Читать книгу dancergirl - Carol Tanzman M. - Страница 7

Prologue

You know the feeling you get when you’re on the subway. Or a bus. Coffeehouse. Anyplace where people hang out. You’re texting, or cramming the rest of your homework, when suddenly you feel…something. Back of the neck prickle, goose bumps all over your arms.

You glance up—and there he is. Some cretin, pupils burning, staring at you like he’s got X-ray vision. Ripping through your clothes. Bra, panties—whatever turns the creep on. He catches your eye—that’s what he’s hoping to do—and then he does something gross. Draws his tongue over his lips, makes some crude smacking sound, gives a lewd wink. Immediately, you look down, pretending you haven’t seen anything.

But you know he knows.…

That’s exactly what’s happening. The sick feeling that someone’s staring at me. Only I’m not on the subway. Or the bus. Or even a park bench.

I’m in my bedroom. Alone.