Page 92 - My FlipBook

L IS A J. L A W R E N C E

in the kitchen, tasting like fruit punch. Angus’s face a storm
cloud over Dylan’s shoulder.
Her last memory of that night was of being stretched out
on her belly on the leather sofa, Priya by her head, bent over
to talk to her. “Are you okay?” Her hand on Greta’s shoulder.
“Do you want me to take you home?” Through an eye slit,
Greta had seen Priya’s jacket and the tops of her long black
boots, the keys in her hand. Greta had tried to tell her to go

away, to stay away from Dylan, but the words wouldn’t come.
She’d turned her head away from Priya.
Now, in the cafeteria, Greta turned away from Priya
again, just as Ash and Nate appeared. Nate sat between them
on the bench, leaning forward with the same expression as a
dog with its head out the window. He immediately launched
into a game of Would You Rather. ADVANCE READING COPY

“Would you rather”—he twisted his mouth—“eat an
entire pig or wear a wig for the rest of your life?”
Ash’s brow furrowed. Greta stepped into her role as
the-one-who-is-patient-with-weird things. “I’d probably
rather eat a pig.” Wigs were itchy, sweaty.
“The whole pig, raw. Every part. Just sit down and eat a
raw pig.”
She grimaced. “Okay, maybe not. I’d wear the wig then.”
“That’s every day,” Nate said. “Night and day, from now

until you die.”
“Uh, I don’t know.” She honestly didn’t know. Through
the ficus leaves, she saw Chloe—Ginger Spice— slip her arm
around Dylan’s waist and hang her thumb from his back pocket.

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