Beautiful Creatures Read Free

School’s truant officer, as well as a proud member of the Gatlin police force. His girlfriend,
     Amanda, worked at the Stop & Steal, and Fatty was parked out front most mornings, waiting for the baked goods to be delivered.
     Which was pretty inconvenient if you were always late, like Link and me.
    You couldn’t go to Jackson High without knowing Fatty’s routine as well as your own class schedule. Today, Fatty waved us
     on, without even looking up from the sports section. He was giving us a pass.
    “Sports section and a sticky bun. Know what that means.”
    “We’ve got five minutes.”

    We rolled the Beater into the school parking lot in neutral, hoping to slink past the attendance office unnoticed. But it
     was still pouring outside, so by the time we got into the building, we were soaked and our sneakers were squeaking so loud
     we might as well have just stopped in there anyway.
    “Ethan Wate! Wesley Lincoln!”
    We stood dripping in the office, waiting for our detention slips.
    “Late for the first day a school. Your mamma is goin’ to have a few choice words for you, Mr. Lincoln. And don’t you look
     so smug, Mr. Wate. Amma’s gonna tan your hide.”
    Miss Hester was right. Amma would know I’d shown up late about five minutes from now, if she didn’t already. That’s what it
     was like around here. My mom used to say Carlton Eaton, the postmaster, read any letter that looked half-interesting. He didn’t
     even bother to seal them back up anymore. It’s not like there was any actual news. Every house had its secrets, but everyone
     on the street knew them. Even that was no secret.
    “Miss Hester, I was just drivin’ slow, on account a the rain.” Link tried to turn on the charm. Miss Hester pulled down her
     glasses a little and looked back at Link, un-charmed. The little chain that held her glasses around her neck swung back and
     forth.
    “I don’t have time to chat with you boys right now. I’m busy fillin’ out your detention slips, which is where you’ll be spendin’
     this afternoon,” she said, as she handed each of us our blue slip.
    She was busy all right. You could smell the nail polish before we even turned the corner. Welcome back.

    In Gatlin, the first day of school never really changes. The teachers, who all knew you from church, decided if you were stupid
     or smart by the time you were in kindergarten. I was smart because my parents were professors. Link was stupid, because he
     crunched up the pages of the Good Book during Scripture Chase, and threw up once during the Christmas pageant. Because I was
     smart, I got good grades on my papers; because Link was stupid, he got bad ones. I guess nobody bothered to read them. Sometimes
     I wrote random stuff in the middle of my essays, just to see if my teachers would say anything. No one ever did.
    Unfortunately, the same principle didn’t apply to multiple-choice tests. In first-period English, I discovered my seven hundred-year-old
     teacher, whose name really was Mrs. English, had expected us to read
To Kill a Mockingbird
over the summer, so I flunked the first quiz. Great. I had read the book about two years ago. It was one of my mom’s favorites,
     but that was a while ago and I was fuzzy on the details.
    A little-known fact about me: I read all the time. Books were the one thing that got me out of Gatlin, even if it was only
     for a little while. I had a map on my wall, and every time I read about a place I wanted to go, I marked it on the map. New
     York was
Catcher in the Rye
.
Into the Wild
got me to Alaska. When I read
On the Road
, I added Chicago, Denver, L.A., and Mexico City. Kerouac could get you pretty much everywhere. Every few months, I drew a
     line to connect the marks. A thin green line I’d follow on a road trip, the summer before college, if I ever got out of this
     town. I kept the map and the reading thing to myself. Around here, books and basketball didn’t mix.
    Chemistry wasn’t much better. Mr.