Free One Day More by Aprilynne Pike Page A

with anticipation, letting him feel as stupid as he wants me to feel.
    â€œAnd so you are very late,” he finally says.
    â€œWhat? Oh no, Mr. Hennigan, I was on time.” With my trademark smile still plastered on my face, I reach into my purse and pull out an enormous hall pass, and hold it up. “I had to use the ladies’.”
    Mr. Hennigan stares at the hall pass I stole from Mr. Bleekman last year when I almost got suspended due to too many tardies. If Bleekman had reported the missing pass to Hennigan, things could have gone very differently. But not wanting to admit that he’d “misplaced” such a large, obvious item, Bleekman just made another one—probably in some lame little woodshop in his garage—and the hall pass and I have been bosom buddies ever since. Bleekman didn’t report several other small items he misplaced , either. Those little knickknacks are also my buddies, though not for the same reason as the hall pass.
    Sadly, Hennigan’s not completely stupid; he knows something’s fishy—it just takes him a minute to figure out exactly what it is. Finally he settles on, “You’re wearing your backpack.”
    Like I said, not completely stupid.
    But neither am I. “Oh, Mr. Hennigan, a girl never goes to the restroom unprepared. Are you aware that a full thirty percent of young women between the ages of thirteen and eighteen experience irregular cycles?”
    Nothing throws off a single, childless, middle-aged man like menstruation.
    To his credit, he doesn’t make much of a fuss, but his jaw muscles clench visibly and he struggles for something to say.
    â€œI should return to class.” I smile with as much sincerity as I can muster. I’m a pretty convincing actress, but I need to get away before he decides to check my story by escorting me “back” to class.
    Fortunately, Hennigan’s ego is too big. No matter how disappointed he is that he doesn’t get to punish someone , the only thing he hates more than being wrong is being proven wrong in front of a student. He won’t risk it. After a moment’s hesitation, he gives me a tight smile. “Well, off you go.”
    I turn and continue on my way. “Amateur,” I say under my breath. But he doesn’t hear me.
    But then, no one ever does.
    High school is the hell I have to get through before my real life can begin. I’m smart enough to pass without even trying, and my parents are rich and influential enough to get me into any college I want. Some people might call that teen ignorance or say I have a screwed-up sense of entitlement or something, but that’s not it at all—it’s simply a fact. Privileged, rich white girl—that’s me. And I have no problem taking advantage of it. After all, no one else can. I fully intend to put some effort into college once I’m there—I’m good at applying myself when it’s worth my time. But when you know for a fact that what you do in high school doesn’t matter so long as you don’t get your ass expelled, there’s nothing smart about wasting your time on perfect grades. And I am anything but dumb.
    Though I can put on a damn good show of it.
    When I want to.
    â€œLang,” I whisper across the aisle. “What’s going on tonight?” I need a party. A date. Something .
    Because it’s Thursday.
    Langdon lifts his head from his arm, where he’s been snoozing. We partied hard last night and he’s wearing it like a mask. Dark rings under his bloodshot eyes, pale skin—the works. I need to get my boy some Visine.
    I, on the other hand, look fabulous, and not only because I’m Rembrandt with a blush brush. I don’t actually drink that much. Of course I go to every important party that anyone at Whitestone throws, but it’s not about getting wasted—it’s about being in the right places. For me, alcohol is simply a good