The Sister: A psychological thriller with a brilliant twist you won't see coming Read Online Free Page A

beach, but that made me think of home, and I wanted to rest my forehead on the desk and howl with the injustice of it all. It seemed like hours before the bell rang for lunch.
    Miss Stiles pushed her way to the back of the room as the class swarmed towards the door.
    ‘Charlotte,’ she said to the girl next to me, who was shoving things into a pink rucksack. ‘Can you please take Grace and show her where we eat?’
    ‘OK,’ said Charlotte.
    ‘Where are you from?’ Charlotte asked, as we weaved through a maze of corridors. She was tall. I had to half run to keep up with her. My ankle throbbed but I didn’t complain; I was grateful not to be alone. ‘How come you’re late starting?’
    I’d been expecting this question, but the lies I’d been practising in front of my bedroom mirror seemed to stick in my throat. Charlotte stopped walking and I swallowed hard, thinking she was waiting for my answer, but then I realised we were there, at the canteen. The hall looked like a clip of the prison I’d seen on TV once: rows of plastic grey tables and orange chairs. Lunch had only just begun, but crisps and crusts were already scattered over the parquet floor. I was stung by a sharp longing for my old school, where we had eaten lunch in our classroom, swapping Club biscuits for Penguins, yoghurts for cake.
    ‘Well, this is the canteen. “Hardly the bleedin’ Ritz,” as Mum would say, but you know…’
    I nodded, even though I had no idea what she was talking about.
    Charlotte waved to two girls hunkered down in the corner. ‘That’s Esmée and Siobhan; I’ll introduce you later. I usually sit with them, but not today. C’mon.’
    I scurried after Charlotte, straining forward to hear her.
    ‘You can come round my house if you like after school, yeah? I can do your hair and make-up. My mum’s a singer and has loads of cool stuff. She’s hardly ever home so she won’t know.’
    I couldn’t. Grandad was picking me up; besides, Grandma would have a fit if I came home wearing make-up.
    ‘Maybe,’ I said, not wanting to sound like a baby.
    ‘Let’s sit here.’ Charlotte plonked her things next to the boy who’d humiliated me in class. I hesitated, told myself it was better than sitting alone, but I felt my cheeks heat all the same.
    ‘Take a pew.’ Charlotte stared at me. Her bright green eyes reminded me of our old cat, Bessie, and something told me I could trust her.
    My throat always felt like it was closing whenever I was anxious, but I sat and unpacked my lunch anyway. If I’d still had a spoon I might have managed to swallow some yoghurt. It was apricot, too: my favourite. I scowled at the boy, Daniel, then pierced my carton of apple juice with a straw and took small sips. Charlotte shook her bottle of banana milk.
    ‘Could you fetch me a straw?’ Charlotte flashed Daniel a brilliant smile.
    ‘Yeah.’ He flushed, scraped back his chair and swaggered across the hall in an I’m-too-cool-for-school kind of way.
    ‘Keep watch.’ Charlotte snatched Daniel’s half-eaten sandwich and removed the top slice of bread. She grabbed the ketchup bottle from the condiment holder and squirted tomato sauce on top of the strawberry jam, then reassembled the sandwich.
    I stiffened as Daniel returned, picked up his lunch and took a large bite. He chewed once, twice, before spitting everything out and rubbing at his mouth with his sleeve.
    ‘Oh, look!’ Charlotte pointed at him. ‘His face is as red as his sandwich.’
    ‘Who did that?’ Daniel stood up, hands fisted by his sides.
    ‘I did. It serves you right for being so mean to Grace on her first day.’
    ‘You’re a bloody bitch, Charlotte Fisher.’ Daniel swept his lunch into his rucksack, glaring at me, and I flinched. ‘I’ll get you for this.’ He stormed towards the exit.
    ‘Good riddance!’ Charlotte shouted.
    ‘I can’t believe you did that, Charlotte,’ I said.
    ‘It’s Charlie, not Charlotte, if we’re gonna hang out,’ she said.