Read Every Last Word for Free Online Page B

crushed velvet, brown leather, red and gray checks—and completely unique. Low bookcases line the room, and small mismatched lamps are spaced evenly around the perimeter. I nervously wonder
what would happen if the power went out.
    Then I see the walls.
    I spin a slow 360 in place, taking it all in. All four walls are covered with scraps of paper in different colors and shapes and textures, all jutting out at various angles. Lined paper ripped
from spiral-bound notebooks. Plain paper, three-hole punched. Graph paper, torn at the edges. Pages that have yellowed with age, along with napkins and Post-its and brown paper lunch bags and even
a few candy wrappers.
    Caroline’s watching me, and I take a few cautious steps closer to get a better look. I reach for one of the pages, running the corner between my thumb and forefinger, and that’s when
I notice handwriting on each one, as distinctive as the paper itself. Loopy, flowing cursive. Tight, angular letters. Precise, blocky printing.
    Wow.
    I don’t think I’ve ever experienced this sensation outside the pool, but I feel it now, deep in my bones. My shoulders drop. My heart’s no longer racing. I can’t see a
toxic, negative thought for miles.
    “What is this place?” I whisper to Caroline, but before she can say anything, the girl I met at the door comes out of nowhere and grabs my arm. She has dark hair and a pixie cut, and
now she’s bouncing in place like this is the most exciting thing that’s happened to her in a long time.
    “Come sit with me. There’s an open spot on the couch in front.” She starts leading me toward this atrocious green-and-pink-plaid sofa in the first row. “How long have you
been writing?”
    For what feels like the one-hundredth time today, my head spins toward Caroline. She’s got a weird grin on her face. “Writing?”
    “Don’t worry,” Pixie Cut says. She tightens her grip on my arm and pulls me closer. “I’m the newest one here and I totally remember my first time. Don’t be
afraid. You’re only here to listen.”
    She plops down on one end of the couch and pats the cushion on her right. “Sit.” I do as I’m told. “Well, you definitely picked a good day,” she says.
“Sydney’s going first and AJ’s up after her.”
    Caroline settles in on my other side. I look to her for clues, and again she gives me nothing.
    Everyone gets quiet as a heavyset girl I assume to be Sydney climbs up to the stage and bumps the stool with her hip, scooting it to the side. Wait. I know her. She’s in my U.S. History
class.
    I’d never seen her before this week, but on the first day of school, she strolled into class wearing a black strappy dress with bright red cherries all over it. It looked vintage. But it
wasn’t her outfit or her confidence that caught my attention. It was her hair. Long, thick, and bright red, like Cassidy’s. I’d already been thinking about her all day, wishing
the two of us were at the pool instead, and seeing that hair made me miss her even more.
    Sydney holds up the top of a Chicken McNuggets container. “I wrote this last night at…” She flips the paper around to show us the McDonald’s arches and bounces her hand
up and down, nodding proudly. “The lid wasn’t as greasy this time, so I got an entire poem in,” she says, and everyone laughs at what I presume to be an inside joke.
    “I call this one
Neujay
.” She turns the paper around again and runs her fingertip across the word “Nuggets,” and then clears her throat dramatically.
    ENTRY
    My teeth pierce your bumpy flesh.
    Oil, sweet, slipping over my tongue
    Sliding down my throat.
    DECISIONS
    Barbecue or sweet and sour?
    Mustard or honey?
    I close my eyes
    Let fate decide.
    Tip, dip, lift
    Barbecue.
    STUDY
    Golden. Shining under fluorescents.
    Piled. Grazing each other’s edges.
    Patient. Always patient.
    ADMIRATION
    Gold, pink.
    Crispy, salty.
    What the hell are you made of?
    Everyone stands, clapping and cheering, and