Read Online The Secrets of Boys by Hailey Abbott - Free Book Online Page A

pot that I don’t even smoke. Everyone else was doing like twelve tabs of Ecstasy every night or smoking crack. You know how when we say, “Are you smoking crack?” we’re usually joking? Yeah. Not these kids.
    Some of them have actually smoked crack. A lot of it.
    Which doesn’t exactly make you a pleasant person to be around, as it turns out.
    Lloyd wanted to know if I’d smuggled anything in, which would be hard, considering they had dogs sniff-ing our bags when we got here. Even my Cadburys were confiscated!
    Anyway, I have to go. I have “KP,” which means slopping gruel into everyone’s plastic bowls for dinner.
    Our silverware is plastic too, I guess so we don’t kill each other with it.
    The secret of this boy is that he wants to go home. I hope your summer is better than mine so far, but I don’t see how it couldn’t be.
    Cheers,
    Joe
    Cassidy had to admit that her summer was going a little better than Joe’s was, even though they were barely at the end of June. It turned out that Madame Briand’s “cultural immersion” policy included a lot of field trips, and Cassidy was actually kind of psyched that the first was to the J. Paul Getty Museum, featuring an exhibit of French impressionist art on loan from the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. As she followed the teacher’s voice through the cool, echoing marble halls, she wondered why she didn’t go to museums more often. She couldn’t decide which she loved more: losing herself in the deep, richly colored paintings or being able to just stand there and think her own thoughts without having to talk.
    “And here is a Degas.” Madame Briand pointed to a picture of a girl in a pink tutu. “He was obsessed with the French ballet, but most of all with the children.
    They were called les petits rats —the little rats.”
    “That’s what I call my kid brothers,” Benjy whispered in Cassidy’s ear. “And they don’t wear tutus, either.”
    Cassidy rolled her eyes. Ever since they’d gotten to the museum, Benjy had attached himself to her side as if he were assigned to be her own personal not-very-funny stand-up comic for the duration of the trip. Every time he leaned in to subject her to another lame attempt at wit, the cheesy smell from the Brie he’d eaten on the way over wafted into her nostrils. Not that she was trying to hang on Madame Briand’s every word or anything, but she kind of wished he would just shut up and let her enjoy the exhibit.
    Cassidy glanced over at the most beautiful piece of artwork in the room—Zach. He was standing a bit away from the rest of the group with his thumbs tucked casually into his belt loops, smiling his usual bemused smile. In the week since she’d first seen him, Cassidy couldn’t figure out what his exact purpose in the classroom was. Occasionally he joined the conversation, his deep, soft voice sending shivers up Cassidy’s spine. But he didn’t talk nearly as much as, say, Cecilia, who Cassidy was more than ready to ship par avion as far away from Malibu as humanly possible.
    Every once in a while Zach led a discussion, but mostly he just sat up front, angled half toward the class and half toward the teacher, quietly driving Cassidy crazy with his undeniable sexiness.
    Sometimes she thought he was looking at her too.
    But only sometimes.
    She watched as his eyes slid toward her, locking with hers.
    Ugh, he caught me staring again. Her face burst into flames as she looked frantically around the room for something to focus on that didn’t turn her insides into sweet, mushy Quaker maple brown sugar oatmeal. The guy probably thinks I’m Looney Tunes, she thought miserably.
    Her eyes landed on a painting that covered almost an entire wall, and showed people in Victorian garb enjoying a sunny day in the park. From where Cassidy stood, the people appeared blurry around the edges, but as she walked toward the painting to take a closer look, the image separated into thousands of tiny dots,