I Am Her Revenge Read Online Free

work for the newspaper this term,” Claire offers, her voice rising at the end to make it more of a question, the way most of her sentences end. It’s like she wants to make sure what’s she saying is acceptable.
    I nod as if I’m interested, but say nothing, and we remain silent as we cross the rest of the yard.
    We enter Faraday, my new home. As soon as we set foot on the worn brown wood floors, I hear a symphony of girls’ laughs and shouts and conversations. The hallways are dim, their navy-wallpapered walls lit mostly by the lights shining from the open doors of the bedrooms. Girls tumble in and out of these rooms, everyone friendly and happy. Most have changed out of their uniforms now that the school day is over, and though some are in sweatshirts, most have covered themselves in skinny jeans and soft cashmere and wool sweaters or brightly colored silk tops. They dance by us like exotic birds, leaving us in clouds of their cloying perfumes, most of them smiling at Claire and offering me a tentative “Hi.”
    I take a deep breath and pretend this is all normal for me.
    Claire leads me to a room on the second floor. It’s small, more of a closet than a proper room, with two truncated beds shoved into it. One tiny desk faces the window, while the other faces a blank wall. I toss my bags on the bed that’s not covered by an explosion of pink. “I took the desk by the window?” Claire says behind me, her voice vibrating with nervousness. “It used to be Emily’s. If you want it . . .” Her voice trails off.
    “The other’s fine,” I chirp, putting my hands on my hips and looking around the room with a smile as if it pleases me. I don’t look at Claire. I don’t want to see the emotions passing across her face. She’s so open, so vulnerable. Ready to be eaten alive.
    “I’ll introduce you to Mrs. Hallie, then,” Claire says, her default brightness restored, walking out of the room before I can answer.
    Mrs. Hallie, the housemother, is a plump, gray-haired woman who wraps her arms around me as soon as I meet her, and I bite my lip and force myself not to push her away. I learned at public school last year that I’m not very good at enduring hugs. This embrace lasts an interminably long time, until she finally gives me one last squeeze and lets me go. “You’re just going to love it here!” she declares as she shows me the bedding and other necessities Mother shipped for me.
    Claire grins and heads back down the hallway, leaving me alone with Mrs. Hallie, who tells me the house rules, all of which I already know: No drinking, smoking, or boys, ever. Curfew at nine on weekdays, midnight on Fridays and Saturdays. The gates to the playing fields are locked every evening at seven, and all other gates to the outside are locked at all times unless a student is given special permission to leave by a faculty member. Internet is shut off promptly at ten o’clock each night. She explains that there’s no cell reception in this part of the country unless you’re very lucky, so there are landlines set up in each hallway. “With international plans, dear, so you can call your mother whenever you like,” she says.
    I keep smiling and pretending to care until this interview is over and I can retreat to my room with my boxes.
    Claire and the rest of the chattering girls have disappeared to their afternoon activities. After that they’ll go to dinner, and then the library to do homework, which the teachers pile high onto all of us. I shove the textbooks Mother bought me in the corner of the room and concentrate on unpacking and transforming myself. I find a box of cereal among Claire’s things and munch on that for dinner.
    I think about Ben, replaying the conversation we had after English class. And an image begins forming in my mind. I start by taking out my black eyeliner and defining my eyes even more, until their blueness is electric. I tear holes in my tights and rip stitches in my skirt to make the