Cindy and the Prom King Read Online Free Page A

Victoria said. “But Yeh-Shen only cared about how she looked, not how she felt. She had to have the beautiful azure clothes as well as golden slippers to wear to the feast where she could choose a husband. But along the way she lost one of her slippers.”
    “I think I know how this ends,” Cindy said just as a group of loud-mouthed girls descended on their table, plunked their trays down and, ignoring Victoria and Cindy, proceeded to trade first-day-back-at-school experiences.
    “Have you seen the new headmaster?” one girl asked the others.
    “Not yet. All I know is his name is Kavanaugh. My parents said Mr. Gregory got fired for being too easy. We’d better not have a dress code,” the girl said, tugging at her bra strap, “or I’m outta here.”
    “Yeah, where to? Castle?”
    The others burst into derisive laughter until the first girl dropped her fork and stared off across the room.
    “There he is,” she announced, halfway out of her seat.
    “Who, the new headmaster?” her friend asked, grabbing her glasses and swiveling around in her chair.
    “No, you idiot,” the girl hissed. “Stop staring.”
    Since she wasn’t talking to her, Cindy turned around and stared. The room was full of kids. She had no idea who they were talking about.
    “Oh my God, he is so hot.”
    “Who?” another girl asked, getting up from her chair to get a better look.
    Her friend yanked her back into her seat.
    “The Italian exchange student. The soccer dude. And he’s all alone. I could cry.”
    “What are you doing?”
    “I’m waving to him. I can’t stand to see someone eat by himself.”
    Cindy craned her neck and looked around the room. Her eyes widened. Her heart rate jumped. It was him again. This time she had a full frontal view of him from a safe distance. And time to notice he was wearing an unlined jacket, like the kind she’d only seen in fashion magazines, over a sexy black T-shirt, straight-leg jeans and smooth leather shoes probably straight off the Via Veneto. As different from the all-American boys in their flip-flops, baggy shorts and T-shirts as a Ferrari was from a Ford. And this Ferrari was heading straight for their table.

six
    Lord, confound this surly sister,
Blight her brow with blotch and blister,
Cramp her larynx, lung and liver,
In her guts a galling give her.
—
J.
M. Synge
    “Hey, is that your little sister?” Bo Bradley cut in the cafeteria line at Manderley and helped himself to a handful of fries from Lauren Vanderhoffer’s tray.
    “Who?”
    “The redhead. Sitting over there in the corner.”
    “Who cares?”
    Bo shrugged. “A friend of mine wants to know.”
    Lauren looked over his shoulder at Bo’s homies, who were sharing a joint on the lawn outside the cafeteria. One thing about Manderley, it was a closed campus, but weed was always available in the parking lot. Good thing, otherwise they’d have to buy it on a street comer on the east side of the freeway and God knows what kind of shit they were selling.
    It was probably one of those stoned-out losers who wanted to know about Cindy. But why? No guy had ever shown any interest in her that Lauren knew. And Cindy wasn’t interested in guys. All she cared about was … well, who knew what she cared about. And who cared, really?
    “If your
friend
is referring to Cindy Ellis,” Lauren said, her pert chin tilted at a haughty angle, “she isn’t my sister except by a freak of circumstances.”
    “Whaddya mean, she’s not your sister?” he asked with his mouth full of potato. “I saw you come to school in the same car. You live in the same house, right?”
    Lauren didn’t answer. Instead she gave him a karate chop to the wrist when he reached for another fry.
    “Yeeow,” he said.
    “You can tell anyone who asks about Cindy that she’s got a social disease and she isn’t interested in guys anyway.”
    His eyes widened. “You mean …”
    Lauren nodded and headed toward a table where Brie and her boyfriend, Amos, were