The Nightworld - Jack Blaine [0]
Jack Blaine
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter 1
I’m watching the clock, watching the second hand tick-tick-tick silently toward home, waiting for that sweet, sweet sound of freedom. One . . . more . . . sec—ah!
There it is. The final bell. The rest of the class bolts, stampeding out the door. At last junior year is over. I don’t have to hear that stupid bell again for three long months. Don’t have to study, don’t have to figure out new ways to skip chem lab, don’t have to watch all the hot girls ignore me and only pay attention to the jocks.
“What are you waiting for, Nick? I figured you for the first student out of the classroom, not the last.”
For an English teacher, Mrs. Martin isn’t bad. I even liked some of her assignments this year. She stands at the front of the classroom, looking a little sad behind her smile.
I smile back and stand up. “I’m going. See you next year.”
“Wait a minute.”
When I turn back to her, she’s holding out a book. “Some summer reading.”
“Oh, man.” I can’t help but groan a little. All year long Mrs. Martin has thought I’m one of those kids she can fix by focusing a little individual attention on me. I’m not dumb, but the phrase “does not work to potential” is what they’ll put under my senior picture in the yearbook.
“Oh, it won’t kill you. And yes, I do expect a book report in the fall.” Mrs. Martin waits for me to take the book.
“Lord of the Flies?” I turn the book over.
“You should have read it two years ago.” Mrs. Martin shakes her head. “It used to be required reading for the ninth graders, but they replaced it with some—”
She stops, but I could swear she was about to say a nasty word. I look at the front cover of the book again. It has a guy looking straight out from what seems to be a jungle. The stems of some leaves look sort of woven into his hair. He looks . . . pissed? No, more like he’s sad. There are big old houseflies all over his shoulder.
“Uh . . . what’s it about?” I’m not digging the idea of spending any time on reading this summer. Maybe I can get out of it. “I’m going to be so busy over break—”
“I expect you to tell me what it’s about when you come back in the fall.” Mrs. Martin assumes her teacher face. “And I’m holding your final grade in English this year until I get your book report.”
Crap. There is it—the power play. I skipped a few too many of Mrs. Martin’s classes, too, along with chem lab. She could give me a righteous D for the year if she wanted. I figured there would be some sort of makeup work to do over the summer, but I was hoping for some vocabulary words, not a novel about flies.
“Well, thanks, Mrs. Martin. I’ll do my best.”
“If only you would, Nick.”
The disappointment in her voice should make me feel bad, but it’s officially summer now and I can’t bring myself to care. I shove the book in my backpack, give Mrs. Martin a wave, and leave. The halls already look deserted. I was hoping to run into Lara Hanover before everyone split, so I’m disappointed. Lara is the hottest girl in the junior class. She’s not a cheerleader or anything stupid like that, either. All year long I’d been working up the nerve to ask her out. I actually managed to talk to her a couple of times when we had to do group reports in English. She’s smart, but I was never able to concentrate on her reports because every time she talked in our group all I could do was watch her mouth move. I’d finally decided that today, the last day of junior year, was a make-or-break moment—either get her number and call her over the summer, or forget about it. Looks like I’d missed my chance.
I push out the double doors to the front of the school