What You Always Wanted Read Online Free Page A

What You Always Wanted
Book: What You Always Wanted Read Online Free
Author: Kristin Rae
Pages:
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let out a whoop and the girls nearest them giggle. Seriously, there should be more guys in here. These two don’t look to be very promising romantic counterparts, with their graphic T-shirts and bright-colored sneakers.
    Mrs. Morales reviews some of the highlights from last year, then outlines what’s to come this semester, as well as what she’s considering. She even mentions
Barefoot in the Park
and I squeal inside, wondering if I had anything to do with that idea until she winks at me. Now I adjust to sit a little taller too.
    â€œSo let’s play an icebreaker game with the few minutes left of class, shall we?” she says. “Any suggestions?”
    A couple game titles are tossed around halfheartedly before Mrs. Morales thankfully skips over “Truth or Dare” in favor of “Two Truths and a Lie.”
    â€œSarah,” she says to the stocky girl with light brown hair on her left. “Would you start us off?”
    â€œUm . . . I spent the summer in San Francisco.” She clears her throat. “I’m on the tennis team. I’m allergic to strawberries.”
    â€œOkay, everyone,” Mrs. Morales says, crossing her feet at the ankles. “Which is the lie?”
    A few of the girls shoot up their hands, but the one I know as Anita speaks first. “You spent the summer in your own room,” she says like a zinger. “Grounded.” No, that’s the zingy part. “Everyone knows you already play tennis, and who can forget what happened with the straw—”
    â€œHow about you go next then, Rica?” Mrs. Morales jumps in. “Since you’re so keen on sharing.”
    I keep my outward reaction to a minimum—clearly any weakness is fair game for exploitation in here—but I inwardly wince and I’m forced to look at Rica with a different lens. Sarah may not have a good handle on how to play, but I feel terrible she got slammed on the first day. She’s gripping the seat of her chair like it might try to run away. Or maybe to keep herself from running.
    Rica combs her fingers through her clearly dyed ink-black hair, which rests just above her shoulders, the silver charm bracelet jingling on her wrist. She leans forward, making eye contact with everyone in the circle as if she’s about to divulge a state secret. “I went to New York City over the summer. I have a verbal offer from an art school there. My grandparents are buying me a brand-new BMW convertible for my birthday.”
    Crickets. The gears are turning. Nearly everyone in this room is no doubt used to what this girl dishes out, and they’re all lip-zipped like she owns them. Are they afraid to guess wrong? This one’s so easy even I know the answer.
    Come on. What would Lauren Bacall do?
    I give a little flick of my hair to show I’m in the game, and say, “They’re all truths.” My voice echoes unexpectedly through the theatre. It sounds
good
out there. I’m filled with the power to continue my conclusion. “You probably spent a week in New York touring schools, rubbing elbows, eating cheese, and pretending to drink wine. You even got significant interest from a school because you actually do have some talent, but it’s a school so far down your list you won’t tell us which. You’ll wait to see if all your other choices fall through before you claim that was the one you really wanted to attend all your life. And considering the jewelry and the legit Kate Spade purse you’re rockin’ on the first day of school, I’d say you even got to pick out the color of your shiny new beamer.”
    All eyes shift from me to Rica. Her jaw is slack and she’s doing a marvelous job testing her ability to blush. I think she got the message: this class is no longer hers.
    One of the boys stands on his chair and stretches a hand out toward me. “ ‘O Captain! my Captain!’ ”
    The guy next
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