Shattered Read Online Free Page A

bitch?” He was balancing a filthy black pack on his lap, and when he opened his mouth, I could see he was missing some teeth. He also smelled like a sewer. I considered flipping him off, but decided against it. Who would defend the dumb girl with the bad clothes and the ugly glasses? All the other passengers were staring out the window or listening to their iPods. The bus driver had already pulled into traffic. I stuffed the correct change into the fare box and lurched to the back of the bus. No one else spoke to me. I might as well have been invisible. It was the weirdest feeling, but not unwelcome. It meant my plan was working.
    The closest bus stop to the souvenir shop was outside a 7-Eleven and across the street from a McDonald’s. Tough choice. I’d never eaten anything from a 7-Eleven, so I went in and bought the grossest thing I could find—a Corn Dog Roller—and an Invincible Orange Slurpee. Probably about 3,000 calories. Enough to put some flab on my ass.
    As I was crossing the street, a voice said, “Poems for sale.” At least that’s what I thought I heard. It could have been “Porn for sale,” given the kind of people who hang around the 7-Eleven. But I was alone at the light. No one beside me. No one behind me. Could stress make you hear voices? “Poems for sale.” There it was again. A girl’s voice. Soft and low.
    I whirled around and dropped my Corn Dog Roller. A hand reached out and grabbed it just before it hit the sidewalk.
    â€œThis stuff is crap, you know,” the person attached to the hand said. No wonder I hadn’t noticed her. A girl about my age was sitting on a folded blanket in an alcove next to the bank on the corner. In front of her was a cardboard sign that read Poems for Sale. Weird, I thought. But at least I’m not hearing things. A small gray cat, wearing a tiny harness and leash, slept in the girl’s lap.
    The girl held the corn dog out to me. She was obviously a nail-biter and her hands were grimy.
    â€œKeep it,” I said.
    She shrugged and took a bite.
    â€œUsually I prefer organic, grass-fed meat, but my chef is on vacation.”
    My eyes must have bugged out a bit, because she laughed and said, “Kidding. Wanna poem? Fair trade, I promise.” The cat mewed, and she fed it a bit of the corn dog.
    I shook my head and mumbled something about my job interview as I hurried away from her. I tossed the Slurpee in the garbage before I got to the gift shop. It was too sweet and the orange flavor tasted like piss. Or what I imagined piss tasted like. I could already feel my teeth rotting.

Chapter Seven
    â€œMy last girl, Katie, was with me a long time.” Mr. Hardcastle, the manager of Castle Gifts, frowned at me over his smudged glasses. As if his employment problems were my fault. I’m not good at guessing people’s ages. Everyone between thirty and fifty looks the same to me. Mr. Hardcastle wasn’t fifty yet, but he wasn’t under thirty either. He was wearing faded jeans and a wrinkled plaid shirt. His shoes were scuffed black lace-ups. Not exactly business casual. His hair was on the long side and greasy. “She went back to Saskatchewan to look after her mother—breast cancer,” he added. “You know how to work a cash register?”
    I nodded. “A year at Starbucks. It’s on my résumé.”
    â€œThursdays and Fridays off. You’re sure you don’t mind working weekends?”
    â€œWeekends are good,” I said.
    â€œI open the store every morning, and I come back at the end of the day to cash out and close up. And to make sure you’re not robbing me blind.” He gave a little snort that might have been a laugh. Or post-nasal drip. “The rest of the time you’ll be working alone. You can lock the door and put up a sign when you need to take a bathroom break. But you should bring a lunch and eat it in back.” He pointed to a tiny