What Curiosity Kills Read Online Free Page A

summer, he disappears from Manhattan and goes to Athens and the Greek islands to spend three months with his grandparents. Every first day of school, he smells like the beach.
      Do I need to mention that Nick Martin is my not-so-secret crush? With that description, what else could he be?
       The bus veers into traffic, and Nick looks over his shoulder in my direction as if he's forgetting something. That I live here? That instead of being the tablespoon in Ling Ling's measuring set of boys, he'd meant to acknowledge me for the first time in our lives? He keeps his gaze in line with mine. The bathroom blinds are closed, but I get a weird sensation that we're making eye contact. I feel something between us—something warm and incredibly real.
      I put my hand over my drumming heart. Like the bus, Nick is now long gone, but I feel like he's still out there. Closer than before…getting closer…about to ask my doorman to give me a buzz. It's ridiculous, I'm ridiculous, but I take another peek. For what? His bus dust?
      What I find is a cat.
      Sitting on top of the bus stop is the strangest cat I've ever seen. It's not six-toed or deformed in any way. It's a calico, but its markings make it look like it's wearing a mask. The rest of its face is copper, except for a patch on its mouth that looks like zinc oxide. It has long black whiskers. Its eyes are emerald green.
    The thing is big. And this big thing is looking right at me.
      Except for deli cats, you never see strays in Manhattan. Health inspectors fine delis $400 the first time they find a cat, then $1,000 the next. Owners won't get rid of them because cats keep out rats, and rats will shut a place down. Deli cats are obese and dirty from sleeping on floors covered in filth from constant streams of customers. Octavia won't go into delis because she swears she can smell cat piss over burnt coffee, open vats of creamed soup, stale mops, and even sponges. Plus, she's scared of a paw coming out from under somewhere and taking a swipe at her shoelaces. Often, you see a pair of eyes blink at you from behind the potato chip rack. I recognize these emerald eyes from the deli, right around the corner.
      What these eyes are saying to me is: Open your window, and le t me spring in.
      There is a knock on the bathroom door.
      When I don't answer right away, Mom turns the handle. Her face melts in relief. She's happy to see me on my feet and in Dad's robe. She thinks I did my time in the tub and felt well enough to get out and get dressed. Slipping the digital thermometer under my tongue, she steers me to sit down. She sweeps my clothes into a messy bunch under one arm and drains the water by pulling the plug. She's out and back from the hamper before the thermometer beeps. She reads it. More relief.
      "Ninety-nine point nine. This must one of those twenty-fourhour bugs. Twelve hours maybe. Thank God for small miracles."

chapter four

    In bed, I'm too hot to get entirely under the covers. I start with one leg out and then stick both legs out so I'm wearing a loincloth. Then, I'm on top of the duvet. I push and pull at it with my feet and hands until I've made a feathery nest. I'm not interested in my pillow. I kick it off my top bunk onto the floor.
      "Stop squirming!" Octavia scoots out from her bottom bunk. She picks up the pillow and swings it military, soap-in-asock style across my side.
      "Oof! Quit it! Leave me alone."
      "Leave me alone," Octavia says. "You're like a wrestler up there. How many body-slams does it take for you to go to sleep?"
      "Girls…"
      My dad's voice is right outside our closed bedroom door. He's in the kitchen, and we're getting too loud. Riled up is what he calls it. We have to calm down. It's a school night. There is nothing my parents value more than a good night's sleep. Girls… used to be followed by don't make me come in there, but in all these years, he's never come in.
      My folks dread a rebellious