Cornered Read Online Free Page B

Children’s Place. Is it true?”
    â€œHer parents are too cheap for Children’s Place. I bet they go to secondhand shops. That sweater looks just like something my nine-year-old sister wore last year.”
    The second girl gasps. “Oh my God, do you think they’ve been going through your trash?!”
    â€¢ • •
    I’m not taping this. My phone hasn’t left my bag. I’m not watching a screen. The faces I see are all life-size, and their expressions are easy to read. The snarl on the leader’s lips. The glee in her lackeys’ eyes. The pain twisting Olivia’s features, and the effort she’s making to hold back her tears.
    She deserves this. She deserves an entire year of it. I want Olivia to suffer, but I no longer have any desire to watch. I step back around the corner and stare at the wall of the corridor. I wish there was a rear exit, some way to escape. Then I hear a commotion in the café. A glass shatters, and Olivia squeals. Someone has knocked over her water. I don’t need to look to know that Olivia must be soaked.
    I can’t wait any longer. I pull a twenty out of my pocket. I’ll pass it to the waitress on my way out the door. If I move fast enough, I might go unnoticed.
    But Olivia instantly sees me. Her spine straightens and her eyes light up. She’s looking at me like I’m her long lost best friend. A smile starts to form on her lips, then it freezes. I can tell she’s remembering everything she did to me. And I can see the horror on her face when she realizes that I must be NEMESIS—the last person left that she could turn to for help. I was Olivia’s only hope. And now that hope is gone.
    This is far too painful to watch. If it were one of my videos, I’d hit fast-forward. But I don’t think I’ve ever captured a moment like this before—the instant a victim decides to give up. I can almost see Olivia’s life leaving her body.
    That’s when I do something I’ve never done before. I drag a chair from another table and take a seat next to Olivia. It’s three against two now. Us against them. I’ll help Olivia fight this battle. Together, we might even win her war. But she and I will never be friends. I’d still love to kick her ass someday. That sort of punishment might fit her crimes. But no one—not even Olivia—deserves to be left all alone.

On Your Own Level
    BY S HEBA K ARIM
    I T ALL STARTS when I’m waiting for the bathroom at a house party. Of course, I’m not wearing my glasses. Contact lenses irritate me, so it’s either see 20/20 and look like a dork or accept a little blindness for the sake of beauty. Plus, my eyes are my best feature: large and deep brown, framed by thick, long eyelashes. The rest of me I hate, especially my curls, which—no matter what expensive pomade or gel I try—refuse to behave. And my body, forget it. I have short legs and wide hips, and I hate dancing to bhangra at Pakistani weddings because my tricep flab starts jiggling ten times faster than the music.
    I haven’t had any alcohol tonight but walking around without glasses is a little like drinking, because sometimes I bump into things. Or, like now, I can’t tell who’s coming toward me until they’re pretty close—though I can tell it’s a guy, and that he’s drunk from the way he’s pressing against the wall as he walks.
    The drunk guy enters my field of vision. Broad shoulders, cerulean eyes, light brown hair streaked blond by sun and salt. Oliver Jamison. The leaves have turned orange and red, butOliver is still tan from his summer of sailing. Oliver smiles at me. He does this at school too. Some of the popular kids act like you’re not even there, but Oliver smiles at everyone.
    He tilts his head toward the bathroom door. “You waiting?”
    â€œYeah.”
    He sways forward a little, then steadies himself and looks at