I Am Her Revenge Read Online Free Page B

edges of her eyes and wide, thin-lipped mouth. The heart-shaped mole on her cheek. The prematurely gray hair curling at her forehead.
    “I had no time alone,” I say. “The hallway has been crowded.” I wince at the lie.
    “Then you should have figured out a way to get some privacy. You know the rules.” She speaks slowly, deliberate as always, her brutal words seeping through the telephone line.
    Her reproach is a birch switch on my back. “Yes, Mother.”
    “The report?”
    I hold my head up, trying to overcome the lump forming in my throat. I’ve disappointed her, and I hate myself for it.
    “Everything’s going great here!” I say brightly. There’s no one in the hallway, but I’ve already discovered how thin the doors and walls are, and I want to sound like a normal girl giving her doting mother her first impressions of her new school. My voice in its feigned cheerfulness bounces around the navy walls. “My roommate is really sweet, and I think we’ll get along great. And there was this very cute boy in English class.” I say this last sentence more quietly, though it’s innocuous enough.
    “Your impression of him?”
    “Popular and cute. I’m sure he’s got lots of girls swooning over him already. He seems very nice, though. Kind.”
    “What is your plan?”
    I laugh, a laugh that is high-pitched and clearly fake. I cut it off quickly. “Oh, I remember what you told me, Mom. But I think I might be a bit more vulnerable than you think I am.”
    “Fine. Play the vulnerable girl if you think it will work on him. As long as you are sure. If you are wrong, it could cost us everything. Remember, I want email updates every night and a phone call every Sunday. No exceptions.”
    “Of course, Mom,” I say, as if the lump in my throat is not growing larger.
    She clicks off before I can say anything else, and I dock the receiver back in its cradle.
    A hundred memories press down on me, and I stumble back to my room, sitting on the bed and closing my eyes tightly, hoping to push the unbidden recollections away. Still, these images of my mother flying into a rage crowd my thoughts. If I ever made even a whisper of a mistake, she would be overcome with anger so startling and violent that it would leave her almost incoherent. And it would leave me cowering in the corner of the room.
    I’m still struggling to control my breath when Claire comes back in pink cotton pajamas and a towel wrapped around her head. It makes her light brown eyes seem even larger, like the open, trusting eyes of a baby doll.
    I focus on that weakness and let a mask of nonchalance fall over my face. “I guess I should follow your example,” I say, getting up off my bed and hunting for my shampoo and towel.
    I let the hot water in one of the old marble showers ease the stress out of my shoulders, ignoring the long line of grumbling girls waiting for their turn. When I’m done, I saunter past their scowling faces with hardly a glance.
    When I get back, Claire is on her laptop, hanging out with her Ava avatar. Her Ava, who has blonde hair in ringlets just like Claire’s, is picking out an outfit for her from some online shop, showing her how to pair a mustard-yellow wool jacket with a brown tweed skirt. I start combing out my long hair in the mirror, glancing at Claire’s reflection. “What’s your Ava called?” I ask.
    She meets my eyes in the mirror, startled. Then smiles. “I named her Victoria. After the queen, you know? Because she’s so strong and independent?”
    I nod, as if I find this fascinating. I don’t understand the obsession with Ava avatars. But those digital dolls that you can install on your computer or phone have become increasingly popular since I was a kid, and Mother made sure to mention them to me in her lessons.
    They serve many purposes. An Ava can model different outfits from shopping sites for you, showing you how to accessorize or the best poses to show off certain features. She can dispense advice