Read Online The Poison Apples by Lily Archer - Free Book Online Page A

dinner hall, my head throbbing.
    Someone come talk to me, I prayed.
    I waited around ten seconds and was suddenly jostled by a beautiful girl with red hair, holding a cafeteria tray.
    â€œExcuse me,” she said. Her violet eyes sparkled while she looked me up and down.
    â€œSorry,” I said. “Um…”
    Say something, I told myself. Say something.
    I could barely choke the words out. “Um, my name is…”
    But someone was already whispering in the beautiful girl’s ear, and the beautiful girl was already staring at me and giggling.
    â€œReena,” she exclaimed to the person next to her. “You are so bad !”
    Then the two of them walked away, arms linked and heads bowed together, their shoulders shaking with laughter.
    I held my tears back just long enough to grab a handful of croutons from the salad bar, sprint up the stairs to my room, and fall face-first onto my pillow.

FIVE
    Reena
    Okay, so boarding school wasn’t exactly what I expected.
    Is it wrong that I hoped my dorm room would have wood floors? and a fireplace? and maybe the stuffed head of a mountain lion hanging over the mantelpiece?
    Instead I got dirty gray carpeting, streaky walls, a buzzing fluorescent light, and not much else.
    And is it wrong that I hoped my roommate might be a nice, normal, friendly person with whom I could hold an actual conversation? Maybe even a cool East Coast girl who could teach me how to roast chestnuts and make really good hot chocolate?
    Instead I got a sulky blond chick wearing all black who looked exactly like a younger version of Shanti Shruti. And even that would have been okay, if she had deigned to talk to me. Instead Miss Cooler Than Thou lay on her bed and ignored me for hours while I unpacked. Well, fine. I didn’t need her. I could make friends on my own while she sat around and looked down her nose at everybody. And it made total sense when she said she was from New York City. New York City kids—I’d always imagined—were ten times more sophisticated than everyone else. But Alice Bingley-Beckerman was sophisticated in a bad way. I could tell that she thought I was immature and dumb.
    Point is, I already had one snotty blond woman in my life making me feel bad. I didn’t need another.
    Which is not to say I wasn’t seized by terror when I walked into the cafeteria that first night and realized that I was going to have find someone else to talk to. And somewhere to sit.
    I picked up a plastic tray and made my way toward the hot food line. I waited as the line moved forward, trying to keep a nonchalant expression on my face. Show no weakness, Reenie, my father had told me on my first day of school in Beverly Hills, right after we’d saved up enough money to move there. The key is to never let anyone know you feel bad.
    I stared over the heads of my new classmates so it looked like I was spacing out and thinking about something incredibly important.
    â€œEw,” someone behind me in line said.
    I turned around. The someone was a frighteningly perfect-looking girl with shiny red hair and porcelain skin. She was wearing a purple minidress and purple eyeliner. Her pink lip gloss was flawlessly applied. Was she talking to me?
    â€œWhat is that smell?” she asked, her lips pursed in distaste. Our eyes connected. Okay. She was talking to me. I had to say something witty in return. Something cool. Something disaffected. I assumed she was talking about the smell in the hot food line, which, to be honest, was not as bad as it could have been. But there was something else my father liked to say to me: Pick your battles, Reenie. Pick your battles.
    â€œIt smells kind of like homeless man,” I said thoughtfully. “Combined with old cheese. And nail polish. And my grandmother’s sweat.”
    The girl shrieked with pleasure. “That is, like, the grossest thing I’ve ever heard!”
    I grinned. “You haven’t heard