Manifest Read Online Free Page A

Usually I just pull out my bag lunch, slip myearbuds in and listen to my iPod for the forty-five minutes that’s our only designated downtime.
    So that’s what I’m doing today when my usually quiet table consisting of maybe one or two other no-names is invaded. I’ve already ignored my sandwich and only have my butterscotch crumpet and half a Sprite left from my lunch. I had pulled out the small sketchbook I carry around with me religiously but I hadn’t bothered to open it up yet. Ne-Yo is blasting from my iPod when I look up and notice who’s sitting across from me: Sasha Carrington—a Richie—and her faithful sidekick, Jake Kramer—a Tracker.
    In the months that I’d been at Settlemans, this was by far one of the weirdest hookups I’d seen. Sasha is Latina or something, I think, despite the Anglo surname. Her hair is dark with golden highlights. Her skin is this olive color that reminds me of people I see on television who come from, like, Greece or the Mediterranean or someplace like that. She always dresses nicely, mostly in designer clothes, and carries a huge designer bag and wears makeup. Jake, on the other hand, has a shaggy kind of look. He’s pale, with dark brown hair that always looks like it needs to be cut. Today is no different—with big curly locks falling low on his forehead, almost brushing his shoulder. A Richie and a Tracker—I wonder if they are a couple, like, boyfriend and girlfriend.
    “Hi,” Sasha says with her easy smile that makes her cheeks more prominent.
    I lift a hand to wave, not wanting to give the impression that I’m happy to see them sitting there.
    Jake waves back, the right corner of his mouth lifting in a shy smile.
    “Whatcha listenin’ to?” Sasha asks.
    I don’t really hear her. I’m just sort of reading her lips because my music is loud.
    “Ne-Yo.”
    Sasha nods. “‘So Sick of Love Songs?’”
    I shake my head. “No. ‘Miss Independent.’”
    “Oooh, the Jamie Foxx remix?” Jake asks.
    I nod.
    “Wanna go outside?”
    “No,” I quickly reply.
    “It’s loud in here,” Jake says.
    I shrug. I was fine before they came. If it’s too loud for them, they can go outside.
    They’re both quiet for a few minutes then Sasha stands and comes around the table. My hair is up in a ponytail as usual. Still I’m shocked when she taps the back of my neck and says, “Cool tat.”
    Frowning, I realize she’s referring to the birthmark on the back of my neck. It kind of looks like a cursive M. I know this because I’ve looked in the mirror to see it a time or two. And I guess since I always wear my hair up, other people can see it, as well.
    “It’s my birthmark,” I say, pulling away from her. It’s creepy the way she touches me, her fingers rubbing over the mark. I feel this weird stirring in the pit of my stomach, kind of like I need to throw up and then not.
    Sasha and Jake look at each other then back to me. “We should go outside,” she says. “To talk.”
    I’m confused. Why all of a sudden does Sasha, the Richie, want to talk to me? It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to talk to her.
    Just as I open my mouth to say something, the bell rings. I yank my earbuds out and shrug again. “Too late. Gotta get to class.”
    I scoop up my book bag, purse and trash and stand up to leave. Jake stands, too, coming around to the side of the table where I am.
    “We can talk after school. Sasha’s got a car. She only has her learner’s permit so she has to have a driver. But he lets her drive sometimes so she can take us both home.”
    Sasha rolls her eyes at Jake. I don’t really blame her. That was way too much information.
    Then I’m, like, what is this—some kind of threesome? I saw it one time on the X-rated channel my father had on his satellite television. Now I really feel like puking.
    I can feel my forehead scrunching up in a frown. “No thanks,” I say, turning away from him.
    “Krystal.”
    I hear Sasha calling my name as I try to keep