Inferno Read Online Free

buildings are roughly sketched on it and underneath, in all caps, it says:
HIGH SCHOOL. JAIL. CAN YOU SPOT THE DIFFERENCE
?
    I raise my eyebrows. “That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?”
    She grins again. She has skinny cheeks and a wide mouth that’s too big for her face and those weird pale eyes, but there’s something about her face that is hard to look away from. She’s kind of pretty in a fragile, no-eyebrows way.
    â€œThink about it,” she says. Her voice is husky and surprisingly low for someone so small. Nothing fragile about it. “Rules about where you can go and when. Asking permission to speak. Scheduled time each day to go out into the yard. Punishments if you don’t do what you’re told.” She shrugs. “That’s fucked up.”
    My mouth is probably hanging open. She’s pretty much summed up how I’ve been feeling lately. I nod slowly andfor some reason—don’t ask me why, I never shake hands with people—I hold out my hand. “I’m Dante.”
    â€œParker.” Her hand is dry and warm, almost hot. “Good to meet you.”
    â€œYou don’t go to this school, right?”
    â€œNo. Thank Jesus. This has got to be one of the weirdest schools I’ve ever—”
    I cut her off. “I know. It’s bizarre.”
    â€œIt’s unreal.”
    â€œI know. I know.”
    â€œIt’s like something out of the movies,” she says.
    â€œI know! I mean, everyone’s walking around like they’re auditioning for a part.”
    Parker nods. “The cheerleaders, the jocks, the nerds...”
    It’s like she’s been reading my journal. “I was so blown away by it all when I started here,” I tell her. “Now I’ve simplified it to the Elites, the Athletes, the Academics, and the Deviants.”
    â€œHah.” She grins appreciatively. “So where do you fit in then?”
    â€œI don’t.” I grin back at her. “What school do you go to?”
    â€œI don’t believe in school.”
    â€œYou don’t believe in it.” I repeat her words flatly. It hadn’t occurred to me that school was something in which I could or could not believe. Like fairies or Santa Claus or God.
    â€œI mean, as an institution. I don’t support it.”
    â€œSo what are you doing here? I mean...” I nod at her stack of lime green papers.
    Parker lights a cigarette and offers me the pack.
    I shake my head. “I don’t believe in supporting tobacco companies.”
    She laughs, lights up and watches me through a veil of smoke. “I’m trying to make people think, that’s all. I visit different schools.”
    â€œYou mean...”
    â€œHand out flyers, hang around, talk to people. People who are open-minded enough to question things.” She waves her cigarette in the direction of the school doors. “People who haven’t had every last spark of curiosity stomped out by years of education or incarceration or whatever you want to call it.”
    I feel a prickle of irritation. She is a bit too sure of herself. Like she thinks anyone who is still in school is an unthinking idiot. It’s just not that simple. I mean, what choice do I have? “So how’s it going then?” I ask. “Are many people interested?”
    â€œSome are. Most aren’t.”
    The bell rings. Through the glass doors I can see a rush of kids milling down the hallway toward their classrooms. “I guess I’d better go,” I say.
    â€œUp to you.”
    I look at Parker. She waits, non-eyebrows raised, and I wonder if she shaved them off. “Nah. I don’t skip classes. Not worth the hassle,” I tell her.
    â€œLike I said, up to you.”
    I start to walk away. Then I turn back. “You really don’t go to school? How old are you anyway?”
    â€œSixteen.”
    â€œAnd your parents? I mean...did they