The Green

Copyright © 2012 by Karly Kirkpatrick

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, and incidents are either products of the
author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can
be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,
electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the
author or publisher.

All rights reserved. No part of this
publication can be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted in any form or by any means: electronic, photocopying,
mechanical, or otherwise, without prior permission of the
author.

Karly Kirkpatrick loves reading and writing
YA books. She has written three novels, Into the Shadows and Bloody
Little Secrets, The Green, and a collection of short stories titled
EIGHT. Learn more about Karly on her website,
www.karlykirkpatrick.com.

www.darksidepublishing.com

G.P. Ching

The Soulkeepers

Weaving Destiny

Angela Carlie

Dream Smashers

Loramendi’s Story

Land of Corn Chips

Megg Jensen

Anathema

Oubliette

Severed

Sleepers

Magan Vernon

How to Date an Alien

The Green was written in 2009 and spent a
long time on the shelf. I’d like to thank quite a few people for
pushing me to put it out there. Thanks to Sarah Barthel, Natalie
Rompella, and Linda McReynolds for the first read through and the
awesome “Green” themed cake. Many thanks to Michelle Sussman, Megg
Jensen, G.P. Ching, and Angela Carlie for their thorough critiques.
Also, another round of thanks to Adrian Hutchinson for his
excellent proofing. And many thanks to Richard and Annikka and my
family for giving me the time to see my dreams through.

College Resumé

Name:
Ariceli Pisa

Age:
17

School:
Cambridge High School /
Journalism Academy, Cambridge, IL

GPA:
4.0

Extracurricular Activities:
Cheerleader; Editor for the Cambridge Cutlass Newspaper; Class
Council Treasurer; Member of Principal’s Advisory Council; National
Honor Society; French Club

Volunteer Work:
Slate Park soup
kitchen

Intended Major:
Broadcast
Journalism

Work Experience:
Drug Dealer (or
maybe ‘Street Pharmacist’ would be more appropriate?)

So I suppose that last part really won’t go
over very well if I plan on getting good recommendations from my
teachers. And I know what you’re thinking. Drug dealer? It’s so
cliché.

But yes, that’s me. I’m an honor student and
a drug dealer. Parents will probably wonder where my mom went
wrong. How could she raise such a terrible daughter? But don’t be
so quick to judge me, because I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere if
people like you weren’t trading The Green for the green herb. It
was all too easy. Nobody ever noticed me, in and out with a pocket
full of cash.

The bottom line is just that—all that matters
in this world is The Green. If you don’t have it, it’s all you
want. If you have it, you’ll do anything to keep it. Money makes
the world go round. And before I started dealing, I was pretty much
standing still.

Hot water cascaded over me. Burning.
Cleansing. I hoped it would wash away the musty smell that seemed
to cling to my hair and clothes. I wondered if people at school
noticed it or if it was just me. I didn’t even want to think about
what moldy nastiness lurked in our basement apartment’s walls.
After lathering, rinsing, and repeating, I stepped out into the
steamy bathroom and wiped the mirror down with a towel. The exhaust
fan broke months ago and the landlord keeps claiming he’ll fix it
‘next week.’

I swept my dark brown hair, almost black
really, into a high ponytail. Everything about me was brown. Brown
eyes. Brown skin. Smooth and silky, the color of rich mocha. Hair
stick straight and long. If you saw me in a National Geographic
magazine, I would be dressed like my Quechua relatives in Ecuador.
Colorful skirts and a Panama hat. Hooked nose. Except if I lived in
Ecuador with them, I’d live in a hut and hike up my skirts so I
could pee in the streets. I was the upgraded version. Like them,
but prettier and cleaner. And I used a toilet. Which is good
because I’m guessing peeing in the streets would be frowned upon in
most American towns.

I tied a red ribbon around my ponytail. Now I
looked like the other cheerleaders. A bright shiny package that all
the people at school could look at and admire.

After a few quick strokes with a mascara
brush and some powder, I popped into my room and grabbed my
hot-pink backpack off the bed. I secured the door behind me with a
giant padlock and walked to the front door.

“Hey, Ariceli, where you goin’? Can you get
me a pop?” slurred my brother Nando from the couch. I cringed.

“No, I’m gonna be late for school. Get it
your damn self,” I snapped.

“School is for fuckin’ losers.” He
chuckled.

My blood pressure rose, my face and neck
heating up. His eyes were almost swollen shut from a night of
partying.

“Because I suppose being wasted at six-thirty
on a Tuesday morning makes you not a fucking loser? And neither
does living on your mother’s couch when you’re twenty-one? Which
one is it Nando?”

“God, you’re such a bitch.” He slouched back
on the couch and snickered at a cartoon on the TV.

“Fuck you, Nando.” I slammed the door,
climbing the steps out of the dungeon, I mean basement apartment,
and headed to the bus stop.

Mom had taken on two jobs just so we could
move to this shitty apartment because it was in the right school
district for me. Out of the five high schools in the district,
Cambridge High was the best, and one of the top schools in the
suburbs of Chicago. Way better than any school I could have gone to
on the South Side of Chicago.

My fancy short yellow limousine pulled up
right on time for the twenty-minute drive to school. It was nearly
empty, being that I was one of only a few kids from crappy Slate
Park that Delores, the bus driver, had to pick up. Most kids here
went to Slate Park High, but when I saw that Cambridge had a
journalism academy, I knew that’s where I had to go. All you needed
to get in was an essay and great grades. It was a piece of cake for
me.

