Moxie and the Art of Rule Breaking Read Online Free Page A

her carbon copy: same dark wavy hair, round eyes, and wide mouth. We’re also super-tiny—a body type most girls I know would kill for.
    “Speaking of clothes,” I said, “we should probably get me measured for the Uniform of Horror sometime soon.”
    My mom cocked an eyebrow at me. Although I dreaded wearing the Boston Classics uniform in September, ordering it would be the best test as to Mom and Putrid Richard’s intentions. If we were moving to New Hampshire, she wouldn’t spend the money on it, right?
    “Seriously, Moxie? Can’t you wait? You haven’t even graduated yet. And what if you change your mind?”
    “I’m not going to change my mind,” I said. “And you heard what the admissions person said: Smaller sizes need to be ordered in advance. I just think it’d be good to get it out of the way.”
    Mom sighed and shook her head. Conversation over. Not a good sign.
    We pulled into a parking space on Centre Street and entered the restaurant, and just as Mom approached the hostess stand, she did a mini-flail and pocket pat-down.
    “I think I left my notebook in the car,” she said. She turned to me, apologetic. “I hate not having it. Would you…?”
    I sighed and extended my hand for the keys. Even if she wasn’t list-making or list-checking, she had to have that paper pile with her.
    I jingled the keys in my hand as the door closed behind me, and then, a few steps outside, I stopped short.
    Someone was peering into our car.
    Someone with long, red, not-streaky hair.
    I dropped the keys, frozen. The car was less than a half block away, and there weren’t that many people on the street. Adrenaline sizzled my nerves. Had she followed us?
    A noisy bus passed, which brought me to my senses. I scooped up the keys, took two giant steps, and crouched behind a mailbox while I tried to catch my breath and slow my heart. Mom would wonder where I was soon, and I needed that notebook or an explanation as to why I didn’t have it.
    I peeked out from around the mailbox, hoping that the few people on the street thought I was just a kid playing hide-and-seek.
    She was gone.
    I pulled back to my hiding place.
    I tried to think the situation through logically, like this was a math problem: If
x
, then
y
.
    If she was waiting for me, the only thing she could do wastalk to me. It’s not like she could grab me off the street or anything. Right?
    If she was hiding and watching, what would she see? Me opening the car door and getting my mom’s notebook.
    And…well, it was
our car.
She was the one spying and being freaky-strange! Why was
I
doing the hiding?
    Boldly, I stood and stepped out from behind the mailbox. Ms. Redhead was nowhere to be seen. Once I took the first few steps toward the car, the rest were much easier. No one stopped me, no one yelled boo. I even started to breathe once I hit the passenger door.
    It was only when I’d unlocked the car, grabbed the notebook, and slammed the door that I noticed the slip of paper wedged under the passenger-side windshield wiper.

Seeing the paper made my skin crawl. I reached out to take it, but paused, hand midair, and scanned the street and buildings to see if someone was watching. Around me, everything looked normal: cars going by, people walking their dogs, waiting for the bus, running into stores.
    No redhead in sight.
    I tugged the slip out from under the wiper, expecting it to feel electrified or hot or somehow strange, but it was just regular paper. I stuffed it deep in my skirt pocket, dying to read it but also not wanting her to see me do so—why give Ms. Inappropriate Weather Dresser the satisfaction?—and walked two speeds faster than normal back to the restaurant, eyes on the sidewalk.
    Opening the door, I glanced into the mirror behind the hostess stand to make sure my face looked okay, not like I’d just been skulking around Centre Street, and prepared myself for the annoying dinner that was to follow. When I found Mom’s table, though, I don’t