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ABRAMS BOOKS - Lauren Myracle

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114 pages

English

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From the author of the break-out hit ttyl, a dark and utterly readable take on the hierarchy of high school girls. There are Gossip Girls and Mean Girls but no one has come as close to the dark heart of high-school girl politics as Lauren Myracle does in this shivery smart, wonderfully strange story of a high school where popularity can be stolen. No one notices Janenot the jocks, the stoners, the debaters, the drama geeks, the cheerleaders, and especially not the Bitches, the school royalty made up of one girl from each class who's so transcendently beautiful and fascinating that no one can help but worship her. Imagine Jane's surprise when the Bitches approach her to be their freshman member. She wants this kind of popularity more than anything, but when she discovers the sinister secret of the Bitches' power, she's forced to make the toughest choice of her life. This savagely funny book will be the talk of the season.F&P level: Z+

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Publié par	ABRAMS BOOKS
Date de parution	01 juillet 2013
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781613120668
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	2 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0330€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Also by Lauren Myracle
The Internet Girls series ttyl ttfn l8r, g8r
Eleven Twelve Kissing Kate

PUBLISHER S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows: Myracle, Lauren, 1969-Rhymes with witches / Lauren Myracle. p. cm. Summary: High school freshman Jane believes that she would do anything to be popular until she is selected to be in the school s most exclusive clique and learns that popularity has a price. ISBN 0-8109-5859-7 [1. Popularity-Fiction. 2. Cliques (Sociology)-Fiction. 3. Witchcraft-Fiction. 4. Conduct of life-Fiction. 5. Interpersonal relations-Fiction. 6. High schools-Fiction. 7. Schools-Fiction.] I. Title. PZ7.M9955Rh 2005 [Fic]-dc22 2004023447 paperback ISBN 978-0-8109-9215-3
Originally published in hardcover by Amulet Books in 2005 Copyright 2006 Lauren Myracle
Designed by Jay Colvin
Published in 2006 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. Amulet Books and Amulet Paperbacks are registered trademarks of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.
Amulet Books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for premiums and promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions can also be created to specification. For details, contact specialmarkets@abramsbooks.com or the address below.

