Pulled Read Online Free Page A

throws her bag over her shoulder. “See ya tomorrow.”
     
    In a daze, I sit on the couch, re-playing what just happened over and over again. What the hell was going on?
     
    Eventually, I'm able to get off the couch and go through the motions of looking for books, but it's like I'm sleepwalking.
     
    Before I know it, it's time for my make-up class. On auto-pilot, I shove a dollar bill into the vending machine, downing a raspberry Nutra-Grain bar in lieu of lunch, before I walk back to Stanley Hall.
     
    Once I enter the building, my senses seem to return. But by the time I find the room I’m looking for in this maze of a building, the door is already closed. Great . I am officially late. I shift the weight of my bag before grabbing for the door. At the same time, a heavy-set woman in her late twenties, early-thirties, grabs for the handle as well.
     
    “ You late too?” she asks.
     
    “ Yeah,” I blush. “I got lost.”
     
    “ Been there, done that.” She gives me a kind smile before she swings the door open.
     
    There is a quiet chatter inside, indicating class hasn’t officially started yet. I manage to spy an empty seat close to the door and snag it. The woman I entered with doesn’t sit down, but rather, walks to the front of the room and writes: 'Professor Krane,' on the board. She shoots me a quick wink before she starts handing out the syllabus. Great first impression, Naya .
     
    As she goes over the outline of the year, I make a quick scan of the space. It’s small and filled with mirrored make-up stations along the walls. Under each mirror is a small desk. A dozen or so small lights frame each station. Cool. The chairs we’re sitting in are clearly meant to go with each of the stations, but are now angled toward the front of the room. I recognize a few of the faces from my other classes; their names, however, have escaped me.
     
    Turning my attention back to the professor, I notice my arm--and all the hairs that have just puffed up on them. Oh no . At that exact moment, there comes a loud scraping sound of a chair sliding against the floor from a few feet behind me. I turn my head away from the sound and into one of the make-up mirrors trying to ignore the possibility of his being in another class with me. But the mirror provides no escape. In its reflection I can see, quite clearly, who has made his chair scream. Etash is sitting four chairs back from me, a tortured look on his face. His hands grasp the bottom of his chair in a death-grip.
     
    “ The make-up kits you’ll need for this class are available at the bookstore, if you haven’t gotten them yet,” Professor Krane's voice floats from far away.
     
    “ Professor?” A large girl directly in front of me asks, “My kit didn’t have any spirit gum in it. Does that mean we won’t be doing any prosthetic work?”
     
    Brown-noser. I don’t catch Professor Krane’s answer though. My body is much too focused on the pair of dark eyes currently boring a hole into the back of my skull.
     
    Unable to pull away from the mirror, I notice his frozen position. His back is pushed so far into his chair that I swear it might crack under the pressure. I try rubbing my arms hoping to will my stubborn hairs back in place without much success.
     
    But something is different: the overwhelming pull from earlier seems absent now, and I wonder if my proximity to him is the key. Hmmm? In acting class, I hadn’t felt 'possessed' until I sat right next to him. And in the library, I was fine until I got a few feet away from him. I wonder.
     
     
     
    Etash
     
    This is unbelievable! How is it possible that this girl is in every single class I'm in?
     
    Granted, I should have taken Make-up, along with Acting last year, but I was busy helping Mom get Grams settled into the nursing home.
     
    I can feel her eyes on me through the mirror. She's got her hair pulled back off her face today, showcasing more of her soft, ivory skin. Her lips part and she