Narc Read Online Free Page A

headphones. Screamy music leaked out.
    “Jessica?” I asked, a little confused. I kept flashing back to Morgan’s skin, those cuts, her skirt bunched above her thighs. It was getting hard to concentrate.
    “Hello? Jessica Torres? Otherwise known as Skully?”
    “Oh, right,” I said. “You’re going to that thing on Saturday, right?”
    “Maybe,” she said.
    It took her a minute to juggle her bag, an army medic knapsack decorated with a cross, and rip a page out of her Health book. “Give me your back.”
    “Um. Okay.”
    She mashed the paper against my shoulder blade. The sharp tip of her pen skittered up and down. “I’m done now,” she said.
    I turned around and saw her folding the note into an origami flower.
    “Here you go,” she said, handing it to me.
    Between a paragraph on CPR (“Perform abdominal thrusts until foreign body expels … ”) she had scribbled a row of digits, along with her name. I noticed that she dotted the i in Baskin with a heart.
    Morgan took her time, walking to the bottom of the bleachers. There was a bike in the grass, the handlebars looped with duct tape.
    “I’m out like sauerkraut,” she said, swinging her leg over the bike’s front bar, no easy feat in that boho getup—a skirt that looked like something my grandma would drape over her kitchen window. Morgan was one of those girls who never look young, then grow up and never look old.
    “Take it easy,” I waved.
    She pushed off and glided into the street, her bike tick-tick-ticking like it was about to blow up. I stood there, watching her grow smaller and smaller, until she dipped into the street and slid into traffic, going the wrong way against the cars.
    When she was gone, I whipped out my memo pad. I wrote, “MORGAN.” Then I drew a star next to her name.
Status: UNSENT
To: LadyM
From: Metroid
Subject: Wake Me Up When September Ends
    Dear Morgan,
    When I saw you on the bleachers, I thought you looked like Cleopatra. (Obviously, I’ve been watching too much History Channel. I caught this show where a bunch of archeologists dug up some Roman coins with her face carved on them. She looked really different from the movies. Actually, she wasn’t that hot).
    Okay. That sounded weird. Let’s start over.
    I’m sitting here in the basement laundry room. I keep thinking about last Friday in the library. I couldn’t believe you were actually talking to me. Seriously. You and your friends are like royalty at Palm Hammock, and I’m this nonexistent entity. Guess that makes me the perfect spy.
    You’re going to hate me forever when you figure out what I’m really doing talking to you guys.
    Then yesterday at the field, I started having second thoughts. You looked so cute, with your old-school headphones and that awesome dress. I mean, who wears a dress to school? I felt like you were being totally real with me. That was the best conversation I’ve had in months. To be honest, I used to think you were stuck up. (Not that I’m judging you or anything! Just saying!)
    Notice I keep using exclamation points!!!!
    I can’t stop thinking about the stuff you said. Please don’t think I’m a creeper. (I found your e-mail on fb.) I want to ask you a million stupid things. Question Numero Uno: Why were you hurting yourself?
    I hold my cards close to the chest. Maybe you’re like that, too.
    I don’t want you to get hurt, even if you are involved in this drug stuff.
    I want you to understand that I’m working on a plan. Not sure what exactly. You can bet it won’t be some lameass hero bullshit. I need to figure out a way to separate the good guys from the bad. And right now, that’s not so easy. I mean, helping me find one bag of weed doesn’t make you public enemy number one, does it?
    My mom just came in here and yelled at me. I swear, she thinks I’m mentally damaged and can’t function on my own.
    This e-mail is becoming unintelligible. Sorry I’m not making any sense. I smoked a blunt and I’m decently baked.
    I