Rebel Spirits Read Online Free Page A

bat propped up on the dresser.
    I would never have put it there myself.

 
    I TAKE A quick shower. Steam pours out when I open the bathroom door, clutching the short towel around my long body, and there’s Evan Maxwell, unplugging computer cables for the carpet guys. As I dash past him, he turns lobster-red and mutters, “Sorry, didn’t know you were in there.” I am totally mortified, but not half as embarrassed as he is.
    I change quickly into shorts, a T-shirt, and my running sneakers. I don’t bother trying to put my contacts into my puffy-from-lack-of-sleep eyes.
    As I open my door to head downstairs, I see the bunch ofmaintenance men tearing up the carpeting on the stairs, like a bandage off a raw wound. I step carefully to avoid tripping over nailheads or splintery wood. Mom and Dad are supervising. I don’t mention anything to them about what happened last night. They’d freak.
    I find Gertie in the kitchen, where she’s following Bertha around like a lovesick pup.
    “Hey, Gertie Girl.” She looks up as if she remembers me from her distant past and idly ambles toward me. I give her the old belly tickle, and her eyes light up. I’m winning her back. What a fair-weather friend Gertie’s turning out to be. “Mrs. Dryden, I was wondering —”
    “You call me Bertha. It’s a sturdy, respectable name, not one of those froufrou names like Brandy or MacKenzie.” She squints at me. “Say, you weren’t wearing those glasses yesterday. I’d of remembered.”
    “Contacts, usually.”
    “Well, good thing. You know the old saying, ‘Boys don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses.’”
    I try not to roll my eyes. “Oh, so that explains why I didn’t go to the prom.”
    Not that either Jocelyn or I wanted to. Proms are so retro, suburban chic, extravagantly wasteful, and antifeminist. They do not have a place in a balanced ecosystem. I mean, look at allthose strobe lights and glitter and crushed flowers and fuel-guzzling limos. Proms are antigreen to the max.
    Also, we didn’t have dates. So Jos and I went to see a musical. What could be greener than Wicked ?
    “You have a good night?” Bertha asks me. For a second I think she’s asking about prom night, but no, she’s staring at me with belligerent challenge. Suddenly, I wonder if it might have been Bertha who got into my room last night and messed up my things. Took my journal, even. She might have a master key for all the rooms. How do I ask without being insulting?
    “So, I was wondering, Bertha,” I begin hesitantly, “if you might have seen a journal I had in my room. Maybe it got mixed up with some of the house books or something.”
    “Am I the lost-and-found? You can see how busy I am. Your parents expect people will be checking in here in a few days. No, I haven’t seen your blessed journal. Mighta been Charlotte. She’s a sneaky snoop.”
    Charlotte, the cleaning girl, hasn’t been here since we moved in. “Thanks. I’ll check with her whenever she shows up,” I say pointedly.
    “The slacker’s already four minutes late,” Bertha grumbles.
    “Maybe your watch is fast. Come on, Gertie.”
    My dog looks guilty abandoning Bertha, but she trots behind me.
    It’s already too hot to run. “Let’s go down to the creek, Gertie.”
    There’s nothing she loves more than jumping into a pond or pool on a hot summer day, so now she’s racing ahead of me.
    Coolspring Creek is really like a mini-river, much wider than I thought, but not so deep. It’s got a lazy current rippling through it, and it’s about the length of a football field until it reaches the end of our property in the woods, where it’s dammed by fallen trees. Gertie throws me a Can I? glance, I nod, and she leaps in. She’s a great swimmer, giving joyful meaning to dog-paddling.
    Wish I’d thought to put my suit on. It’s already proving to be a beastly hot day, and the water is so inviting. I take off my sneakers and sit, dangling my feet in the rambling