Counting Backwards Read Online Free Page A

washed out—the fruit not quite ripe, the breads dry and stiff as cardboard. I grab a bagel and an individually packaged strawberry jelly, then notice the Sunny Meadows guys for the first time. They’re in their own dining room, separated from ours by the kitchen, doing the same morning shuffle. I glance around the room for Margo, but don’t see her anywhere. She can’t still be locked up. Meanwhile most of the other girls have all settled into their table groupings. There’s an empty table across the room, and I head for it.
    A few minutes later Charlotte comes over and sits down across from me. I’m a little nervous that she might start screaming at me, but I tell her good morning anyway. She nods without looking up from what she’s doing, which is cutting her toast into tiny bits and then delicately placing them into her mouth one piece at a time. Like the knocking, there’s a pattern to it. After two bites, she takes a sip of water,then wipes her mouth with the napkin. And each time she wipes her mouth, she folds the napkin over so that her lips never touch the same spot twice.
    I’m so fascinated by her curious behavior that I don’t realize Brandi and her friends are at the table next to ours until they start launching bread crusts our way, aiming for Charlotte. A piece gets stuck in her hair, and they practically scream with laughter. I glare at Brandi while Charlotte stares at her toast, trying to ignore them, but her face is red and splotchy and I’m afraid she’s going to start crying at any moment. I tear off a piece of my bagel and throw it back at them. It hits Brandi’s shirtfront, then drips to the ground, leaving behind a pink jammy smear.
    “You little bitch,” Brandi snarls. She stands and takes a step toward me. I lay my hands flat on the table. My muscles tense, and I estimate it will take about two seconds for her to reach me. Do I fight her or do I run?
    “Clean up this mess,” a safety says. She gets between me and them, blocking them from my view. Never take your eyes off your assailant. The echoes of Andy—one of my mom’s ex-boyfriends, a security guard—plays in my head.
    Charlotte sits there tensely, like she’s afraid to move, while I pick the crusts off the floor. The other girls shoot me scathing looks as they pass by, and I notice they’re all wearing the same large, gold hoop earrings.
    “Sorry about that,” Charlotte whispers to me in a tiny voice.
    “Don’t be. They’re the jerks, not you.” I throw the bundle in the trash, then take my place at the end of the line, where I can keep an eye on the girls. During walkover the safeties lead us in a herd to the school and I see the guys again, coming from the opposite direction, being driven across the lawn like cattle.
    The school building is just one story and looks much newer than the dorms, with one carpeted hallway down the center and classrooms on either side. The safeties take up positions against the wall and keep a close watch, calling out whenever someone makes physical contact or gets too loud.
    I go to the office to get my pack of ballpoint pens—our approved writing utensils—along with some folders, a backpack, and a class schedule. They put me in all average classes, probably based on my poor performance at the end of tenth grade. My two weeks in juvie probably set me back even more. I used to care about things like perfect attendance and GPA. I used to make really good grades, but not anymore.
    I find my way to first period, American history, where there are about twenty or so kids already there. My stomach drops as I see Brandi and her friends among them. This is not how I want to start the day.
    The teacher, Mr. Chris, introduces me to the other students while the girls giggle obnoxiously. Brandi seems to bethe alpha female. When she stops laughing, the rest quiet down. Of course the only empty seat is the one behind her.
    Mr. Chris says we’ll be assembling our Revolutionary War mobiles and then