Narc Read Online Free

anyone, didn’t have any friends. Of course, this was all going to hit the fan, sooner or later, and I wouldn’t have friends then either. Why did I care what they thought of me? I should stop caring.
    There was Morgan, sitting alone on the bleachers. Just like that, the lights around the goal posts clicked on. I was bathed in fluorescence, like I was going to recite poetry or something. Instead, I climbed up and found a spot a few seats down from her.
    “Hey,” I called out.
    Morgan didn’t hear me. She was too busy fiddling with her old-school iPod, scrolling that stupid wheel around with her thumb. Instead of ear buds, she had these enormous Walkman-style headphones that would’ve kept her warm in a blizzard. Maybe if I stared long enough, she would feel it.
    She bopped her head to the beat. In her other hand, she gripped something sharp and metallic. It looked like a piece of aluminum screening, the kind that shelters swimming pools. I watched her lift up her skirt and drag the metal across the pale flesh of her inner thigh. She did this a couple more times, slow, careful strokes, then slipped the piece of metal in her sock.
    I sucked in a gulp. For the past few seconds, I’d forgotten to breathe. Morgan was looking at me now. After a second, she unplugged herself from the headphones.
    I could see her eyes now, which were puffy from crying. I thought about walking away. Too late. She’d already noticed me. I moved closer instead.
    “Are you a spy?” she asked.
    “You mean like James Bond?” I tried to concentrate on walking.
    “There was this book I was obsessed with as a little kid. This girl, Harriet, goes around spying on everyone. When the people at her school find out, they end up hating her for telling the truth.”
    “What’s your name again?” I asked, like I didn’t remember.
    “Morgan Baskin. Like the ice cream company. Not that I’m related.”
    “You never know. Maybe they’re the long-lost branches of your family tree.”
    “I wish,” she rolled her eyes. “Then I’d be set for life. Unfortunately, my family tree is suffering from root rot.”
    I laughed. This girl was so crush-worthy. Why the hell was she talking to me?
    “We’re in the same history class, right?” she said. “Mr. Pitstick?”
    “That’s right. He busted me today.”
    “For what? Cheating on that quiz about the Trojan War? For the record, everybody did. Brent sent me the answers on his cell phone.”
    “No, I actually studied for that. But I got in trouble for doodling.”
    “Geez. He should’ve locked you up in Supermax. I bet you’d look good in an orange jumpsuit.”
    Look good? What did she mean? Was she flirting with me? This felt so wrong. I needed to stop obsessing.
    “I doubt it,” I told her. “Orange isn’t my color.”
    “Is it anyone’s?” asked Morgan. She slung her bag across her chest.
    “You’re left-handed.”
    “Yep. But my stepmom made me use my other hand. She used to tie a rubber band around my wrist and snap it when I used my left.”
    Hearing that was like getting kicked in the guts, as if her pain had leaked into my skin.
    “That really sucks,” I said.
    “It’s no big deal. Now I’m ambidextrous,” Morgan said. “Most of the world’s famous artists were left-handed, you know. Like Michelangelo.”
    “The ancient Greeks thought it was unlucky.”
    “Gee. Thanks.” She blew the bangs off her face. Up close, she was smaller than I realized, half-drowning in her granny-style getup. When she spoke, her gravelly voice poured out so slow and deep, it surprised me.
    “You smoke?” Morgan took out a pack of rolling papers, along with a pouch of tobacco.
    “Not cigarettes,” I said slowly.
    “Gotcha,” she said, sticking out her tongue and licking the end of a sheet. “You looking for bud?”
    “Yeah.”
    “How much do you need?”
    “A dime bag,” I told her, “for the weekend.”
    “Talk to Jessica. She’ll hook you up.” Morgan plugged herself into the