Little Black Lies Read Free Page B

message:
    MANDY – THEY HAVE UNIFORMS HERE . SAVE ME .
    I jiggle the doorknob, praying it locks from the inside. It doesn’t. Throwing the skirt, vest, and blouses onto a chair, I drag it to the entrance, where I undress with my back firmly pressed against the door. I squirm into a blouse as quickly as I can and button up. The skirt looks a bit small, but judging from the sounds in the office, I’m in very real danger of being invaded, so I step into it and fasten. It’s tight. The door handle turns and I throw my weight onto the door, calling out, “Changing in here!”
    A female voice mutters, “Sorry,” and I hear footsteps patter off.
    I pull on a pair of tights, thankful for the insulation they provide against the air conditioning blasting down from the ceiling. They hide my freckled legs. But best of all, I won’t have to risk anyone reading my underwear—not that it has anything interesting to say.
    I slip my feet into the ugly shoes and stuff my boots and clothing into my bag. Just before I head out the door to ask Mrs. Pelletier for my class schedule, I notice a rectangular piece of fabric dangling from the side waistband of my skirt. It’s the tag of some student with a weird name. As hard as I try, I cannot rip it off, so I tuck it in and vow to cut it off at home later.
    Parking me in front of a large mirror in a hallway lined with long benches outside the principal’s office, Mrs. Pelletier smooths my shirt upon my shoulders. “Seems to be a good fit. We don’t have a locker available for you just yet. Check back again in a couple of days.”
    I thank her and turn away.
    â€œAnd Sara?”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œWelcome to Anton High School, dear.”

chapter 3
saint sarah
    Room 217. Peering through the window of the closed door, I pray I don’t pass out with fear. I turn the doorknob with great plans to slink in quietly, pass my new-student slip to the teacher, and find myself an empty desk at the back. But the squeaky hinges give me away. About thirty kids spin around to stare.
    My cheeks burn so hot it’s like I’ve been slapped.
    â€œWelcome to Honors Math,” the teacher says to me, pushing up the sleeves of his jacket and loosening his tie. “I’m Mark Curtis. I was just explaining that I’m here to make your lives miserable for the next few months. By the time you encounter me again as a senior, you’ll be thankful you’ve been broken in. Grab a seat, we’ve got a lot to cover today.”
    The ripple of groans that follows is a nice distraction from the strange kid at the door. Unfortunately it’s short lived. All eyes return to me as I walk across the room to hand him my office slip. “I’m new.”
    He glances at the paper. “Welcome to the class, Sara. Ever heard of Saint Sarah?” he asks, rubbing his chin and looking up. “More than one author has suggested Saint Sarah was the daughter of Mary Magdalene and Jesus. History’s most perfect union.”
    A few kids smirk from the front row.
    I start to hunt for a seat, when he continues. “This theory was used in Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code . The daughter of Jesus. Fairly illustrious parentage, don’t you think?”
    I offer him a watery smile.
    He grins, his grayish hair swooping down over one eyebrow. “Now that I’ve destroyed any shot you might have had at a social life, you can go ahead and find yourself a seat.”
    There’s an empty desk next to a girl with layered hair dyed so black it’s nearly blue. As I pull my binder from my book bag, I realize Bentley Girl is right in front of me. Thankfully, her underwear is covered.
    I notice her bare knees right away and scan the other girls. Sure enough, every female in the class is wearing kneesocks. No one is in tights but me, and I feel like a kindergartner. I’m tugging my skirt down over my knees when Mr. Curtis asks Bentley