Read Another Pan for Free Online Page B

had never talked at school — not really — and somehow everything felt different here. More official. These guys didn’t know her. They hadn’t come to Connor’s Fourth of July party or hung out with them all summer. In fact, Wendy and Connor had spent the summer in a bubble, since most of their classmates were off on summer adventures around the world. So what would Connor say now? Would he pretend it was all no big deal? That he wasn’t
really
dating the teacher’s kid? What would Connor’s lacrosse friends think?
    “Hey,” she managed to mumble when Connor waved and then jogged up and slapped John on the back.
    Then Connor threw a sweaty arm over Wendy’s shoulder and said, “This is my girlfriend, Wendy Darling.” The boys were saying hello when Connor added, “And you guys know John, right?” And then when they didn’t show the appropriate level of excitement, he said a bit more loudly, “They’re Darling’s kids. Remember?”
    Wendy looked up, amazed, because the way Connor was rambling, it was as if
he
was embarrassed that his friends didn’t remember her — like he wanted her to think that he had already told all his friends about her and her whole family. He was giving his friends a look that said
Stop being jerks in front of my girlfriend
.
    Wendy tried to play it cool, but she couldn’t help the giant smile that was spreading across her face.
What a good guy,
she thought. And then he leaned over and gave her a hard, sweaty kiss on the lips. Wendy wanted to pull away, because to be perfectly objective, it was really gross. But that didn’t matter now, because one thing was for sure: this was Wendy’s one opportunity to prove that she, Wendy Darling, was the kind of girl who would pick the nice guy whether or not he met some vague standard of fiery romance or fairy-tale chemistry. She, Wendy Darling, was sensible and good. She would never be anything like Mrs. Darling.
And look at that,
she thought.
John’s loving this. Wait, what’s he doing?
    John was digging into his backpack and pulling out a stack of cards.
Oh, God, he didn’t
. . .
    “Here’s my info,” John said as he handed out solid black business cards to Connor’s friends. “I blog sometimes . . . you know, about underground stuff I learn on the streets: picking locks, getting clean in two weeks in your room . . . stuff you need.”
    One of the guys rolled his eyes. Another chuckled. John looked deflated. Wendy nudged him and smiled, but he took a step away from her. Just as she was about to suggest that they leave, one of Connor’s friends turned toward the dorms across the playing field and said, “What do
they
want?” From the other side of the field, four senior boys were strutting toward them with that lazy lethargic swagger that said they’d just bought another case of unpolluted urine for the monthly Marlowe dorms drug test. Wendy felt sorry for the boarding kids. They were usually some of the richest ones — their parents were willing to pay the astronomical price of housing their children at Marlowe, not to mention the guilt money that lined all their designer pockets. Still, Wendy thought it was sad that they were forced to live away from home. Most of them were international, with homes in faraway places. Just looking at them, Wendy felt a little backwater, even though she’d lived in New York all her life. All those accents and fashion trends she’d never heard of — and all of them too
street
to give a second look to the unoriginally preppy day students. Of course, every year there were a few boarders whose parents lived in New York. Those were the worst ones. Or maybe they had the worst parents. Either way, they were the truest orphans, the ones that caused the most trouble.
    Now the four boarding boys, all wearing the Marlowe gray-and-navy uniform, were approaching Connor and his two teammates. They stopped a few yards away and motioned for the lacrosse boys to go over. Connor told Wendy and John to