Broken Monsters Read Online Free Page B

Layla.
    She played the divorce card on her dad to get him to buy her new clothes to fit in with the cool kids. But it was tough to keep up the act. Like dyeing your hair blond, according to Cas. “Trust me. The maintenance is a nightmare.”
    Besides, it turns out it’s harder to fool teenagers than old gods. Clothes maketh not the mean girl. Eventually you’re going to slip up and say something colossally dorky, like you read Shakespeare for fun.
    It took a week before she decided it was too much effort and blew her cover on purpose so she could go back to wearing her usual uniform of jeans and geeky T-shirts. Hard enough being the in-between Afro-Latina, who can fit in with the white kids or the black kids, but not both at the same time. But it sucked being back where she started, on the outside, eating lunch alone in the gymnateria or cafenasium, whatever you want to call it, because like all well-intentioned charter schools, Hines High was short on funds.
    That was before she made friends with Cassandra, or more likely the other way around, because, let’s face it, Cas is so out of her league. She’s super-hot, even though she never wears makeup, with her fine sandy-brown hair, big gray-blue eyes and freckles, and breasts that make boys do double takes. And she doesn’t give a fuck about anything.
    It’s how they became friends, when Cas called Ms. Combrink a bitch to her face and Layla covered for her, clumsily, yelling out, yeah, she had an itch too. It landed them both in detention, but they got to talking and she persuaded Cas to come along to audition at the theater school. She aced it without trying, even though she sings like a frog with emphysema. Life lesson: looks plus don’t-give-a-fuck confidence mean you can have anything you want—any guy, any friends. But Cas chose her . Which makes Layla infinitely grateful and paranoid. She’s told Cas she’s waiting for the day she dumps a bucket of pig’s blood on her head— Carrie -style.
    “Gross. I would never do that.” Cas was dismissive. “If I was going to humiliate you in public, I’d be much more subtle and vicious.”
    But it means she doesn’t push too hard when Cas changes the subject every time personal stuff comes up. It’s part of what she admires about her—that Cas is unknowable. Like Oz. But unlike with that huckster wizard, you can’t just pull back the curtain on Cas, because all you’ll find are curtains behind curtains. It’s part of her ineffable cool. But Layla can’t tell her that because she’ll get a big head, and she already has big boobs to contend with. It would definitely throw her off-balance.
      
    Shawnia raises her fist again for the final exercise before they launch into rehearsals proper, the cycle of gratitude. Double-clap-stamp, around the circle. “I’m happy today,” she starts, “because…I got an acceptance letter from U of M!” Clap-clap-stamp. Everyone whoops.
    Layla has her sights set further than that. When she graduates in three years’ time, she’s getting out of Michigan. She’s not naïve enough to think she’ll make NYU or Los Angeles, but there are other cities with great theater schools. Chicago, Austin, Pittsburgh.
    “I’m happy today because I got a date for prom,” Jessie says. Clap-clap-stamp.
    “Did she pay him?” Cas whispers and Layla tries to keep a straight face. Maybe because Jessie’s the only other white kid in theater group, it’s easier for Cas to pick on her. “By the way…” Cas flashes her screen at her, to show her a tweet from Dorian. “Hitting the ramp l8r. Anyone up for a skate?”
    The claps continue around the circle.
    “You stalker!” Layla whispers, trying to hide her delight, already calculating who she can bum a ride with to get there.
    “I’m doing it for you, baby girl. For looo-ve.”
    “No phones, girls!” Mrs. Westcott calls out from the stage.
    “I’m happy because it’s the end of the weekend,” David intones and gets answered