"Nightworld 4 - Dark Angel" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Lisa J)

And eventually, it did get better. Her white, wrinkled skin turned dark blue, and then mottled, and then red. The searing subsided to a tingling. Gillian could move and think again.
She could hear, too. There were voices outside the bathroom in the hallway. The door didn't even muffle them.
Tanya's voice: "Here, I'll hold it. I'll take it to her in a minute." In a mutter: "I'm not sure she can drink and float at the same time."
David's voice: "Come on, give her a break. She's just a kid."
"Oh, really? Just how old do you think she is?"
"Huh? I don't know. Maybe thirteen?"
An explosive snort from Tanya.
"Fourteen? Twelve?"
"David, she goes to our school. She's a junior."
"Really?" David sounded startled and bewildered. "Nah, I think she goes to P.B."
Pearl S. Buck was the junior high. Gillian sat staring at the bathtub faucet without seeing it.
"She's in our biology class," Tanya's voice said, edging toward open impatience. "She sits at the back and never opens her mouth." The voice added, "I can see why you thought she was younger, though. Her bedroom's knee-deep in stuffed animals. And the wallpaper's little flowers. And look at these pajamas. Little bears."
Gillian's insides felt hotter than her fingers had
been at their most painful. Tanya had seen her room, which was the same as it had been since Gillian was ten years old, because there wasn't money for new curtains and wallpaper and there wasn't any more storage space in the garage to put her beloved animals away. Tanya was making fun of her pajamas. In front of David.
And David . . . thought she was a little kid. That was why he'd offered to drive her to school. He'd meant the junior high. He'd been nice because he felt sorry for her.
Two tears squeezed out of Gillian's eyes. She was trembling inside, boiling with anger and hurt and humiliation. . . .
Crinch.
It was a sound as loud as a rifle report, but high and crystalline-and drawn out. Something between a crash and a crunch and the sound of glass splintering under boots.
Gillian jumped as if she'd been shot, sat frozen a moment, then pulled the moisture-beaded shower curtain aside and poked her head out.
At the same instant the bathroom door flew open.
"What was that?" Tanya said sharply.
Gillian shook her head. She wanted to say, "You tell me," but she was too frightened of Tanya.
Tanya looked around the bathroom, spied the steamed-up mirror, and frowned. She reached across the sink to wipe it with her hand-and yelped.
"Ow!" She cursed, staring at her hand. Gillian could see the brightness of blood.
"What the-?" Tanya picked up a washcloth and swiped the mirror. She did it again. She stepped back and stared.
From the tub, Gillian was staring, too.
The mirror was broken. Or, not broken, cracked. But it wasn't cracked as if something had hit it. There was no point of impact, with lines of shattering running out.
Instead, it was cracked evenly from top to bottom, side to side. Every inch was covered with a lattice of fine lines. It almost looked purposeful, as if it were a frosted-glass design.
"David! Get in here!" Tanya said, ignoring Gillian. After a moment the door stirred and Gillian had a steamy distorted glimpse of David's face in the mirror.
"Do you see this? How can something like this happen?" Tanya was saying.
David grimaced and shrugged. "Heat? Cold? I don't know." He glanced hesitantly in Gillian's direction, just long enough to locate her face surrounded by the coral shower curtain.
"You okay?" he said, addressing himself to a white towel rack on the far wall.
Gillian couldn't say anything. Her throat was too tight and tears were welling up again. But when Tanya looked at her, she nodded.
"All right, forget it. Let's get you changed."
Tanya turned away from the mirror. David melted back out of the bathroom.
"Make sure her fingers and everything are working all right," he said distantly.
"I'm fine," Gillian said when she was alone with Tanya. "Everything's fine." She wiggled her fingers, which were tender but functioning. All she cared about right now was getting Tanya to go away. "I can dress myself."
Please don't let me cry in front of her.
She retreated behind the shower curtain again and made a splashing noise. "You guys can leave now."
Half a sigh from Tanya, who was undoubtedly thinking Gillian was ungrateful. "All right," she said. "Your clothes and your chocolate are right here. Is there somebody you want me to call-?"
"No! My parents-my dad will be here any minute. I'm fine." Then she shut her eyes and counted, breath held.
And, blessedly, there were the sounds of Tanya moving away. Both Tanya and David calling goodbyes. Then silence.
Stiffly, Gillian pulled herself upright, almost falling down when she tried to step out of the bathtub.
She put on her pajamas and walked slowly out of the bathroom, moving like an old woman. She didn't even glance at the broken mirror.
She tried to be quiet going up the stairs. But
just as she reached her bedroom, the door at the end of the upstairs hall swung open.
Her mother was standing there, a long coat wrapped around her, fuzzy fleece-lined slippers on her feet. Her hair, a darker blond than Gillian's, was uncombed.
"What's going on? I heard noise. Where's your father?"
Not "Whass goin' on? Whersh your father?" But dose.
"It's not even seven yet, Mom. I got wet coming home. I'm going to bed." The bare minimum of sentences to communicate the necessary information.