Read Online The Princesses of Iowa by M. Molly Backes - Free Book Online Page B

it between us. Regardless of who we were dating or who we’d come with, we’d always find each other and stand together near the truck, hands solemnly clasped. For years we’d been waiting for our turn to hear our names called, to climb the hay-bale step onto the truck bed and stand above everyone else in the flickering, dancing light of the fire. And now, after all these years, suddenly it was only a week away? I had a brief, panicky feeling that time was moving much too quickly, that at this rate graduation would be here before I knew it, and then I’d be in college and then be married and old before I even had a chance to take a breath. These were supposed to be the best years of my life, and they were slipping away in a haze of awkwardness and silence.
    I snapped back into the present to hear Mr. Tremont talking about workshopping as a process, and how it was supposed to help you grow as a writer, and I realized that the bonfire wasn’t the only thing fast approaching. I was supposed to come up with something for the whole class to read and discuss in a week. Shit. A week? I hadn’t written anything other than essays and papers since middle school. Well, except for the freewriting thing, but that didn’t really count, since I hadn’t known what I was writing about until after it happened, the words just came out of nowhere. And the last part, about us using secrets as weapons — I hadn’t even known I felt that, not really, and yet there it was on the page. But it wasn’t like I was about to hand these scribbled pages in to the class to read — I had to figure something else out, and soon.
    Before the bell rang, Shanti raised her hand. “Mr. Tremont? Before she . . . left, Mrs. Mueller gave us the assignment of going to hear a literary reading during the festival this weekend. Do we still need to do that?”
    Everyone groaned. “Jesus, Shanti,” I heard Jeremy hiss.
    Mr. Tremont watched our reactions with amusement. “Now that you mention it, going to a reading is an excellent idea. So, yes, the assignment stands.”
    “Way to go, Shan,” Jeremy whispered.
    “Whatever,” she said. “You were going to go anyway.”
    “That’s not the point,” he said. “Homework ruins everything.” He pretended to pout, and she rolled her eyes and laughed. I wondered when they’d become such good friends, if she’d just moved back. What else had I missed over the summer?
    “So,” Mr. Tremont said, “I guess I’ll see you guys on Monday with some sort of evidence that you attended said literary event? A program? A poet’s signature, perhaps? A signed copy of a book?” The bell rang, and everyone filed out, muttering death threats at Shanti.
    As I walked past them, I heard a girl say, “For the record, Shanti? You suck.”

After creative writing, I headed straight for my car, completely preoccupied with the assignment. It was weird — I’d had big papers for classes before, and hard assignments, but nothing had ever stumped me like this before. I’d always been a pretty good student, usually getting all As. My friends teased me sometimes, but the truth was we all got decent grades. And if I occasionally put a little more work into school than they did, it was only because I planned to go to Northwestern, which isn’t exactly a slacker school. Still, it wasn’t like I wanted everyone to see me slaving over the books — it was one thing to get good grades; it was another thing to be totally obvious about it.
    But this assignment was throwing me. Not only would I have to work my butt off to have something ready by next week, I’d also have to share it with the whole class. It would be one thing to embarrass myself in front of the teacher, but in front of the whole class — and right before the homecoming vote?
    Lost in my thoughts, I got in my car and, for the first time since the accident, turned the key without feeling a hint of anxiety. I headed for the one place I knew no one would find me, where I