In Too Deep Read Online Free Page B

his shoulders slumping dejectedly beneath his black sweater.
    “So, Mr. Van Allen thinks I’m a hypocrite.” Paxil sat there blinking thoughtfully from behind his thick lenses. It was a statement, not a question, and the room fell silent, waiting for Drew to either protest his innocence, or flip the pretentious asshole the bird, and stomp out of class. But before Drew could say or do anything, Paxil continued as though he’d never expected a response in the first place. “Well, he’s probably at least partially right. I was a hypocrite—just like every one of you sitting so comfortably in this class. But I did something about it.”
    Yeah . . . you immortalized a dead socialite on celluloid , Drew thought to himself, making sure to keep his laughter from escaping once again, that’s not exactly negotiating peace in Darfur . . . But he had to admit, regardless of how ridiculous Paxil might look in his general-issue, hipster film-snob fatigues, spouting his high-and-mighty bullshit, there was something to be said for the fact that Paxil had admitted his shortcomings. Not many people could actually stand up in front of a group of people and do such a thing, and knowing the demographic of the room he was sitting in, Drew figured that Paxil was probably the only one within a ten-mile radius that could and had. But could I? Drew thought, the laughter suddenly gone. Maybe the only difference between us is the fact that he can admit it—and I can’t. Drew furrowed his brow and stared down at his desk, turning a pen over and over between his fingers, lost in thought. It really was a serious question—serious enough that Drew almost didn’t want to know the answer. But wasn’t not wanting to answer it an answer in its own right? He wasn’t sure—but this whole film thing suddenly seemed a hell of a lot more interesting. Drew looked up as Paxil pulled John Anderson out of the front row and began deconstructing his wardrobe.
    “Is it impossible,” Paxil yelled, “to buy one article of clothing these days without a label plastered all over it?” Anderson, a tall, blond, exceedingly preppy guy who would probably asphyxiate without a plethora of alligators and polo-playing ponies to keep him company, cracked a nervous smile, blushing deeply and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his dark brown cords. Drew rolled his eyes in sympathy, but inside he was beginning to wonder if Paxil didn’t have a point. It wasn’t like Drew was about to go run downtown and buy a pair of black 501s just yet—but maybe he was ready to get real, to give the act of examining his own life an honest, wholehearted try.

hello, sailor
    Phoebe held her long dark hair from the nape of her neck with one hand, cursing herself silently for forgetting to put a barrette into her tote this morning before she left for school, her other hand clasping her sister Bijoux’s six-year-old fingers as she swung their hands manically back and forth, screaming, “Wheeeeeee Pheeeeebs!” with every third step of her black patent leather Mary Janes. At least once a week Phoebe made it a point to give the nanny the afternoon off and pick Bijoux up from one of the many dumbass activities Madeline was constantly scheduling for her youngest daughter. Today it was Mommy and Me class at the Gifted Children’s Center of New York—except Madeline had never even bothered to show up. Thankfully, the Center was located just one block up from Meadowlark Academy on East Eighty-sixth Street, so when her cell rang, Phoebe had quickly raced up the block to collect Bijoux, whose impish face broadened in delight at the sight of her older sister. Phoebe watched as Bijoux kicked a pile of orange leaves with her tiny patent-leather-clad feet, screaming happily as the flame-colored leaves flew into the air. Even though it was the first week in October, the weather had become strangely, inexplicably warm, the balmy temperature belying the leaves strewn across the lush