Every Single Second Read Online Free

there this year, but by the time Clem took the admission test, she and Nella had become good friends. And Clem, whose test scores were normally off the charts, had scored abysmally low. Mysteriously, wondrously low.
    “But . . .” Nella swallowed. “You flunked the admission test.”
    “You’re allowed to take it every year. And this year they’re adding an extra test date, since all these schools are getting closed.” Clem lowered her prickly pet back into his house. “You can take it too.”
    Nella stared at Clem’s digital clock. The red numbers stayed the same, stayed the same. In this room, time had died.
    “I’d never get in.”
    “Don’t say that.” Clem’s face suddenly loomed two inches away. Upside down, hanging off the bed. “Anyway, even if I get in, I don’t have to go. I get to choose.”
    How did you score parents like that? How did you win the super jackpot in the parent lottery? These were the sort of useless questions Nella’s brain produced. Clem’s square black glasses dangled from her forehead. She smelled like grapefruit, a smell that was nice but also a little dangerous.
    “They don’t believe in coercion, except on things like doing drugs or riding my bike without a helmet. Even if I get accepted, it’s still my choice.”
    Nella scrambled up and hung her head over the edge too. The ceiling became the floor. The desk waved its legs in the air. Her upside-down heart skittered in her chest.
    “So,” she said. “All is undecided.”
    “And if I was Time Ninja, I’d freeze it right”—Clem jabbed the air—“here.”
    “Huh?”
    “When you choose one thing, you dis-choose a gazillion others. Making a choice isn’t the powerful part. Having a choice is.”
    Choices—Nella was terrible at them. Not that she got much practice, considering her life.
    “But,” she said, “what do you think you’ll do?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Are you faking?”
    “Death to fakers!”
    “Slow, lingering, torturous death.”
    “Fart!” they yelled together.
    FART. Fakers Are Really Tacky, one of their secret two-person societies.
    Nella’s head was a blood bomb. She did a backward somersault onto the floor, then poked Clem in the belly. Or where a belly would be if she wasn’t built like a breadstick.
    “Your head will explode,” Nella said. “And don’t think I’m going to clean up all those spattered brains.”
    Clem laughed and slithered to the floor. They polished off their papaya juice.
    “One thing is decided,” Clem said. “Sam Ferraro’s in like with you.”
    “Oh right. And Sister Mary Anne has a secret love life. She met this guy on match.com. He likes red wine. And Latin, of course.”
    “Too bad he’s so conceited.”
    “Sister’s boyfriend?”
    “Sam Ferraro!” Clem shouted.
    Why was she making this up? Boy-girl stuff didn’t even interest her.
    “Everyone knows he likes Victoria and her thong-wearing you-know-what,” said Nella.
    “His brain was so addled, he couldn’t stop staring at you.”
    “Staring like he saw a Komodo dragon.”
    “Komodo dragons are adorable!”
    In the living room, Clem’s parents sat side by side with their laptops. Her father wore a bow tie. Nella had never seen him without it. Probably he wore it to bed. Her mother had swept-back, raven-black hair with a white stripe on one side. Cool. They were the definition of cool.
    Clem snuggled between them. Mrs. Patchett tilted her laptop so Clem could see.
    “Okay, bye,” said Nella.
    They all waved. One two three.
    “Remember to think about the Leap Second!” called Clem.
    “Okay,” promised Nella.
    The what?
    Sinatra Torture poured out Mama Gemma’s open door. “I did it my way!” If Nella heard that song one more time, she might actually, literally die. In the evening air, the spice of Mama Gemma’s pizza battled the sugar of Franny’s doughnuts, both smells bathed in grease. Grease—she was in love with it. No wonder her chin was a pimple farm.
    The chairs