Read Online Vicious Little Darlings by Katherine Easer - Free Book Online

o’clock, still light out. I’ve been wandering around campus for the past forty minutes, but I’m no less tense.
    There’s a guy walking toward me who looks familiar. He’s wearing all black, has pale, pale skin and glossy black hair. Of course! He’s the guy from the diner my first night here, the Edward Scissorhands look-alike with the paper dolls.
    He stops in front of me and smiles. “Hey, haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”
    â€œNo.” I keep walking.
    â€œWait,” he calls after me. “I remember now. The diner by the highway. You were with two other girls.”
    I turn around. He is kind of cute—not in an obvious, classic way, but in a quirky, interesting way. He has high cheekbones and a prominent Adam’s apple.
    â€œYou were there?” I say. “I don’t remember you.” Why did I lie?
    He grins. “You sure?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œWhat’s your name?”
    â€œSarah.”
    â€œHmm,” he says, “I could’ve sworn we made eye contact.”
    I don’t know what to say to this, so I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. “Do you go to school here?” I ask.
    â€œHere?” He laughs. “No. I’m not a female. In case you were wondering.”
    I’m an idiot.
    â€œActually, I’m a senior at Hampshire,” he explains. “But I like the libraries here.”
    â€œEven on Friday nights?”
    â€œYup, I’m a nerd. I’m busted.” He covers his face in mock shame. “Anyway,” he says, lowering his hand, “would you consider having dinner with this nerd?”
    â€œNow?”
    â€œIf you’re free.”
    Yes, yes, yes , I think. But I don’t want to appear too eager, so I say, “You’re a stranger.”
    â€œI’m no stranger. We’ve met twice. And we’ve already established that I’m a nerd. Nerds are harmless. The worst they could do is analyze you to death.”
    â€œWell, in that case …”
    â€œGreat.” He touches my elbow. “Come on. I parked on Maple Drive.”
    After dinner at Hunan Garden, the only Chinese restaurant in town, we go to his place. Scissorhands lives in a big, yellow Victorian with green trim on a street lined with willow trees. His apartment is on the first floor. When he bends over to put his key in the lock, I take the opportunity to check out his ass. Kind of flat, but not bad.
    As we walk into his place, I scan the narrow living room. The apartment smells of popcorn and turpentine, and there’s a Lucite coffee table supported by a female mannequin on all fours. The mannequin is naked and has a big, gaping, blow-up doll mouth.
    â€œNice coffee table,” I say.
    â€œRidiculous, isn’t it? It was a birthday present. I’m getting rid of it, though. Do you know anyone who needs a coffee table?”
    â€œAre you kidding? I go to Wetherly. I’m probably breaking some kind of feminist code just being in the same room with this thing.”
    He laughs. He’s cute when he laughs. “I should have known. I’ll be right back,” he says, and walks down the hall toward what I assume is the bedroom.
    He comes back carrying a white sheet, which he proceeds to drape over the coffee table so that the freaky mannequin is no longer visible.
    â€œBetter?” he says.
    I nod. Our eyes meet. The lighting in here must be amazing because he looks really good.
    His other furniture is modern and masculine: black leather with cherry accents, a metal drafting table in the corner. I’m impressed that his place looks like a real, grown-up apartment—not the dirty, pizza box–infested bachelor pad I was expecting. Stacks of art books line the floor and a wooden easel sits in the corner. There’s no TV.
    â€œDo you have a roommate?” I ask.
    â€œNo. I live alone. I like it.” He pauses. “Have a seat. Can I get you something to