Never Never (Never Never, #1) by Colleen Hoover – eBook Details Online
- Author Name: Colleen Hoover
- Book Genre: Contemporary, Mystery, New Adult, Romance, Young Adult
- ISBN # B00RZVNDSS
- Edition Language: English
- Date of Publication: 2015-1-7
- File Format: PDF / EPUB
- PDF / EPUB File Size: 2 MB
Charlie
A crash. Books fall to the speckled linoleum floor. They skid a few feet,
whirling in circles, and stop near feet. My feet. I don’t recognize the black
sandals, or the red toenails, but they move when I tell them to, so they must
be mine. Right?
A bell rings.
Shrill.
I jump, my heart racing. My eyes move left to right as I scope out my
environment, trying not to give myself away.
What kind of bell was that?
Where am I?
Kids with backpacks walk briskly into the room, talking and laughing. A
school bell. They slide into desks, their voices competing in volume. I see
movement at my feet and jerk in surprise. Someone is bent over, gathering up
books on the floor; a red-faced girl with glasses. Before she stands up, she
looks at me with something like fear and then scurries off. People are
laughing. When I look around I think they’re laughing at me, but it’s the girl
with glasses they’re looking at.
“Charlie!” Someone calls. “Didn’t you see that?” And then, “Charlie…
what’s your problem…hello…?”
My heart is beating fast, so fast.
Where is this? Why can’t I remember?
“Charlie!” someone hisses. I look around.
Who is Charlie? Which one is Charlie?
There are so many kids; blond hair, ratty hair, brown hair, glasses, no
glasses…
A man walks in carrying a briefcase. He sets it on the desk.
The teacher. I am in a classroom, and that is the teacher. High school or
college, I wonder.
I stand up suddenly. I’m in the wrong place. Everyone is sitting, but I’m
standing…walking.
“Where are you going, miss Wynwood?” The teacher is looking at me
over the rim of his glasses as he rifles through a pile of papers. He slaps them
down hard on the desk and I jump. I must be miss Wynwood.
“She has cramps!” Someone calls out. People snicker. I feel a chill creep
up my back and crawl across the tops of my arms. They’re laughing at me,
except I don’t know who these people are.
I hear a girl’s voice say, “Shut up, Michael.”
“I don’t know,” I say, hearing my voice for the first time. It’s too high. I
clear my throat and try again. “I don’t know. I’m not supposed to be here.”
There is more laughing. I glance around at the posters on the wall, the
faces of presidents animated with dates beneath them. History class? High
school.
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