When the World was Flat (and we were in love) Read Online Free Page A

laughed again. Magnetic? Electric? Tom was starting to sound like one of the X-Men.
    He looked at me and his irises slid through a spectrum of blues like a kaleidoscope as they caught the fluorescent lights. It was mesmerizing, but I lowered my eyes to his chin. There I saw the scar, a thin white line, a flaw on an otherwise flawless face. I knew that scar. I knew Tom. Again, I asked myself how.
    A memory knocked on the door of my mind, begging to be let in. It was like having the name of a song on the tip of my tongue. I flicked through my memories, like flicking through a photo album, but there were no snapshots of Tom.
    Tom turned back to his own locker with no hint of a smile at my joke. In fact, his eyebrows were furrowed, as if he was bothered by my comment, or maybe by me.
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    It was Monday, which meant the girls and I walked to the Duck-In Diner for an after school snack.
    â€œHow about I color your hair tonight?” Sylv suggested, as the waitress delivered our order. The Duck-In Diner had a menu to rival IHOP, with its waffles and buttermilk pancakes stacked to the ceiling. The uniform, however, rivaled Disneyland, with waiters and waitresses walking around wearing duck bill visors and white aprons with plastic feathers.
    â€œThis diner quacks me up,” Jo said whenever we walked in.
    I looked up from checking my waffle for hairs – the chef had the arms of a gorilla ­– and realized Sylv was talking to me. “You know what? I think I’ll pass on getting suspended from school, but thanks.”
    Sylv had been suspended at least five times due to her hair color. She liked to change it a couple of times a quarter. You know, mix it up. Her current orange hair looked natural when compared to the purple and green streaks she had put in last winter.
    My hair was brown. Thankfully not a mousey brown, but more of a chestnut color. I had let Sylv put highlights in it once. I know, what was I thinking? It ended up looking like caramel. Jo had smacked her lips and joked about having a sweet tooth for at least three weeks until it faded.
    Of course, Deb would have done backflips if Sylv had dyed my hair all the colors of the rainbow. When I was twelve, she told me I was too conservative, saying it like it was a dirty word. She had made me sleep with a bundle of witch hazel under my pillow for six months to cultivate my creativity.
    I wondered whether there was a delayed reaction. Maybe the witch hazel was the reason for my dreams. It could also have been the reason for my newfound messy streak. Between me and my mother the house had not been vacuumed since spring.
    Sylv slumped in her seat. “You girls never support anything I do.”
    â€œWhat do you call the photo shoot yesterday?” I asked.
    â€œHave you developed the film?”
    â€œOf course not.”
    â€œI rest my case.” I knew her case was not rested though when she sat up straight, ready for a rant. “I was looking forward to inviting you to Paris with me for Fashion Week, but you would probably miss the flight, knowing how you are with deadlines.”
    â€œThere was no deadline,” I protested.
    â€œActually, the deadline was Thanksgiving,” Jo said, as she poured more blueberry syrup over her pancake stack. “Remember? You said you had to be discovered before the SATs.”
    â€œWhich gives me three months,” I said. “Please let me come to Paris with you.”
    We knew deep down that Sylv was as likely to go to Paris for Fashion Week as I was to be with Tom, but a girl had to dream when she lived in Green Grove.
    Dream, I thought as I stabbed my fork into my waffle, once, twice, three times. Dream. Dream. Dream. The word chilled me to the bone. These dreams, or nightmares, were taking their toll. Last week, I woke up with my own hands around my throat. Yeah, I know. A psychiatrist would have a field day. Even Jo had commented that my dark circles were looking black, instead of