What I Wore to Save the World Read Free

and Mark had been a couple since middle school.
    â€œAdorable,” I said. “I predict they’ll break up by Christmas.”
    Sarah punched me in the arm. “Don’t be such a cynic.”
    â€œWhat about you and Dylan?” I countered, not very nicely. “Will you be filling out ‘his and her’ college applications? Or will higher education be the end for true love?”
    Sarah scowled. “It’s not funny, Morgan. Dylan has his heart set on BCM.”
    The look on her face made me instantly sorry that I’d joked about it. Sarah was a star athlete with good grades, and it was just a matter of time before the basketball scholarship offers came rolling in. She would have her pick of a dozen schools. However, the Boston Conservatory of Music was not likely to be one of them.
    â€œSorry, bad joke. You two will work it out.” I knew all too well how hard it was to be apart from the guy you loved. “You and Dylan are meant for each other.”
    â€œI know.” She spoke softly, still staring at the wall. “I mean, it feels like we are. But how can you really know something like that?” She turned to look at me. “Anyway, what about you?”
    â€œWhat—what do you mean?” I didn’t want to discuss my long-distance whatever-it-was with Colin, mostly because I knew Sarah thought I was nuts for holding out for a guy who was already in college and lived so far away. Especially when our status as a couple was a lot vaguer than I wanted it to be.
    If I closed my eyes I could still hear his lilting Irish voice in my head: Ye’re still in high school, Mor. Have some fun . . .
    â€œI mean college, dum-dum!” Sarah rolled her eyes. “You haven’t toured any campuses. You haven’t decided on a major. Your SAT scores were, frankly, kind of weak—”
    â€œThey were pathetic,” I corrected. “Extremely pathetic.”
    â€œIndeed they were.” Sarah was very good at scolding me. “And yet, I do not see a test-prep book tucked under your arm, Morgan Rawlinson! Are you even going to bother taking the test again?”
    â€œSomebody’s going to have to make the lattes of the future,” I joked.
    â€œIt’s too late to kid around.” All of a sudden Sarah had her game face on, and it was scary. “Junior year’s over. It’s time to figure out what you want to do after high school.”
    The click of high heels echoed down the hall moments before the all-too-familiar voice rang out:
    â€œWhat are you girls doing in here?”
    It was Mrs. Calhoun, high school principal and object of mockery and revulsion to all self-respecting East Norwich teens.
    â€œWe came inside to use the bathroom.” Sarah smiled brightly.
    â€œThis is the college wall. Not the bathroom.” It wasn’t a question, but Mrs. Calhoun stood there like she was waiting for an answer.
    Sarah kept her smile frozen in place and stood up very straight. She was a full head taller than Mrs. Calhoun, and she worked it by stepping a little too close and talking straight down at the unnaturally blond head of our school’s fearless leader. “Mrs. Calhoun,” she said somberly, “the truth is, Morgan is having a really hard time figuring out what color her parachute is.”
    â€œMy what?” I blurted.
    She ignored me and kept spewing BS. “So we came to the college wall for, you know, inspiration! Wow! So many great schools! You must be massively proud—”
    â€œInspiration? I hope you found some,” Mrs. Calhoun said, cutting her off. “Now, back outside, please.”
    â€œWe totally found some! We’re done now. Thanks so much!” Sarah kept babbling as she dragged me away by the arm.
    â€œWhat was that crap about a parachute?” I asked, as soon as we were out of earshot and had recovered from our giggle fit.
    â€œDuh, it’s this famous book about