Bounce Read Online Free Page A

measured for the ugliest bridesmaid’s dress in history. Thalia, the eighteen-year-old, is in charge. She says there’s only one way to ensure a perfect fit. “Don’t move,” she tells me. And I obey. Thalia has a way of making people listen. There are a lot of sharp pins in her mouth, for one thing. And she has a voice like a principal. You don’t want to end up in her office after school.
    There are also many things a guy would fall in love with. Hair: a brown velvet curtain. Eyes: two black pools. Tan skin. She’s wearing a camisole with a flowy skirt and bare feet, and she walks like a ballerina—toes turned out.
    â€œDon’t move,” she says again, through her mouthful of pins. “I might stick you.”
    I see that her eyebrows meet in the middle.
    â€œI’m not,” I say.
    She winds a strip of cloth around my torso and yanks it tight.
    Oh, this dress is going to be so hideous. First, it’s orange. It is the kind of orange that makes you want to say, “Hey! Is there a pumpkin festival this afternoon? Great!” Plus, it’s toga style. I know all about this from Latin class, where we learned how tomake togas for extra credit. They are not flattering, even if mine did win second prize.
    â€œThis cut is fantastic on you,” Thalia tells me, before I can run out of the room. She pulls the cloth tighter. “You have a great little figure.”
    I look down at my flat chest, even flatter now, and sigh.
    â€œAlmost done,” she says, jabbing me in the ribs with a pin.
    â€œOw!”
    â€œOh! Did I stick you?”
    I look at her face to see if she’s sorry.
    â€œI can’t believe my mother is making me do this,” she says. “I take one sewing class, and she thinks I’m an expert.” Her eyebrow is furrowed. “Sorry.”
    â€œThat’s okay,” I tell her.
    â€œWell, you know what they say. Beauty is pain. ” Thalia turns me by the shoulders to the full-length mirror. “Ta daaaa!”
    We both stare at me.
    Then Thalia adds a wreath of flowers to my head—orange and yellow and brown all strung together. “Gorgeous,” she says, and for a minute I actually feel it. I am the queen of the pumpkin parade. I am riding atop a leaf-covered float, waving daintily to the crowd. Tossing candy corn in the air like confetti.
    Maybe at the wedding, Linus will take one look at me and think, Shazam! At the reception, he will walk over, all shy and handsome in his tux, curls bouncing on his forehead. Good evening, Evyn, he will say. Then, May I have this dance?
    Thalia squeezes my arm. “You and Phoebe are going to be adorable.”
    â€œAdorable,” I repeat. Huh.
    â€œHave you seen the flower girl baskets?” Thalia smiles, and I see that her front teeth overlap. “You’ll love them,” she says, meaning it.
    I open my mouth but nothing comes out.
    Flower girl baskets.
    Flower. Girl. Baskets.
    I am not a bridesmaid. I am a flower girl.
    â€œI’m thirteen,” I say.
    Thalia raises her eyebrow.
    â€œNever mind,” I mumble.
    â€œThirteen is tough,” she tells me. She takes the wreath off my head and begins packing it in tissue. “I remember thirteen.”
    â€œRight,” I say. I use my most sarcastic voice because I’m thinking, You don’t remember squat.
    When I tell Mackey, he says, “Mmph.”
    This is how he responds in our conversations, like a caveman. Also, he never looks at me. He’s always staring at a computer screen, or at one of those books with dragons and amulets on the cover, and titles you can’t pronounce.
    Today it’s The Sword of Arzaksband, which he is reading from the top bunk, while his new roommate, Cleanser Boy, is at soccer practice.
    I am sitting in a galaxy far, far away from the bottom bunk. Because—I can tell just by looking—it smells like socks.
    â€œI’m thirteen,” I say.