115 West 18th Street New York, NY 10011 www.abramsbooks.com
For Laura, the original Bitch, who couldn t be a bitch if she tried
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
beg
speak
roll over
about the author
Acknowledgments
Thanks to Tobin Anderson for inducting me into the world of the weird. Thanks to Laura Pritchett, Todd Mitchell, and Jack Martin for helping me make the weird even weirder. And thanks times ten to Susan Van Metre, who tempered weirdness with vulnerability, spookiness with humanity. Susan, you are the cat s meow.
I so shouldn t have worn this thong. It was hiking up my butt, and there was nothing I could do about it because there was no way to subtly reach up and yank it out. They re comfortable, Mom had said. Then, Well, they do take some getting used to. But Jane, if you don t want panty lines
Thanks, Mom. This was the wedgie from hell.
I m thinking maybe board shorts and a red tank top, Alicia said.
I shifted on the hard cafeteria chair. My new dress, the one that demanded no panty lines, wrinkled under my thighs.
If I can find black board shorts, Alicia went on. Or board shorts with enough black in them to count as black. We all have to wear black and red, did I tell you?
Go Devils, I said.
Alicia speared a spaghetti noodle. She twirled it around her fork. You re being stupid, you know. They have spots for five freshmen. You could sign up after lunch and still have-
She was interrupted by a high-pitched yowl as a rangy butterscotch-colored cat bolted from the kitchen. It leaped over one table and skidded down another, sending a plate of spaghetti crashing to the floor. Cries erupted as people jerked out of its way. Chairs screeched.
Get out! Get out ! one of the cafeteria ladies shrieked, brandishing a spatula. Filthy overgrown rodent!
The cat bounded through the wide double doors. The cafeteria lady flung her spatula, and the cat jumped sideways and tore down the hall.
And stay out! the cafeteria lady yelled. She stared after it, her face flushed and her hairnet slipping out of place. She stomped back to the kitchen to the applause of the student body.
Jesus Christ, Alicia said. You d think we could have one day- one day-without those cats breaking a frickin plate. But nooo. The whole damn school is possessed, I m not even kidding.
They re cats, Alicia. Not spinning-head girls from The Exorcist .
They re diseased. Why doesn t someone call the Humane Society?
I raised my eyebrows. Mr. Van Housen, the principal, had called the Humane Society, as well as Animal Control. He d sent out e-mail after e-mail explaining the difficulty of capturing feral cats once they ve taken over a given territory, e-mails that Alicia had received along with everyone else.
Whatever, she said. But it s driving me insane. She stabbed a fresh noodle and demanded, So will you? Sign up after lunch?
I m not trying out for cheerleading, I said.
But why ? I know you re convinced you re this big loser, but you could at least try out.
My skin grew warm. I m not convinced I m a loser. Who said I m convinced I m a loser?
Hmm. Would that possibly be you, Jane? She assumed a hangdog expression. I am worthless and alone because my daddy abandoned me. Boo-hoo-hoo.
I put down my garlic bread. Alicia was not nearly as clever as she liked to think she was.
I m kidding, she said. Her face showed her regret, although only for an instant. Being real with each other wasn t something Alicia and I knew how to do very well. But how are you going to, like, rise above it if you never even make the effort? I m serious. Don t you ever just want to be more than who you are?
A new disruption sent ripples through the crowded cafeteria, saving me from having to answer. It was the Bitches, Crestview s elite, strolling majestically through the doors. They filed in according to rank: first Keisha, who was a senior; then Bitsy, a junior; then Mary Bryan, a sophomore. A lull fell in the hum of eating and talking, and then conversations swelled back up. Brad Johnson s laugh rang out, shouting, Look at me! Look at me! Sukie Karing smiled hard and waved. Over here! she called. I saved you guys seats!
They re not cheerleaders, I said. You don t have to be a cheerleader to be cool.
Alicia snorted. Still, she straightened her spine as Bitsy passed. So aware, all of us, of being in their presence. I watched as they waltzed into the food line, then I gloomily regarded my spaghetti, knowing they d emerge with fettuccine alfredo.
Alicia sagged into her usual slump. That s because they re beyond cheerleader-cool, she said. The usual rules don t apply.
Well, that s not fair, I said. But it was a half-hearted complaint, because to complain about something, you had to not like that thing, and I liked the Bitches as much as anyone. Liked them-ha. Craved them, yearned for them, wanted to be them. Bought this stupid dress to impress them, for god s sake, not that they d ever notice. So really, the complaint was less about them and more about me.
Keisha walked out of the food line with her loaded tray, and Tommy Arnez quoted loudly from Casablanca .
I came for the waters! he cried. He and Curtis MacKeen started a Casablanca riff, their voices growing louder and their Bogart impressions heavier, and Keisha rewarded them with a smile.
So will you at least come watch next Monday, when we do our official auditions? Alicia asked. I need someone to cheer me on.
I turned back to her. I thought the cheering was your job.
She scowled, Oh aren t you funny.
Of course I ll come, I said. I ll clap like crazy.
Keisha, Bitsy, and Mary Bryan dropped down by Sukie Karing, and Mary Bryan tore open a packet of cheese and sprinkled it onto her carbonara. Not fettuccine alfredo, but carbonara. I could see the pancetta.
I just hope I can do a split by then, Alicia said. I am so inflexible it s not even funny. Her eyes drifted to the Bitches, then made their way back to me. She sucked on her Diet Coke. So what s your big news? Before homeroom you said you had something to tell me.
I did? I said. Huh. I can t remember.
Liar, she said. Did it have to do with your dad? I bet it did, didn t it? Did he send you another dippy gift?
As a matter of fact, he had. He d mailed me a souvenir from Egypt, the latest stop on his quest to find himself. I wadded up my napkin.
Because you really can tell me, she said. I won t say anything mean. I promise.
I ve got to go, I said. I tossed my napkin on my tray and stood up. I ve got to finish my Spanish.
Nerd, she said.
Spaz, I said.
I slung my backpack over my shoulder. A lump in the bottom bumped my hip. I took my tray to the conveyor belt, then headed past Mary Bryan and Keisha and Bitsy toward the door. Easy now, I told myself. Stomach in. Chin up. Expression alert, indicating rich inner life. Three, two, one-smile!
Oh god, did I have oregano stuck in my teeth?
Mary Bryan smiled back at me. At me . At easy, breezy me. I floated out of the room as my thong climbed up my butt.

During Spanish, I reached into my backpack and closed my hand around Dad s present. A small brown teddy bear, just right for an eleven-year-old, wearing a shirt that read I L OVE C AIRO .

We ve got spirit, yes we do! We ve got spirit-how bout you?
Whoops and cheers assaulted me as I walked across campus after class. Clusters of freshman girls, each group with their own senior leader, bounced and leaped and yelled. I searched for Alicia and spotted her on the courtyard of Askew Hall. With her pale skin and inky black hair, she was an easy target. The other girls were doing a step-cross-step kind of movement, but Alicia crossed when they stepped and stepped when they crossed. Her tongue jammed against her lower lip, making it bulge. She did that when she concentrated.
She rammed the girl beside her, and my face heated up for no good reason. It wasn t me who had rammed Chelsea Olsen. It wasn t me who appeared to be nursing a wad of chew.
Stop it, I scolded myself. Be nice. With Alicia, I was always trying to be a better friend than I was.
Footsteps clipped behind me, and I turned to see a breathless Mary Bryan. Mary Bryan! Her cheeks were pink and her hon