Read Online The Fine Art of Truth or Dare by Melissa Jensen - Free Book Online

mermaid, especially, with all the detail. But modern. With all the little pictures. I really, really liked the rocket . . .”
    All of a sudden he was looking at me like I was
un cafard.
I shut up, fast, but too late.
    â€œThose are private.”
    â€œRight.” It started, that quiet rushing sound in my ears. The one that would turn into a roar, the Niagara Falls of humiliation.
Something there is that doesn’t love . . . doesn’t love . . .
“I didn’t—”
    â€œWhat the hell? You went through my stuff?”
    It didn’t matter that I hadn’t, that the papers had fallen out of the book and that it would have been almost impossible not to see them. I can’t handle it when people go angry-flat like that, closing up like oysters or freezer doors. It makes me want to curl up and disappear.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean—”
    â€œRight. Whatever. I have to go.”
    I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m . . .
    It was the worst moment imaginable. Until it got even worse.
    â€œHey, Romeo. I’ve been calling you for, like, five minutes. Did you lose your phone again?”
    Amanda Alstead was catwalking down the hall, hips and hair swinging. A half step behind her were, as always, Anna and Hannah. They all glided to a swishy stop next to Alex. I could tell the instant Amanda saw me. Her smile wavered for a nanosecond, then went sharp.
    â€œOh. You. Did you fall down?” she asked, so sweet.
    â€œI’m sitting.”
    Someone, either Anna or Hannah, like it mattered, stifled a giggle.
    â€œSitting. Okaaay.” Hannah, angelic in a fuzzy white sweater, looked down her button nose at me. “Things a little . . . challenging for you these days?”
    Alex’s feet were still so close that I could have bumped his toes with mine. He didn’t say anything. When I darted a glance up, I saw that he wasn’t even looking at me. He was staring at the wall. He looked bored.
    Amanda tossed her hair back, displaying a column of perfect pale skin. “You know, if you need to talk about . . . problems, I’ve worked on the school crisis line since freshman year.”
    I could almost see the graphic bubble over her evil goddess head:
Knowledge is power, and I know everything.
I couldn’t think of a single person I would be less likely to confide in. With the Hannandas of the world, it was no wonder I talked to Edward.
    â€œIt’s all completely confidential.” Another hair toss, more perfect skin.
    If I decide to use what I hear,
the bubble read
, believe me, I will, and I’ll still come out smelling like a rose.
    â€œI’m fine,” I managed, the two words coming painfully through my tight throat.
    â€œBecause mistakes like drugs and alcohol,” she went on, as if I hadn’t spoken, “. . . whatever . . . can have even more damaging consequences than just loss of memory and motor functions. I mean, you can seriously screw up your whole life with a few bad choices.”
    Like talking to my boyfriend.
    I got it already.
    â€œI’m fine,” I repeated.
    â€œWhatever. I’m just trying to help.” She exchanged looks with her attendant duo.
What did I expect, trying to be nice to a loser?
“Come on. I hate this hallway. It’s like something out of a bad horror movie.”
    They went, Alex and the Hannandas.
    Anna hadn’t said a single word. That wasn’t surprising. Anna hadn’t talked to me in more than two years, since our first day at Willing. That wouldn’t be surprising to anyone at the school, either, unless they learned that Annamaria Flavia Lombardi and I had known each other since infancy and had, through our Sacred Heart middle-school years, even been pretty good friends, part of a group of a half-dozen girls who moved as a happy, woolly pack. Even