Devilish. Maureen JohnsonЧитать онлайн книгу.

      The sky was red that morning, which I think is supposed to be a sailor’s warning about something…storms, waves, sea monsters. It was a stupidly hot morning, too. October in Providence, Rhode Island, is not a hot time, normally. It’s New England — we like it cold and grim. We cultivate colds like some areas of the world nurture grapes and produce fine wines.

      There was no homeroom for us. We were all instructed to go right to the gym, where folding tables had already been set up all along the walls. Where we, the seniors, were supposed to sit. The freshmen and new students would all stream in and approach us.

      My fears turned out to be for nothing. Instead of the weepy Ally I was expecting, she walked in proudly examining a red velvet cupcake at arm’s length, displaying it to me.

      ‘I found it in my locker,’ she said with a grin. ‘With this.’

      She held up a note that read: WILL YOU BE MY BIG?

      ‘Some freshman must be trying to suck up to you!’ I said with enthusiasm. ‘Would have helped if she’d left her name. But points for busting into your locker to leave you cake.’

      She broke it in half and offered a piece to me, then immediately withdrew it and hid it behind her back.

      ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Red chocolate. I wasn’t thinking.

      I can’t eat red foods. They freak me out. No food should be the color of blood.

      There was a warning squawk of the microphone, so Allison crammed the rest of the cupcake into her mouth, getting a little frosting on her cheek in the process. I felt bad about doubting her that morning. Allison was a big girl — she could handle herself.

      ‘Today’s your day,’ I said. ‘I can feel it. You’re doing a lot better than me. I got squat.’

      ‘Someone will come for you,’ she said. ‘Everyone knows you.’

      Our vice principal, Sister Dominic, came up to the microphone to lead us through a Hail Mary; two specially written appeals to St. Teresa, begging her to help us all become better sisters; and one verse of ‘Join Us Together with a Rainbow of Love,’ a hymn written by a former student of questionable sanity. Then our student counsel president, Donna Skal, went to the microphone in the middle of the room.

      ‘Good morning, St. T.’s!’ she said, much, much too loudly. ‘A little warm in here today, huh? Must be all of that big-little energy!’

      We were roasting in our polyester uniforms, yanking desperately at our collars, and twisting to find more air.

      ‘Sisterhood,’ Donna went on. ‘What does it mean?’

      ‘It usually means having a sister,’ I said to Ally in a low voice.

      ‘Would you shut up?’ she whispered. ‘They’ll kick us out, and then I won’t get a little.’

      ‘I can’t help it,’ I said. ‘I’m allergic to people who talk like spokesmodels.’

      This wasn’t really fair. There was nothing particularly wrong with Donna, except for the fact that she was successful because she had that odd squeaky-cleanness that lots of teen pop stars exude, the kind that seems to have been manufactured in a laboratory. Her hair was genuinely golden, and her eyes were large, like a cartoon deer’s. She could sometimes be heard saying things like, ‘My sister told me I laugh in my sleep!’ (The best I’ve ever gotten from my sister was, ‘I thought there was something wrong with the dog, but it was just you snoring.’)

      ‘Sisterhood means loving each other no matter what we look like or how we dress outside of school,’ Donna explained. ‘Sisterhood means putting each other first. Sisterhood means believing in each other and going the extra mile.’

      ‘Or it means having a sister,’ I added quickly.

      Ally giggled before she could stop herself and shoved her fist into her mouth, but she was a hair too late. Sister Dominic lifted herself up on her toes and scanned the seniors. She found us quickly. She held two fingers up in the air and then poked a finger first at me, then at Ally. I knew this gesture well. It translated into two demerits, each of you. Ally let out a low groan.

      ‘Sorry,’ I whispered.

      One of the doors in the back opened. We all heard it, and everyone turned in unison.

      ‘There they are,’ Ally said, suddenly awed.

      In a minute of shuffling and whispering, the freshmen were lined up like an advancing army, all with bright, crazy looks in their eyes. We quickly assumed our positions in the chairs. A jumpy, almost volatile vibe came into the room, and the temperature shot up about ten degrees.

      ‘And now,’ Donna said, ‘the big-little ceremony begins!’

      The first flank of freshmen broke free and literally ran at us, targeting very specific people. They charged at Donna, who actually opened her arms to welcome them, like some kind of mother goddess.

      ‘I can’t watch,’ I said. But I did anyway.

      A group with the easy stride of athletes made their way to Brooke Makepeace, the understated captain of the basketball team. There was a lot of giggling and near-skipping to Hillary Vorpel, school musical diva and former child star (of local theaters and supposedly ‘a very big show in New York’ that was never named). Within a minute, she was blinding four freshmen with her laser whites. We were sitting next to Kristin Durkin, who had no real portfolio except for being nice and kind of pretty, a good safety choice. Within a minute, she had two applicants.

      ‘Where is she?’ Allison asked, glaring at Kristin’s short line. ‘Why hasn’t she come up to me?’

      ‘Give it a minute,’ I said. ‘There’s still some in the back.’

      The next wave was a slower, more considered group. They made their way to the next tier — not the superstars, but the perfectly acceptable people. The everyone elses. This was a slow, trickle-down kind of thing.

      ‘No one’s coming over here,’ Allison said. Her voice sounded odd. She was suddenly gruff, almost angry-sounding. I turned to find that she had gone a little bit gray. She was sweating, but then everyone else was, too. But she was also gripping the edge of her folding desk with an intensity that couldn’t be good.

      ‘Hey, Al,’ I said. ‘Are you okay?’

      ‘I’m fine,’ she said tersely.

      The mysterious little didn’t come. Ten agonizing minutes went by. Allison watched the room and watched the clock. I watched Allison. She was naturally pretty pale, but now she was turning a color kind of like freezer-burned bread: not quite gray, not quite blue, not quite bread. Not a good shade to be. It started at her chin and zipped right up her head, right to her hairline — and that’s kind of a long way. I couldn’t take it anymore.

      ‘You’re not okay,’ I said. ‘You need to get some air. Just tell them you don’t feel good.’

      ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, clenching her teeth. ‘I’m just hot. I have to get a little.’

      I became aware of a buzzing, which I at first thought was the undertow of all the conversations