Read Online Valley of the Moon by Bronwyn Archer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Bronwyn Archer
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promise.
It didn’t take long me long to see the real Ramona Crawford. Once, a few weeks after my dad and I moved into their house, Cressida dared me to go in her closet and peek inside her underwear drawer. We crept into the massive walk-in closet, giggling. She showed me the drawer filled with forbidden things: mysterious things made of black lace and silk, corsets with straps and satin masks and even something covered in feathers. I plunged my hands in, the sensation of illicit silk thrilling on my bare eleven-year-old forearms.
When she caught me, I was elbow-deep in her underwear. I spent the next five hours in the naughty room.
One more thing I learned living with the Crawfords: tears sting when they roll down freshly slapped cheeks.
***
The Mr. Quarry bombshell was not the big news going around the senior lounge after assembly.
“Did you see her?” We had snagged the red velvet club chairs in the far corner. The dark green walls of the lounge were hung with the photographs of every senior class president since the school was founded.
The current class president watched us from her portrait on the wall above our heads. She also happened to be the topic of conversation that morning.
“Did she grow a new wart or something?”
“Uh, yeah. Two of them.” Piper cackled. Her eyes shined with the joy of being the first to tell me.
Bernadette sauntered into the lounge and beelined over. She plopped into the chair next to mine and flung her backpack to the floor like she wanted it dead. She pulled a diet Coke out of her sweater pocket and cracked it open.
“Bernie, thank God,” Piper said. “Please tell me you saw her.”
“Saw who?” She cracked open her soda and took a slurp. “How was break? Sucks to be back, right?”
“Our break was freaking awesome,” Piper gushed. “We pretty much all got boyfriends—me, Lana, and Maya.”
Pretty much. Except for the Lana part. “Piper—”
Bernadette cut me off and nodded. “Nice timing. They’re going to announce prom any minute. Wait, I have to tell you about the ski trip. There was this one instructor—”
The last thing I wanted to hear was a ski trip story.
Piper sighed loudly. “Can’t we please first discuss Cressida and her new boobs?”
Bernadette raised an eyebrow and looked at me. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who had yet to behold New Cressida.
“Good for her,” Bernadette said, shrugging. “If I had her grape tits, I’d get mine done, too. Lucky for us, we were born with great racks.”
Piper cocked her head toward the doors. Cressida, flanked by Ginger and Valentina, headed for the cluster of chairs in front of the fireplace. There was an unwritten rule that no one else could sit in those chairs.
Every girl in the senior lounge stared. Cressida’s white-blonde curls were newly straightened. Her snug uniform sweater showed off her other enhancements.
“Are those Ds?” Bernadette asked, craning her neck for a better view.
“I think they’re Cs.” Piper said. “C for Cressida.” Bernadette choked on her soda. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. It was one thing to hate Cressida for the way she treated us. It was another to mock her looks. Don’t be like this. Don’t be like her . After all the school’s hard work indoctrinating us about the “importance of sisterhood” and “female empowerment,” and we were sitting around ripping a classmate to shreds. But maybe there was an exception when it came to Cressida.
Maybe not.
The bell blared. We hoisted our backpacks and paraded to the door.
As I walked past her, she looked up at me.
We accidentally made eye contact.
Well, now you have to say something.
“Hey Cressida, I like your hair. It looks good.”
“Yeah,” Piper muttered under her breath. “Like lipstick on a pig.”
Cressida’s mouth twisted into a thin smile. She turned to her friends. “Did I hear someone say pig , you guys? Or Piper ?”
I could feel Piper’s rage coming on.
It didn’t take long me long to see the real Ramona Crawford. Once, a few weeks after my dad and I moved into their house, Cressida dared me to go in her closet and peek inside her underwear drawer. We crept into the massive walk-in closet, giggling. She showed me the drawer filled with forbidden things: mysterious things made of black lace and silk, corsets with straps and satin masks and even something covered in feathers. I plunged my hands in, the sensation of illicit silk thrilling on my bare eleven-year-old forearms.
When she caught me, I was elbow-deep in her underwear. I spent the next five hours in the naughty room.
One more thing I learned living with the Crawfords: tears sting when they roll down freshly slapped cheeks.
***
The Mr. Quarry bombshell was not the big news going around the senior lounge after assembly.
“Did you see her?” We had snagged the red velvet club chairs in the far corner. The dark green walls of the lounge were hung with the photographs of every senior class president since the school was founded.
The current class president watched us from her portrait on the wall above our heads. She also happened to be the topic of conversation that morning.
“Did she grow a new wart or something?”
“Uh, yeah. Two of them.” Piper cackled. Her eyes shined with the joy of being the first to tell me.
Bernadette sauntered into the lounge and beelined over. She plopped into the chair next to mine and flung her backpack to the floor like she wanted it dead. She pulled a diet Coke out of her sweater pocket and cracked it open.
“Bernie, thank God,” Piper said. “Please tell me you saw her.”
“Saw who?” She cracked open her soda and took a slurp. “How was break? Sucks to be back, right?”
“Our break was freaking awesome,” Piper gushed. “We pretty much all got boyfriends—me, Lana, and Maya.”
Pretty much. Except for the Lana part. “Piper—”
Bernadette cut me off and nodded. “Nice timing. They’re going to announce prom any minute. Wait, I have to tell you about the ski trip. There was this one instructor—”
The last thing I wanted to hear was a ski trip story.
Piper sighed loudly. “Can’t we please first discuss Cressida and her new boobs?”
Bernadette raised an eyebrow and looked at me. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who had yet to behold New Cressida.
“Good for her,” Bernadette said, shrugging. “If I had her grape tits, I’d get mine done, too. Lucky for us, we were born with great racks.”
Piper cocked her head toward the doors. Cressida, flanked by Ginger and Valentina, headed for the cluster of chairs in front of the fireplace. There was an unwritten rule that no one else could sit in those chairs.
Every girl in the senior lounge stared. Cressida’s white-blonde curls were newly straightened. Her snug uniform sweater showed off her other enhancements.
“Are those Ds?” Bernadette asked, craning her neck for a better view.
“I think they’re Cs.” Piper said. “C for Cressida.” Bernadette choked on her soda. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. It was one thing to hate Cressida for the way she treated us. It was another to mock her looks. Don’t be like this. Don’t be like her . After all the school’s hard work indoctrinating us about the “importance of sisterhood” and “female empowerment,” and we were sitting around ripping a classmate to shreds. But maybe there was an exception when it came to Cressida.
Maybe not.
The bell blared. We hoisted our backpacks and paraded to the door.
As I walked past her, she looked up at me.
We accidentally made eye contact.
Well, now you have to say something.
“Hey Cressida, I like your hair. It looks good.”
“Yeah,” Piper muttered under her breath. “Like lipstick on a pig.”
Cressida’s mouth twisted into a thin smile. She turned to her friends. “Did I hear someone say pig , you guys? Or Piper ?”
I could feel Piper’s rage coming on.
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