I tried to ignore the rundown strip malls and
apartment buildings of Slate Park. When we crossed the town line
into Cambridge, the scenery changed drastically. Tree-lined streets
of shops and cafes led to my three-story, red brick high
school.

I stepped discreetly off the bus; most people
drove to school and I would rather not be seen with my awesome mode
of transportation. I slipped into the crowd and let it push me
through the halls. Every day passed pretty much the same. Paste it
on—the plastic smile. Yes ma’am, yes sir. My, isn’t she a polite
girl. What a good attitude. She’ll go far. And good for her, she
deserves it. She’s such a hard worker.

Today was a day for something new. Energy
crackled around me when I walked into Journalism.

“Hey, Ari, did you finish your Calc
homework?” asked a deep, velvety voice from across the room. A
chill slipped down my spine as I listened to my name roll off his
tongue. Mmm, delicious.

“Of course!” I tried to keep a doofy smile
from forming on my face.

“Did you have any trouble with number
twelve?” His long legs nearly touched my short ones across the
aisle.

I pulled my notebook out of my bag. “Nope.
But you can look at it if you want.”

“Thanks! Did I ever tell you that you’re my
favorite?” He shook his head, tossing his dark hair out of his
bright green eyes.

“Your favorite what?”

“Oh, Ari, my favorite everything.” He taunted
me with his cute dimples.

He was such a flirt. I was pretty sure he
couldn’t tell I was blushing though. That was one benefit of having
brown skin. That and all the leathery blond chicks hated me because
I had the ‘perfect’ tan.

And for some reason I was feeling lucky
today. James Bartlett was not only the hottest guy in school—he was
also the nicest. He always made a point to compliment me in some
way everyday. And I was totally in love with him, not that it
mattered, of course. For the last two years he dated the head
cheerleader, Naomi Standish. Oh, and did I leave out the fact that
she was my best friend? And no, she didn’t know that I loved her
man from afar.

Besides, he and Naomi were the perfect
couple. They’d probably date through college, get married and be
successful at whatever they did and have a million extremely
attractive babies.

“So what’s new?” I asked James.

Our Journalism teacher, Ms. Simmons, searched
frantically through her materials at the front of the class.

“You didn’t talk to Naomi last night?” He
leaned closer to me and I caught a light scent, soap or cologne, it
didn’t matter.

“Nope. After practice I had a ton of
homework, so I turned my phone off. I must have forgotten to turn
it back on.”

“Ohhh,” he said as he raised his eyebrows.
“So you don’t know?” His eyes searched my face.

“Know what?”

“Naomi and I broke up.”

Thud. That was the sound of my jaw hitting
the floor. I shut it quickly, hoping I wasn’t gaping at him like
looky-lous at a car accident on the expressway.

“What?!” I said in disbelief. I fished my
cell phone out of my backpack and pressed the power button. I
scrolled through the messages and found one with Naomi’s name at
the top. She was going to kill me.

As he opened his mouth to answer, Ms. Simmons
finally got her stuff together and started talking to us about some
project she was going to have us work on. I usually only listened
to half of what she said anyway. One of the joys of being brilliant
meant I didn’t have to pay attention all the time. I shoved the
phone into the pocket of my backpack before I could read Naomi’s
message. I just hoped Ms. Simmons hadn’t seen it or she’d take it
away.

I whipped out my notebook and wrote furiously
as she droned on.

What happened?

I passed it discreetly. It didn’t matter. Ms.
Simmons was so involved in what she was saying that she barely paid
any attention to us.

I don’t know. We just weren’t going
anywhere.

What does that mean. We’re in high school.
Where is it supposed to go?

I don’t know, we just weren’t getting along
and we needed a break.

So does that mean you might get back
together?

I don’t think so.

Is she really upset?

No, she seemed okay really.

“Ms. Pisa and Mr. Bartlett, I do hope you are
paying attention up here.” Ms. Simmons burst my bubble and broke
our conversation. A few heads in front of us turned around, and I
detected some snickers.

“Yes ma’am,” I responded, attempting to look
like I had been taking meticulous notes.

James gave me a sideways glance and smiled,
his dimples showing again. I could pitch a tent in those
things.

“You are such a kiss-ass,” he whispered.

I rolled my eyes and shot him a dirty look.
But really I wanted to jump across the aisle into his arms and
confess my undying love to him. Although upon further review, I
decided that this might be a bit extreme. I mean, they did just
break up AND Naomi was my best friend. I really should be concerned
with how she was doing instead of developing elaborate plans on how
to snap up her newly-single man. Wasn’t I such a good friend? She
had to get over it sometime, right? And I’d be waiting when she
did.

Before I could get anything else out of him
about the breakup, I received a pass from my counselor, Mr.
Paulsen. Talk about bad timing. It was time to work on my college
applications, and he probably wanted to see how far I was.

I stepped into Paulsen’s office. College
posters covered the walls and a Grateful Dead flag hung in the
corner. A lava lamp sat on his desk, a big blob of green goo
undulating in the middle. Clearly someone had forgotten the
seventies were over.

“Ari, nice to see you! So, have you been
working on those college applications?” He motioned to a bright
green plastic chair in front of him.