I Am Her Revenge Read Online Free Page A

seams and hem even more jagged. My only school shoes are a pair of ballet flats, but I use red nail polish to scribble lines of poetry on their gold surface, the chemical scent eclipsing the faint floral perfume that permeates the air from Claire’s side of the room. When it’s dried, the lines of my favorite Catullus poem are scrawled around the sides of both shoes.
    Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris?
    Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.
    There. Everything about me reflects a passionate, tortured soul, in need of saving.
    I’m setting up my desk lamp when Claire comes back. Her ringlets seem deflated, as if the long hours in the library sapped some of her blonde energy.
    “Hey,” I say with a soft smile and an uncertain voice.
    Claire smiles at me, raising an eyebrow as she takes in my new black-rimmed eyes. She notices the open box of cereal on my side of the floor, too, but says nothing.
    “How much homework did you get done?” I ask, approximating a sincere tone.
    “Not nearly enough,” Claire says with a dramatic sigh, flopping onto her pink marshmallow bed. “I swear, they’re being bloody sadistic this year. Did you do that history reading? We’re supposed to learn about a hundred years in one night.”
    “Haven’t started,” I admit. “Is it that bad?”
    She nods, then smiles. “The teachers will probably give you a little leeway for a few days, since you’re a new student and all that? But they’re pretty demanding, just to warn you.”
    “I’ll get it done.” Mother taught me speed-reading almost as soon as I learned to read. My time is meant for more important things than homework.
    “Can I ask you something?” Claire says, tilting her head in that observant way she has, her eyes intently absorbing me.
    I steel myself. “Sure.”
    “Why did you come a month into the year? Wouldn’t it have been easier to finish it out back home?”
    I shrug, bending to plug in the lamp. “I’ve been on the waitlist for a long time. When this spot opened up, I couldn’t pass on it.”
    “What about university? Have you already applied?”
    “I’m applying to places in the States,” I lie. Mother told the administration that I would be using a college counselor in New York for all of my college applications. Hopefully no one here will notice that I won’t actually be applying anywhere. “I’m not really worried about it.”
    I can feel Claire freeze up behind me. “You’re not really worried about it?” she repeats. “And your parents are okay with that? Mine would chain me up and torture me if I didn’t get into Oxford or Cambridge.”
    “My mother doesn’t care,” I say. My tone is clipped, and she takes the hint.
    “Well,” she says, bouncing off the bed and rummaging in one of her dresser drawers. “I’m going to take a shower. The bathroom’s at the end of the hall, and it’s for the whole half of this floor, so there are thirty of us sharing it. It can get rather crowded at night and in the morning.”
    I offer up a smile. “Thanks for letting me know.”
    As soon as she’s gone and I’m alone in the room, I sit on my hard bed and rub my temples.
    Before I can decide what I should do now, someone knocks on the door. I open it to find an unfamiliar brunette girl with a pixie cut and a bored expression. “You’re Vivian?” she asks, her tone matching her expression perfectly.
    I nod.
    “Your mum’s on the phone for you,” she says before walking away.
    I peek out into the hallway and notice a monstrously large black phone on the wall. I walk to it slowly and close my eyes as I pick up the receiver. “Hello, Mother.”
    “You were supposed to call as soon as you arrived.” Her harsh, icicle-laden tree branch of a voice crosses the Atlantic as clearly as if she were standing next to me, her cold gray eyes staring into mine with an almost tangible distaste. I can picture her face so clearly: the porcelain skin, with only the faintest hints of lines at the