Goth Girl Rising Read Online Free

beginning of my junior year. All because my dad freaked out.
    As if he can hear me thinking, Roger taps on my door. I want to yell out,
Eff off, Roger!
(I want to do that a
lot!
All the time!) Instead, I don't say anything. His taps become more insistent and he finally gives up being nice and says, "Kyra, I'm counting to three and then I'm opening the door!"
    By the time he comes in, I'm at my closet, picking out my clothes for my big ole triumphant return to South Brook High. Ha.
    "Didn't you hear me?" he asks.
    "I'm thinking," I tell him.
    "What's there to think about? It's all black."
    This is true. My closet is like a refugee shelter for black clothes.
    "What do you want?" I ask him.
    "Your teachers all know what you've been going through," he says. "They'll be sympathetic. Like last time."
    I just keep staring at the closet. I want to say,
Eff off, Roger!
Again. Because "last time"—back in middle school, when I tried to kill myself—sucked bigtime. Everyone treated me like a freak when I came back to school. Besides, how can my teachers know what I've been "going through" when
I'm
not even a hundred percent sure?
    Here's the thing about parents—about adults in general, really: They think they're In Charge. They think they Rule the World.
    But in reality they're just as clueless and effed up as everyone else. The world is just a gigantic effing wave, a
tsunami,
and it washes away all of us—kid, parent, student, teacher—alike.
    That's the world. That's a
fact,
OK?
    "Did you hear me?" he asks.
    I sigh out a "yes" like it's the longest word in the world. "Can I get a shower now?"
    The bathroom is another weird place for me. My own bathroom. My own stuff. No one messing with it. No one pounding on the door to come in.
    I left the cap open on my hair gel while I was gone, so it all dried out. No spikes for me today.
    No hair dye, either. Did I run out before I went away, or did Roger pitch it while I was gone? Roger probably pitched it. He never liked my black hair.
    I don't have many options, so I just take the top and back and tie it into a stub, leaving the long bangs to hang down. Not bad. My bangs are not normal bangs. They're awesome.
    Roger sees me on my way out the door and says, "Can't you get that out of your eyes?" He means my Bangs of Doom.
    And I think,
Uh, no, dumb-ass. Because then people could
see
me.
    And he says, "people can't even see you."
    Duh.
    And he says, "You know, Kyra, the world isn't so bad when you can actually see it."
    Gag.

Ten
     
    I HATE THE BUS . A NYONE WHO'S SANE should hate the bus. Ugh.
    I have no friends on the bus, so I have time to think. I start thinking about Fanboy and that makes me remember Simone last night, talking about
Schemata.
Was that real? Did I just imagine it? I don't do pot a lot—maybe a couple of times a year—so maybe the whole thing was in my imagination. Maybe that's it.
    Maybe.
    I look at the schedule they sent me. Gross—I have Miss Powell for English. I
hate
Miss Powell. I had her for English freshman year, with Simone. Miss Powell sucks for many, many reasons. I can't believe this.
    The bus stops at South Brook High, and for the first time my stomach does a weird little lurchy, hiccupy type thing.
    Chill, Kyra. This is no big deal. It's just school.
    I go inside and head for the office. That's where I'm supposed to "report" today. To Assistant Principal Roland J. Sperling, known far and wide (especially wide) as the Spermling. One of my favorite adults to eff with.
    And once I'm there, I crack my first smile of the day. Because the Spermling isn't alone in his office—he's got Miss Channing, the secretary, there with him. Probably because the last time I was in his office alone with him, I walked out crying and with my shirt untucked so that everyone would think he molested me. Sucker.
    The Spermling harrumphs and is nearly strangled by his own fat and tells me where my new homeroom is and how he's aware of my "issues" and how if I have any trouble I