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Herminddriftedthroughielrspacewiththeprotagonist,whileherrighthand,likeanautomaticmae,copiedthephrasesoffthebckboardwithfwlessaccuracy.
Becausesheuoodsomethingveryclearly:
Keepinghergrades“safe-looking”wastheonlybargainingchipshehadtotradeforfreedom.
At10:15p.m.,Crapushedopenthefrontdoor.
“You’reback?”Mrs.Lin’svoicecamefromthelivingroom,hergazesweepingoverCralikearadars.“HowwastheEnglishvocabquiztoday?”
“Istudied.Seventy-five.”Craslippedoffhershoesaedthescoreinaneven,unremarkabletone.
“Englishislikebiology—it’syourlifelineifyouwanttogetintoanationaluyorack.Itotdrop.”Mrs.Linstood,watgherdaughter’squiet,obedientposture,hervoicesofteningslightly.“AndthatRockMusicClubofyours…onceyou’reinthesedsemesterofeleventhgrade,shouldn’tyouquit?Wouldn’titbebettertouseyourweekendafternoonstodomoremathproblems?”
Cra’sstepspaused—justslightly—atthefootofthestairs.Shepushedherrimlessgssesup;therefleonthelenseshidwhatevermovedinhereyes.
“Clubwon’taffectmygrades.”Hervoicestayedcalm,buttherewasastubbornnessinitthatrefusedtobend.“I’mgoingupstairstoshower.”
Beforehermothercouldsayanythingelse,Crawentupquickly,turhedoorknob—
*Click.*
—andlockedherselfihecrampedroomthatwasbarelyfourtatamimatswide.
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