Full Ride by Margaret Peterson Haddix

Author:Margaret Peterson Haddix
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers

Now—

Fifteen of the most horrifying minutes of my life

Why didn’t anybody warn me Whitney would be here? I wonder. Why didn’t I think of it ahead of time so I could brace myself?

I know I’m staring, but I can’t stop. Whitney is still pretty, with her delicate features and long blond hair. But that’s not the first thing anyone would notice about her anymore. It’s her eyes that get to me, that won’t let me look away. They seem haunted and haunting—almost washed out, as though their rightful greenish-blue color has leached away.

It’s the drugs, I tell myself. Can drugs do that?

There are other, smaller details that just seem wrong. In contrast to her parents—for surely the woman in the pink twinset is her mother?—Whitney isn’t dressed up. She’s got on jeans and a jarringly orange T-shirt. The T-shirt is sliding off one slim shoulder, revealing a maroon bra strap, and the normal thing for anybody to do would be to hitch her shoulder up and shift the T-shirt slightly to the right, hiding the bra strap. It’d be the normal thing in a high school classroom, I mean—maybe Whitney is so wasted right now that she thinks she’s at some sort of club, someplace where everyone else is too spaced out to notice.

There is also a line of drool starting in the corner of Whitney’s mouth, slipping slowly down her chin.

Oscar’s jokes about superhero Underoos seem pathetically innocent and sad right now. So what if Whitney wore Wonder Woman or Supergirl underwear when she was little? So what if everyone expected her to be wonderful and super and incredible her whole life? She threw all that away.

She ruined her life after high school, I think. Even with what Daddy did, even with everything Mom’s afraid of—I am not going to let anyone ruin mine.

I realize Mr. Court is introducing me to Mrs. Court and Whitney. Belatedly, I shake hands with both of them and say, “Nice to meet you.” I make my handshake firm, even though Whitney’s isn’t. Her hand feels like a fish out of water, trying to flop away. It’s also clammy, which annoys me, because now my hand is moist, and what if Mrs. Court thinks I have sweaty palms?

While I’m shaking hands with Mrs. Court, I notice out of the corner of my eye that Mr. Court is straightening Whitney’s shirt and wiping the drool from her chin. Now she looks normal again. Relatively.

Sad, I think, pitying her and feeling superior, all at once. So, so sad.

Everyone sits down, the Courts on one side of the table and me facing them with my back to the door. They’re all watching me, and it’s a struggle not to squirm in my seat, a struggle not to let panic overwhelm me.

Why isn’t anyone saying anything? I wonder. Aren’t they supposed to ask questions?

The silence grows, and I can’t stand it anymore.

“Um,” I begin, just as Mr. Court says, “Would you mind telling us—”

We both hesitate, and then I say, “I’m sorry.

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