The Daughters Read Online Free Page A

world history…” Mr. Barlow said, slapping the file closed. “He’s all
     yours.”
    “Thanks, Mr. Barlow,” she said, about to leave.
    “Hold on there, Summers.”
    Slowly, Lizzie turned around.
    “I heard very impressive things from the director at Barnstable,” he said, taking a sip from a cup of takeout coffee. “He
     said that you won a special prize.”
    “Just for being the youngest one there.”
    “For Most Promising,” he said with a smile. “And for that reason I hope you’ll submit something to the fiction contest this
     year. I think you’ve got a good shot at winning, Lizzie. Even as a freshman. You’re one of the best writers we have here.”
     He smiled gently. “No pressure, of course.”
    Of all the teachers at Chadwick, Mr. Barlow was her most fervent supporter, ever since her eighth-grade English teacher, Miss
     Hardwick, had shown him a story Lizzie had written for the literary magazine. This year, Mr. Barlow would also be her English
     teacher. Lizzie wasn’t sure if that was going to be good or bad.
    “I can show you something this week if you want,” she offered. “Maybe get your feedback?”
    Mr. Barlow nodded. “I look forward to it. Now go show the illustrious Mr. Piedmont around.”
    As she stepped out of his office into the crowded hall, her heart pounded, but whether it was from Mr. Barlow’s pep talk about
     the fiction contest or Todd Piedmont’s imminent appearance, she wasn’t sure. Sometimes it was hard to believe that someone
     like Mr. Barlow, who had actually known real writers, and some famous ones, thought that she really had talent. Maybe she
     should submit something to the contest.
    In the hall, people waved hello and stopped her for first-day welcome-back hugs. But she tried to keep moving. She’d gotten
     up an hour early to straighten her hair with her mother’s state-of-the art ionic blow dryer, and she had only a small window
     of time until her long, straight, red locks sprang back into a Ronald McDonald–worthy ’fro.
    She checked the ninth-grade homeroom: no sign of Todd. He wasn’t in the lounge. She was on her way to check the lockers when
     she saw a guy standing in front of the main bulletin board, scanning the schedules. Over one shoulder he wore a schoolbag
     with some weird, vaguely European insignia she didn’t recognize. His uniform pants were that new-looking, inky black. His
     white oxford shirt still had crinkles in it from being folded. His hair was shaggy over his collar. It was him.
    She tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey there.”
    When he turned around, any and all composure she had managed to achieve instantly melted. “Hey, tour guide,” he said, a smile
     lighting up his face. His eyes seemed even larger and bluer than they’d looked the day before. “How are you?”
    “You got your wish,” she teased.
    “I just hope you’re not a bad influence,” he said, grinning. “Like before.” She felt the blood rise to her cheeks, and her
     stomach churn. She prayed that she didn’t throw up.
    “What do you mean, before?” she asked, trying not to stare at his perfect white teeth.
    “You were always the one who wanted to throw water balloons onto Park Avenue,” he said. “You practically got my family thrown
     out of the building after we hit the doorman.”
    “But you loved it,” she countered. “I was just trying to keep you happy.”
    “You
made
me,” he pretended to argue. Then he looked her up and down as if he were seeing her for the first time. “But now I’m finally
     taller than you so you can’t boss me around anymore.”
    “Don’t be so sure of that,” she said. She cast her gaze down to his schoolbag. She needed a break from those piercing blue
     eyes. “Let me see your schedule.”
    She watched him open the flaps of his bookbag and reach inside for his schedule. A familiar-looking blue paperback peeked
     out amid folders and papers.
    “Wait,” she said. “Is that
The Great Gatsby
?”
    He