The Nines (The Nines #1) Read Online Free Page B

they have just for emergencies. A smart phone isn’t even in their realm of possibility.
    And my brother isn’t going to call me from his jail cell. Truth be told I haven’t even seen him in person since he was arrested.
    I’m truly the personification of the word loner .
    “Can I see your phone?” Hector looks at me expectantly.
    I frown. “Okay…”
    As I remove the phone from my purse he says, “I’m just going to program my number into your phone. That way I’m sure you’ll have it. And I’ll program your number into mine.”
    I hand my phone to him and wait for him to do whatever it is he wants to do with it.
    When he hands the phone back to me I give him a polite smile. “Thanks.”
    “Maybe we can go to dinner next weekend. Someplace nice. We can get steaks or something.”
    I nod.
    “Great. I’ll text you.” Hector gives me a quick wave before he heads back toward his dorm. I notice that he takes another quick peek back at me before he heads off into the night.
    I practically run up the stairs and into my room. When I start my laptop I wait anxiously for it to power on so I can log into the psychology student cyber café.
    Two students are in the midst of a hot discussion about behaviorist B. F. Skinner’s utopian novel Walden Two when I arrive.
    Okay, maybe B.F. Skinner isn’t that hot, but the discussion seems to be entertaining the pair. It takes them a few seconds to acknowledge that I’ve joined the discussion.
    ALXTHEGR8T: AMERICNWOMN. I was wondering if you were going to join the discussion.
    Most of the students in the cyber café use nicknames or handles when they’re online. I use AMERICNWOMN. I’ve always liked the song. And it’s my little way of saying screw you to every person in the small town where I grew up who made me feel like a foreigner, even though I was born in the good ole US of A. My parents did everything in their power to make me and my brother feel like we were real Americans, but we were still treated like foreigners in our town. We looked just a little different. Even though we’re white, we weren’t quite white enough. My parents spoke English with thick accents. As hard as they tried to fit in and be American, they could never quite cut it. They were like the nerds in high school who tried everything they could to be accepted by the cool kids, but were still ridiculed no matter how hard they tried. As hard as my parents tried to fit in no one ever considered them real Americans. My brother and I spent our lives straddling the fence between being one of us and one of them .
    Becoming Roxie Bailey has only managed to make it easier for me to hide in plain sight and veil my true identity. It hasn’t made me feel any more like someone who actually belongs in my own country.
    I spend a lot of time in the psychology student cyber café and I’ve gotten to know the regulars very well. If I had to guess I’d say they spend most of their free time in the virtual socialsphere because they don’t have any kind of a social life in the real world.
    That’s why I spend most of my free time in the online forum.
    ALXTHEGR8T: Have you read Walden Two yet?
    ME: No. Not yet. What class is it required for?
    FANGURL: Theories of Personality Two.
    ME: I haven’t even taken Theories of Personality One yet.
    FANGURL: Just make sure you don’t take Dr. Heston. Snoozeville.
    ME: Thanks for the heads up.
    ALXTHEGR8T: I was wondering if you were going to be here tonight.
    ME: Not a lot to do on a Friday night.
    ALXTHEGR8T: No hot dates for AMERICNWOMN?
    I don’t want to lie, but I don’t really want to tell him about my date either. Maybe it’s because I’ve developed a bit of a crush on him. It’s strange to connect with someone so deeply who you’ve never seen in real life. But I wouldn’t exactly call going out with Hector a hot date either. Lukewarm at best.
    ME: No hot dates.
    ALXTHEGR8T: Good. I still have you all to myself .
    FANGURL: Hey, don’t forget about me. I