Goth Girl Rising Read Online Free Page B

the window. I can see the roof of South Brook Elementary, which is across the street and down a hill from here. It makes me think of the playground there, the first place I met Fanboy.
    The last place I saw him before I became DCHH.
    That's what they called me in the hospital when Roger sent me there six months ago. DCHH. I didn't know what it meant at first, but I found out. Oh, yeah, I found out.
    And why were you in the hospital, Kyra? Well, Kyra, because
Fanboy
ratted me out. Told Roger about the bullet, so Roger decided to hustle me off to have my brain scrubbed clean.
    Thanks a lot, Fanboy.
    What an asshole. I was
right
to be pissed at him. I was right to hate him. Why did I ever think I was wrong? Why did I ever think I owed him an apology?
    He talked so big about being an artist, and what does he do? He publishes his "great masterpiece" in
Literary Paws.
God, how lame can you get?
    And it wasn't even
done
yet. He still had all this work to do. How could he start publishing it when it still had so far to go? He's compromising his art. I was helping him with it and he just ... he just goes off and does this, this stupid thing, without thinking about ... thinking about...
    God, I'm so pissed I can't even think straight!
    He doesn't deserve to succeed. Not if he's willing to settle for
Literary Paws.
Pathetic.
    "Kyra?"
    I blink and turn away from the window. The room is empty, but some kids are starting to file in from the hall. What the hell?
    "Didn't you hear the bell?" Mrs. Reed asks.
    I didn't. I was totally off in fantasyland, but I'm not about to tell
her
that. I stare at her instead.
    "Kyra? Are you OK?"
    Why do people always ask me that?
    "I'm fine."
    "You look a little ... spaced out. Maybe you should—"
    "I was just
thinking,
OK? God! Get off my back."
    "The bell—"
    "I don't need a
bell
to tell me how to live my life," I say to her.
    She looks over her shoulder at the kids clustered in the doorway, all watching. Great.
    Then she looks back at me and holds out a hall pass. "I think you should head down to the office, OK? Maybe talk to a guidance counselor."
    I roll my eyes behind the Bangs of Doom.
    "Your first day back can be tough," she goes on, and just to shut her up, I take the hall pass. Before she can keep lecturing me, I push my way through the kids coming through the door and head to the office, where I get to hang with the Spermling and Miss Channing again, lucky me.
    "This has got to be a record, Miss Sellers," the Spermling wheezes. "Even for you."
    For once, I can't think of anything to say. Because it really
is
a record, and I'm kind of distracted by that. So I just sit and stare at him.
    "Your father and your therapist assured us that you were doing better. That things would be different this time. What happened?"
    I shrug. "She wouldn't leave me alone, is all. I wasn't hurting anyone."
    He watches me with his beady little eyes. They look like tiny chocolate chips in a huge bowl of lumpy cookie dough.
    "Maybe we should have you speak to the county psychiatrist," the Spermling says.
    "Jesus Christ!" I can't help it. "All I did was space out for a minute and you all are acting like I brought a gun to school or something!"
    "Given your history—"
    "The hell with my history! Just leave me alone and let me do the shit I have to do here and..."
    I trail off because there's no point in talking anymore. The Spermling's not listening. He's made up his mind already. Hell, he probably made up his mind the minute I walked in here with Mrs. Reed's hall pass. Blowing up in his face just confirmed the decision for him.
    I sit in silence as he sighs and picks up the phone. Pretty soon he has Roger on the line and he's saying things like "Maybe it was too soon" and "I'm sure you did" and "Right now, I don't see any other choice."
    The Spermling hangs up. "Your father is coming to pick you up. You may wait in the outer office with Miss Channing."
    I go into the outer office with Miss Channing, who types away on