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

anything yet.” It was true. I was famous at my high school for my disgusting sense of humor.
    â€œI’m Kristen,” the girl said. She held out her hand. I shook it.
    â€œI’m Reena,” I said.
    â€œReena? What is that?”
    I wasn’t sure exactly what she meant. “Um. It’s Indian?”
    â€œOh. Cool.” Her eyes flickered up and down my face, then up and down my body. “I like your shoes.”
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œAre you new here?”
    I rolled my eyes. “Unfortunately, yes.”
    â€œMe, too.”
    â€œWhere are you from?”
    Kristen tugged on the edge of her purple dress. For a split second, it looked like she felt uncomfortable. Then the look evaporated. I wasn’t sure what had happened. She tossed her shiny red hair behind her shoulder.
    â€œWestport, Connecticut,” she said.
    â€œOh. Cool.” I’d never even heard of it, but it sounded nice. Connecticut. I pictured thousands of red-haired Kristen clones, all living in perfect white houses with perfect green yards.
    â€œWhere are you from?” Kristen asked.
    â€œLos Angeles.”
    â€œAgggh!” she yelled. “I hate you! That’s where I want to move when I grow up!”
    â€œOh. Yeah. It’s okay.”
    â€œOkay?” she said while cafeteria ladies spooned shapeless lumps of chicken and sauce onto our plates. “I want more information. Do you, like, know any movie stars?”
    â€œNah,” I said, as we moved out of line into the dining hall. “I mean, except for the fact that some of them work out at my gym.”
    â€œYou’re kidding me.”
    â€œUh, no. But that’s not a big deal or anything. I mean, you see celebrities all the time. On the street and stuff. It’s really not that exciting.”
    Kristen sighed. “I totally hate you.”
    We were standing in the middle of the dining hall, balancing our dinner trays on our palms. I cleared my throat nervously.
    â€œWe might as well sit together,” Kristen said after a long pause.
    â€œYeah,” I said. “Might as well.”
    I could have kissed her.
    We made our way through the crowd, looking for an empty table. Suddenly I saw Alice Bingley-Beckerman. She was standing alone in her black skirt and T-shirt, looking around the cafeteria with an expression of utter terror on her face. For a second, I felt bad for her. But then I realized that what looked to me like fear was probably classic New Yorker disdain. She was just thinking about how uncool all her fellow classmates were.
    Another nugget of gold from Rashul Paruchuri: Be nice, Reenie. Just not too nice.
    Kristen and Alice bumped right into each other, and I saw Alice’s face light up. Oh no, I thought. I’m not cool enough for her, but Kristen is! Before either of them could say anything, I leaned over to Kristen and whispered the first thing that popped into mind.
    â€œI have to get out of here and smoke a cigarette,” I hissed.
    Kristen stared at me, delighted.
    â€œYou are so bad!” she shrieked, and the two of us headed off toward the exit, leaving Alice Bingley-Beckerman in our wake.
    At first I felt a wave of relief. Then, slowly, I started to realize what I’d just said, and my stomach dropped.
    I have this terrible habit of … well, you wouldn’t call it pathologically lying , because I never mean to lie , but I have this habit of sometimes just saying things that, well, In No Way Correspond to Reality.
    For example: My father once threw this party for all the surgeons at his hospital, and we were all standing around and mingling with champagne glasses when this one old guy said to me: “You know, I actually attended Woodstock in 1969.” And, without even thinking about it, I nodded enthusiastically and said: “That’s so funny! So did I!”
    I was born decades after Woodstock.
    The problem is, I can’t control it. I don’t