Read The Girl In The Glass for Free Online

looked back. His smile communicated nothing more than a teacher taking pride in the achievements of his star pupil. But Aimée knew there was more to it than that. She remembered the two of them sitting naked in bed just days ago, eating ripe peaches and reading erotic poetry to each other. Dripping peach juice both on the sheets and on their bodies. Then grabbing each other and licking it off. Delicious.
    A few of her closest friends knew she was involved with someone, but she hadn’t offered even a hint as to who it might be. Not even to Julia, with whom Aimée shared most things. Keeping the secret made the affair seem dark, romantic, illicit. Which was, for Aimée at least, part of its charm. But there was also the near certainty Byron would be fired, his career ruined, if their secret came out. That seemed dreadfully unfair to Aimée, since it was she who’d started the whole thing.
    The applause continued, and Aimée delighted in it. All these ­people focusing only on her. Then, with perfect timing, she held up a hand to quiet things down. “Thank you all,” she said. “Thank you all so very much.”
    When there was silence, Aimée began to speak. She didn’t need a script or even notes. She’d worked hard, endlessly rehearsing every word, every gesture, every pause. As she did with everything else in her life, Aimée wanted the speech to be perfect. “Headmaster Cobb,” she began, “trustees, faculty members, family, friends and fellow graduates, today is a day for those of us leaving Penfield to reflect on and be thankful for all we have been given.” As her words tumbled out flawlessly, Aimée scanned the audience. For the first time, she spotted her mother, Tracy Carlin, seated way in the back on the aisle. Typical. As the Press Herald ’s top crime reporter, Tracy’s mantra had always been to sit as close to the exit as she could in case of a breaking news story.
    Across from Tracy, Aimée spotted Will Moseley. Gorgeous Will. Once a boyfriend but never again. He sat sprawled on a folding chair too small for his six-­four frame, long legs stretched out into the aisle, hands folded casually behind his head. A two-­day growth on his cheeks and chin. Will wore no suit or blazer, as others did. No necktie. Just black jeans, Frye boots and a checked shirt with tails hanging out loosely.
    “The world we, as young ­people, will be inheriting,” Aimée told the attentive audience, “faces challenges on a global scale unlike any faced by previous generations. It is our responsibility as the next in line to shake ourselves loose from the narrow focus on self and look outward to a world that is crying out . . .”
    She continued to the end, her speech timed to last precisely twelve minutes, no more, no less. “To paraphrase Benjamin Franklin,” she said, wrapping it up, “everyone is born ignorant. Even valedictorians. But for all of us who, for the last four years, have benefited so profoundly from the wisdom, knowledge and guidance of the teachers, coaches and staff here at Penfield, well, it would be impossible for any of us, valedictorians or not, to leave here the same way. For this reason, I’d like to ask all my fellow members of this year’s graduating class to stand and join me in thanking you—­ our teachers, parents and friends of the school—­for the love, wisdom, support and, yes, the tuition money you so generously doled out . . .” Aimée waited until the required chuckle died down. “ . . . to provide each and every one of us with the very best start in life we could possibly get.”
    She accepted a long, standing ovation, then returned to her seat as Headmaster Cobb replaced her at the dais to present Emily Welles with her citizenship award.
    Once seated, Aimée looked again at Moseley and wondered what he was doing here. She hadn’t invited him, though he’d hinted more than once that she should. Any interest she’d ever had in Moseley had died two summers ago in a