Willow by Julia Hoban
Maybe it's just a scratch.
Willow Randall stares at the girl seated opposite her. Some might notice the girl because she is pretty. Others because of her flaming red hair. If the guys in the class were looking, they would see that the outline of her bra is clearly visable beneath her shirt. But Willow's eyes are riveted by something else: an angry red welt, about three inches long, that runs from the girl's elbow to her wrist. If Willow squints hard enough, she can just about make out a few flecks of dried blood.
How did she get it? She doesn't look the type.
Maybe she has a cat. A whole bunch of kittens.
Yeah, that's it. Playing with her kitty. That's probably how it happened.
Willow slumps down in her seat. But her scrutiny hasn't gone unnoticed and the girl turns to one of her friends and starts whispering.
Sshshhsh...
What are they saying?
Willow looks at the other girls uncertainly. She has a bad feeling that they're talking about her, and she's pretty sure that she knows what they're saying, too.
She's the one without parents.
No. She's the one who killed her parents.
No comments:
Post a Comment