Charm and Consequence Read Online Free Page A

Jeremy laughs. “You and I are not the same.”
    “No. We’re not,” Michael agrees. He gathers his things into his black messenger bag and says to me, “I want to make bio before the bell. Are you coming?”
    “In a minute,” I say. He hesitates for a second, then walks away.
    Jeremy shakes his head in amusement. “Same old Endicott,” he says.
    “I recently heard him described as ‘socially retarded’,” I offer and Jeremy laughs harder. “What’s with the ‘Endicott’ and ‘Wrentham’ stuff?”
    “A Pemberley thing, I guess, to call each other by our last names.” He leans on the table and appraises me with a smile. “What year are you in, Georgiana?”
    “I’m a junior.”
    He nods as if this makes perfect sense to him and a bright golden bird’s wing of hair brushes across his eyes. “Well, nice to meet you, Georgiana,” he says and takes my hand for a second. “I hope I see you around more.”
    I just nod dumbly and leave the library without checking out any of my books. But I feel a lot better suddenly. And I’m not sure why, because Jeremy is so totally not the kind of guy I usually like. And guys like Jeremy don’t usually pay much attention to me, to be honest. I have to admit it I like it. And the idea of Jeremy Wrentham actually being interested in me keeps my brain occupied enough so that I don’t think about Michael Endicott or what he thinks of me for the first time in days.
    Even in bio class when he’s sitting right next to me.
    ***
    November rumbles in with a series of thunderstorms and freezing rain, as if the gods of late summer and winter are fighting over who gets to control the weather for the next few months. I start working on a second Alt article, this time concentrating on the health benefits of going vegan, since no one else seems to find it an ethical dilemma at all; meanwhile, our group works on our next English class presentation. I do not consult Michael about my presentation topic, and we don’t talk much in bio, either. We still sit together and we have our I-draw/he-writes split for the last of the plant labs, but we haven’t really talked much since the library incident. If he’s at all interested in my “character” or whatever he was trying to tell me in the library, he has a weird way of showing that interest: by alternately ignoring me, glowering at me in homeroom, or giving me the fish eye in English class.
    Not that I care.
    ***
    My mom gets so excited I fear for her mental health when Tori mentions that Trey’s dad, a dean at the college where my father teaches, is planning to invite us to the Harvest Ball at the Longbourne Country Club. She warbles all through dinner about gowns versus tea-length dresses and what the décor of the club will be like and whether someone she met recently at a Ladies’ Aid meeting will be there. Personally, I think the concept of a country club is pretty loathsome. Any group of people requiring membership, anything that is set up to exclude other people from taking part, is not something I ever want to sign on to. Besides, the idea of a semi-formal dance at a country club just seems like fate’s cruel way of pointing out to me yet again that I will not have a date for it.
    And then I realize that I can use this as my excuse.
    “Can’t go,” I say, palms up as if my boyfriend has slipped out of my hands. “No escort.”
    “Well, I don’t think any of us are bringing escorts, dear,” Mom says, with a pointed look at Cassie meant to convey that her football hero beau, Rick the Brick, will not be invited to join us. “We can’t take advantage of the Billingsleys’ generosity by bringing along guests of our own, sweetie.”
    “Or risk making the wrong impression,” I mumble as I realize my lack of a dance partner is not going to cut it as an excuse.
    “Well, if Brick’s not coming, I’m not coming,” Cassie declares as she stabs a mushy potato.
    “All right, then,” Mom agrees pleasantly.
    “I have to