Read Notable (Smith High) for Free Online Page A

extra bodies in Cambodia. We clear on that?”
    They nodded.
    “Excellent.” I flashed one of my blinding smiles. “Enjoy the bathroom, ladies. You might want to close your mouths. It’s not a good look.”
    Maybe not the best way to bond with my fellow group members.
    Then again, friendship is overrated.

Chapter 6
    I t was too quiet.
    All the usual airport noises were present and accounted for: the announcements about various gates and flight delays, snippets of strangers’ conversations, and the ever-present wail of an unhappy baby; but among the Lewis & Clark group I was practically in solitary confinement. Apparently, word had already spread about my little bathroom speech, and everyone thought it was in their best interests to give me a wide berth. Everyone except professor “Just Call Me Neal” Hamilton, who kept trying to distract me from the fact that I was about as popular as avian flu by asking me all about my ballet dancing. I guess it never occurred to him that it might be a sensitive subject since this stupid program was responsible for interrupting my training with Mrs. P.
    I couldn’t even appreciate how hard he was trying to make me feel at home with the group, because that would involve actually caring about something, and the helplessness of my situation was effectively placing a damper on my emotions. I couldn’t seem to feel much of anything anymore. Even when Neal awkwardly mentioned that my drinking violated school policy and asked if there was anything I needed to discuss, I did little more than shrug. There was nothing left for me to say.
    Certainly nothing that Neal would want to hear.
    The initial buzz from the alcohol at the duty-free hadn’t lasted, probably because I’d been careful to remain hydrated on the plane—not that anyone in the group would believe that I was cautious when it comes to stuff like drinking. My reputation had already been sealed the second I lifted that first vodka sample. Still, I held my head high while I waited along with everybody else for my passport to be stamped. The only physical giveaway of discomfort I couldn’t control was the restless way my feet shifted from first position into third.
    My mom always hated it when I practiced ballet in supermarket lines, but I ignored her voice in my head telling me to Stand still, for god’s sake! Instead I focused on relieving my cramped muscles by making small movements to match the beat of my music. And then I visualized each move I would make if I were back in Mrs. P’s dance studio and I had the place to myself.
    I could see it all in such detail. The dull shine of the wooden floors, the dents and scratches in the barre, even the blurry patches on the mirror that no amount of Windex managed to clear. I could see myself too. Hair bundled in a tight bun, black leotard, tan tights, and my favorite pair of toe shoes in place. I nodded my head to the beat of my music while I calculated just how long I would hold each movement that I mentally choreographed.
    Fast. Slow. One and two, three, four.
    “Hey, princess, you’re slowing down the line.”
    Houston let irritation and condescension drip from his every word. So much for all that crap my parents said about “making a fresh start.” Yeah, right. I looked over at the Cambodian man grumbling something that probably translated to stupid American tourists, while he signaled for me to approach his desk.
    Somehow I had managed to piss off the Americans and the Cambodians in under fifteen minutes. That required some skills.
    “Shut up, Dallas,” I said easily before sauntering over to the desk.
    In a matter of minutes the rest of the group had passed with us through security, but I didn’t expect Amy to sidle up to me and whisper, “It’s Houston. You know . . . his name? Not Dallas.”
    “Really?” I feigned ignorance while I made sure that everyone could hear my words. “Are you sure it’s not Austin?”
    Amy nodded earnestly. “It’s