Beastly by Alex Flinn

1 I could feel everyone looking at me, but I was used to it. One thing my dad taught me early and often was to act like nothing moved me. When you're special, like we were, people were bound to notice. It was the last month before the end of ninth grade. The substitute teacher was giving out ballots for spring dance court, something I'd normally have thought was lame. "Hey, Kyle, your name's on this." My friend Trey Parker flicked my arm. "No duh." When I turned Treys way, the girl next to him—Anna, or maybe Hannah—looked down. Huh. She'd been staring at me. I examined the ballot. Not only was my name, Kyle Kingsbury, there for ninth-grade prince, but I was the sure winner. No one could compete with my looks and my dad's cash. The sub was a new one who might still have been under the mistaken impression that because Tuttle was the type of school that had a salad bar in the cafeteria and offered courses in Mandarin Chinese—i.e., a school where the serious money people in New York sent their kids—we weren't going to bust on him like public school dregs. Big mistake. It wasn't like anything the sub
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