Stronger than You Know Read Online Free Page A

the hook for talking to a student.
    His eyes rest on me for too long. I may be looking down, but I’m good at still seeing what’s going on. I run my hand through my hair and rest it behind my ear so I can see Justin more clearly without looking at him directly.
    I open my book to where my assignment is tucked away from yesterday.
    Justin shifts the books on his desk. He doesn’t even have an inkling of my past—my crazy mom in jail, the men she brought home. None of it. All he knows is that I live with my cousins and go to this school. Maybe I could tell him one real thing. Maybe.
    His fingers tap his forehead in concentration as he frantically finishes his assignment before our teacher asks for them. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out and nothing comes to mind. Well, maybe I could tell him one real thing later.
    I feel bad for lying to him about having asthma, so I hand him my assignment so he can get the last answers down. Our teacher still has his nose in attendance.
    â€œThanks. I’m almost toast in this class.” His eyes hit mine again, and there’s a warm, fuzzy sort of feeling in my chest and buzzing around my insides. How can something as simple as a look make me feel so much?
    I tuck my hair behind my ear again as I watch him copy the answers. My stomach and chest and everything else feel all funny so I stare at my desk.
    Then I let my eyes float around the room because maybe always staring at my desk is strange.
    There are so many people. A sea of school uniforms. Why does the number of people in a room lock my ribs together and make them shrink? Yeah, not ready for that. My focus goes back to my desk. It’s easier to deal with. The fake wood grain seems like such a waste of … something.
    â€œSo I know our school can be a little crazy. How are things?” Tara spins around to face me from the passenger’s seat. She and Trent share this car. I have no idea why we needed a ride this morning but have a car this afternoon. I’m sort of on the periphery, hovering around the family—I only sort of know what’s going on.
    â€œOkay.” I know my answer is the same answer I always give her, but she doesn’t seem to mind.
    â€œYou have Mr. Witten for math, right?” she asks.
    I nod.
    â€œYeah, I had him last year. He always put me to sleep.” She smirks.
    I’d be sunk if I didn’t know how to teach myself.
    â€œTrent has basketball season coming up. You totally need to come to some of the games. I mean, I know you missed out on all that because your mom used to home-school you. He’s really good.” Tara’s voice has a perpetual edge of suspense to it. Instead of making me nervous, I find her interesting to listen to.
    Trent chuckles in the driver’s seat. “I’m in the starting line-up this year.”
    He’s the teen version of his dad. Light brown hair, blue-gray eyes. But he’s still gangly while his dad is broader. Funny that I can ride in a car with Trent, but not his dad. Or maybe the idea that Trent is less scary is just ridiculous. It should probably go on my list of crazy.
    â€œAs you should be. Our senior year.” Tara gives her brother a friendly slug on the shoulder. Their family is like The Brady Bunch . Mom used to watch TV all the time—loved the really old shows from the fifties, sixties, seventies. She always told me how fake they were. I believed her until I moved in with the Mooresons.
    Now Tara and Trent are chatting about things I don’t understand and people I don’t know. I’m sure Aunt Nicole and Uncle Rob have talked to them about me, my past, or whatever, but I doubt my cousins know much. It makes me wonder what they tell their friends at school. Did Lydia give them a line? Or did she pull them aside, like she did with me, so they could come up with their own lie.
    Mom home-schooled me. That’s what Tara says. The thought is actually a little