CHAPTER EIGHTDead Girl
“Hi,” I say to Celeste before she’s sitting down.
“Oh, hey,” she replies, glancing at me with a smile.
I open my mouth to continue, but someone bumps me on their way to their desk. I look at the kid to make sure all is good, but when I look back at Celeste, she’s doing it again. Texting. Just like every time before class starts and when it ends.
I have a brief mental image of snatching her phone and tossing it over my shoulder, but I abstain.
School has been going for two weeks now. And it’s normal. Homework is assigned, tests are given, and assignments are handed in. I never have a problem with any of the homework, quickly and easily completing everything within a half hour. It helps that I understand chemistry as easily as I can read a clock, and I can do the
