ended up with triplets. She forced her eyes back to the elegant calligraphy on one of the hymnals in front of her.
“Just as an FYI, this place sucks,” Sydney confided. “I can’t wait to get out of here. Seriously, two years until graduation.” She sighed tragically, and then coughed a raspy smoker’s cough. “I was hoping my parents would send me somewhere downtown so I could at least hang out with NYU kids. Here, it’s like Bitch City, don’t you think?”
“Not really,” Avery whispered, self-conscious about how loudly Sydney was talking.
Maybe she’d had a bad first day, but she still intended to get to know people here and fit in. So far she loved everything about Constance, from the buttoned-up headmistress to the elegant views of the Ninety-third Street town houses out the large, arching windows of the auditorium to the rickety, moth-eaten blue velvet seats. Avery pulled out her MAC compact from her purse and looked critically at her cheekbones and the side-swept bangs that complemented her high forehead. What was it about her that was alienating all the girls except this overfriendly bisexual with the pierced nipples? As she leaned down to put her compact back into her bag, she noticed a large, misshapen black star on Sydney’s forearm.
You can’t be alternative unless you have a tattoo that looks like it was drawn with a Sharpie.
Sydney followed her gaze. “Yeah, I got that tat back in
Jiffy glanced in Avery’s direction, a wave of recognition flashing across her dark brown eyes. Avery turned abruptly away and walked quickly to the back of the auditorium, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach and wishing she could be anywhere but here.
“Is anyone sitting there?” Avery motioned to one of the only seats that hadn’t been taken, next to a tall, thin girl with shaggy, chin-length brown hair pulled back in bobby-pinned twists.
“You are, aren’t you?”
Avery wasn’t sure if it was a question or an order. She hovered awkwardly over the empty seat as the girl stared up at her. Her blazer was unbuttoned and she was wearing a sheer white tank top and ridiculously tall, six-inch stripper-style platform boots. Avery wasn’t sure, but it sort of looked like her nipples were pierced. She averted her eyes before the girl caught her staring at her chest.
“Go for it.” Nipples patted the seat impatiently and turned back to her book. As soon as Avery sat down, she heard the girls in the row behind her giggle and exchange whispers. She shifted uncomfortably and glanced at the book the girl was reading. Look Both Ways: Bisexual Politics . Avery scanned the room to see if she could move somewhere else without seeming rude, but there were no more empty seats. She sighed and sat back, hoping the assembly would start quickly so she wouldn’t be roped into a conversation about the politics of nipple piercing or something equally gross.
“Are you new?” the girl asked, closing her book. Avery didn’t look over. “I’m Sydney Miller.” She held out her hand.
“Avery,” she mumbled, shaking the offered hand. The girl nodded knowingly.
“That’s a great name. My parents named me Sydney because it was where I was conceived. Then, of course, they got divorced three years later. I’m the only reminder of their stupid Australian sexfest.” She cocked her head in anticipation, like she was waiting for Avery’s own conception tale.
Avery tried not to stare in disbelief. She wasn’t about to share the fact that her mom had gone to some hippie sexfest at a gross outdoor concert in New Hampshire and ended up with triplets. She forced her eyes back to the elegant calligraphy on one of the hymnals in front of her.
“Just as an FYI, this place sucks,” Sydney confided. “I can’t wait to get out of here. Seriously, two years until graduation.” She sighed tragically, and then coughed a raspy smoker’s cough. “I was hoping my parents would send me somewhere downtown so I could at least hang out with NYU kids. Here, it’s like Bitch City, don’t you think?”
“Not really,” Avery whispered, self-conscious about how loudly Sydney was talking.
Maybe she’d had a bad first day, but she still intended to get to know people here and fit in. So far she loved everything about Constance, from the buttoned-up headmistress to the elegant views of the Ninety-third Street town houses out the large, arching windows of the auditorium to the rickety, moth-eaten blue velvet seats. Avery pulled out her MAC compact from her purse and looked critically at her cheekbones and the side-swept bangs that complemented her high forehead. What was it about her that was alienating all the girls except this overfriendly bisexual with the pierced nipples? As she leaned down to put her compact back into her bag, she noticed a large, misshapen black star on Sydney’s forearm.
You can’t be alternative unless you have a tattoo that looks like it was drawn with a Sharpie.
Sydney followed her gaze. “Yeah, I got that tat back in
Similar Books
