Read Breaking Beautiful for Free Online Page A

me, even more than Hannah George, it’s Blake.

Chapter
5
    “Allie.”
    I roll over, still half-asleep, and jump when I see his face .
    “ Open the window.”
    I put my finger to my lips and listen in the direction of Mom’s room. Silence. I slip out of bed, make sure I miss the squeaky floorboard, and slide the window open just a crack. “Trip, you scared me to death.”
    He slips his hand through the crack and opens the window up farther. A breath of cold ocean air blows in my room. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you all day.” His face is in the shadow, so I can’t read his expression.
    I cross my arms over my chest, feeling exposed with no makeup, an oversized T-shirt, and no bra. “I was helping Mom clear out Grandma’s house.”
    “You should have told me where you were going.” His voice echoes through the quiet of my room, but I don’t dare shush him. “What took you so long? Who else was there?”
    “No one.” I should be flattered by his concern, but something in his tone makes me nervous.
    “I need to know where you are.” He pushes the window open all the way, so hard that it bangs against the frame. I glance at my door, wondering what would happen if Mom caught Trip in my room. He doesn’t climb inside. Instead he pushes something smooth and black across the windowsill. “I got you something.”
    I take it from him. “A phone? ”
    “ I got it this afternoon. I added you to my plan .”
    “ Thanks, I —”
    “— my number is speed dial two. Try not to lose it.”
    “Allie.”
    I sit up in bed, not sure if the voice was part of my dream or if it was real. I try to focus in the dark, and strain my ears.
    “Allie.” It’s a guy’s voice. Not Dad. The rumble of an old truck, like Trip’s, passes in front of my house.
    Electric prickles run down my spine.
    “Trip?” I whisper toward the window, my heart racing. Then I remember. That’s not possible.
    My clock says 12:38. The last thing I remember is lying on my bed after school. I’m still wearing the clothes I put on this morning. No one woke me for supper.
    I’ve almost convinced myself that the voice was my imagination when it comes again. “Allie.” But it’s a different voice, a little girl, or maybe a boy. A long pause. A woman answers, but I can’t make out what she’s saying. My whole body is shaking. I am going crazy. For a minute I think about how old this house is, or who might have lived here before. But I don’t believe in ghosts.
    The kid’s voice is back. I swing my legs off the bed and lookout my window again, expecting or maybe hoping to see someone passing by, but all I see is misty rain under the porch light and a deserted street, no sign of the truck I heard before.
    “Allie,” the child says. My hair stands on end at the base of my neck and around my scar.
    The stone is still in my pocket, pressing against my thigh. I touch it and stand up, following the voice past the ghostly image reflected in my mirror, down the hall. Listen again. Nothing. I creep closer to Andrew’s door and lean my ear against it.
    “Allie.” It is Trip’s voice.
    I throw the door open. Andrew isn’t in his bed. There’s a light in the corner, on top of his desk. He’s there, hunched over his computer.
    “Andrew,” I whisper loudly. He jumps and nearly slides out of his chair. He’s in sweats, and not strapped in, which means he got himself out of bed after Dad put him there. “What are you doing?”
    “Did … I … ?” he begins.
    I cross the room. “Wake me up? Scare the hell out of me?” I move closer to see what he has on the desk in front of him. It’s flat and black and electronic looking, about the size of a notebook or a small laptop.
    He slides his hand across the screen and the voice I heard before says, “Sorry.” Up close the voice sounds electronic and not as much like Trip, but it still sends a chill through my whole body.
    He changes the screen a couple of times, traces down, touches the