Read Bones & All for Free Online Page A

‘copulation’ too often and too loudly; other kids were looking up from their notebooks—“she might as well eat him afterward, you know?”
    â€œFor the protein,” I said, careful to keep my voice low.
    â€œRight, for the protein.”
    â€œBut are there species besides insects that do it? Like mammals?”
    Stuart gave me a funny look and didn’t answer. I was very aware that we had been having a conversation, and now we were not, and I could have kicked myself.
    â€œWhy do you wear black all the time?” he asked.
    Just in case.
    So the mess wouldn’t show.
    What I said was, “So I never have to match.”
    â€œYou should wear colors. Then maybe people wouldn’t talk so much about how weird you are.” We locked eyes, but only for a second. “Sorry. But it’s the truth.”
    We outcasts had a way of organizing ourselves into concentric circles, so kids like Stuart could feel bad for someone like me on the very outer fringe and feel relieved that they weren’t on it. I said, “They’ll think I’m weird no matter what I wear.”
    He looked at me. “Yeah.” He got up from the table and hugged his Trapper Keeper to his chest. “You’re probably right.” Then he went back to sit at a table by himself.
    The boys who wanted to be my friends, they were like me—well, “like me” in that there was something odd about them no one could put their finger on—and so, like me, they were pushed to the margins of the gym and lunchroom. They were boys who moved too often, boys with an ever-present inhaler or a stutter or a lazy eye, boys who were too smart not to be resented for it.
    So after I’d been at a new school for a month or two, one of those boys might find an excuse to talk to me. He’d ask for the math assignment as if he didn’t always write it down. He’d slide into the chair opposite me in the lunchroom and tell me about his plans for his science fair project or Halloween costume. And one day, months down the road, he’d invite me over after school—to study for a history test, or to try out the mechanism on the science project. At some point I learned the word for this: a pretext, a reason that’s really an excuse. The boy’s parents were still at work. We went up to his room. It almost always happened that way.
    I should have said no. Every time, I wanted to say no. I knew it was the right thing to tell him to leave me alone, but he’d already been snubbed by our classmates a hundred times over. How could I say no?
    So that’s what happened with Dmitri and Joe and Kevin and Noble and Marcus and C. J. Every time I went over to his house thinking this time I could avoid it, this time he wouldn’t be too nice or come too close. This time I wouldn’t be tempted.
    Eventually I realized something. Whenever you tell yourself, This time it will be different, it’s as good as a promise that it’ll turn out the same as it always has.
    After C. J. we moved to Cincinnati, Ohio. We were in the car one morning and I said, “Maybe I shouldn’t go to school anymore.” She didn’t answer. “Mama?”
    â€œI’ll think about it.” But by that point I guess she’d already decided to leave.
    *   *   *
    The highway seemed just as desolate as it had the night before, nothing but gas stations and empty strip malls. I brightened at the sight of an awning proclaiming FRESH HOT BAGELS before I noticed FOR RENT in the window. I’d almost reached the Greyhound station when I saw a sign marked EDGARTOWN, HISTORIC TOWN CENTER . Maybe I could stop at a real restaurant, warm up and get a good breakfast before I bought my ticket to Sandhorn.
    After a few blocks the road turned into a good old-fashioned Main Street. It was still early, and most of the shops weren’t open yet: an ice cream parlor, a secondhand bookshop,