Thin Space Read Online Free Page A

today, over where the lunch line exits. The table’s wedged against a brick column and gives me a nice, unobstructed view of the people spilling out of the doorway with their trays. It’s as good a place as any for someone to drop dead.
    I’m hunched over, just about to chow down on my tuna on whole wheat when I see her. She’s paused in the doorway, the lunch tray shaking in her hands.
    Several weird thoughts flip through my mind. One, those pink cheeks. It hits me that it’s got to be makeup and not some natural freshness. Which makes me think of Kate and Logan, and I can’t help shooting a glance in the direction of the football groupie table but neither of them are there, and who cares. Second thought: New Girl’s clearly nervous and doesn’t know anyone, so why can’t I be the one to show her the ropes around here and she’ll be so thankful she’ll invite me in . . .
    I roll my apple between my hands. This could be my ticket back into Mrs. Hansel’s house. Forget trying to break in. Forget my clearly lame backup plan of canvassing the entire town—school, streets, hospital—and freezing my feet off in the process. Instead, all I have to do is make friends with some girl.
    But she’s no longer shaking in the doorway, and I’m half out of my seat trying to figure out where she’s gone when I notice that she’s plunked down at the other end of this very table. Ha ha. Fate.
    I raise my hand, start to wave it in her direction, and feel a shadow drifting over me.
    Great. It’s Logan. Just looking at her makes my head throb and a clump of tuna on whole wheat churn in my stomach.
    Something flutters off her tray, a napkin, and she huffs out an annoyed sigh. It floats down, landing near my dusty feet, and I dunk my head under the table, take my time reachingfor it. How long can I hide down here? I wonder. How long will she keep waiting? Finally, I suck in a breath, heave myself up, return the crumpled napkin.
    “Thanks, Marsh,” she says, but how she says it sounds more like up yours.
    She’s ticked off at me. Which God knows I probably deserve. I watch her flounce away, and then I remember New Girl. We lock eyes for just a second before her face gets pinker and she looks down at her soggy french fries.
    Am I up for this? Making small talk with a girl? I gather my lunch stuff with one arm and slide it across the table before I can change my mind.
    “Hey.” I clear my throat. “We meet again.”
    She smiles. “Bus stop, right?” She says it in a soft drawl, so that right comes out in two syllables. “I’m Maddie Rogers, and I heard you’re . . . um . . . Marsh Windsor?”
    Can’t think of anything to say for a minute so I stare at my apple. Clearly, I’m rusty at this kind of thing. I clear my throat again. “So, uh, what do you think of your house?”
    “My house?” She lets out a light laugh. “Well, it’s cold. It’s old. The whole place looks like it’s sinking into the ground. And it smells musty.”
    Her voice is so twangy when she talks, that without thinking about it, I start laughing.
    Her cheeks get redder, if that’s possible, and I can see now that it’s not makeup. So I was wrong about that. It is natural freshness. Whatever that means.
    Get back to the real issue, I tell myself, that her house—the room downstairs—contains a doorway to another world.
    Not exactly sure how to bring this topic up, though—without scaring the crap out of her, at least. I open my mouth, but the stupid warning bell rings. Whatever her name is—I forget—New Girl is out of her chair in a flash. So I may have already scared her off. Or else I hurt her feelings by laughing in her face. I am rusty at this. But whatever, I’ll catch her on the bus home.
    I shovel my stuff into the trash, make my way around the tables, scraping my feet along, ignoring the stares. I have to walk by the sports tables to get out of here. Which means passing the football table and my former friends. That tuna