Insatiable – Meg Cabot ( Chap 1)
9:15 A.M . EST, Tuesday, April 13
Downtown 6 platform
East Seventy-seventh Street and Lexington Avenue
New York, New York
It was a miracle.
Meena hurried onto the subway car and grabbed hold of one of the gleaming silver poles,
hardly daring to believe her good fortune.
It was morning rush hour, and she was running late.
She’d expected to have to cram herself into a car packed with hundreds of other
commuters who were also running late.
But here she was, still panting a little from having run all the way to the station, stepping
into a car that was practically empty.
Maybe, she thought, things are going to go my way for a change.
Meena didn’t look around. She kept her gaze fastened on the ad above her head, which
declared that she could have beautiful, clear skin if she called a certain Dr. Zizmor right away.
Don’t look, Meena told herself. Whatever you do, don’t look, don’t look, don’t look….
With luck, she thought, she might make it all the way to her stop at Fifty-first Street
without making eye contact or having any interaction at all with another human being….
It was the butterflies—life-size—that caught Meena’s attention at first. No city girl
would wear white pumps with huge plastic insects on the toes. The romance novel (Meena
assumed it was a romance, based on the helpless-looking, doe-eyed young woman on the
cover) the girl was reading had Cyrillic writing on it. The giant roller suitcase parked in front
of her was an additional clue that the girl was from out of town.
Though none of that—including the fact that she’d pinned her long blond braids onto the
top of her head, Sound of Music style, and had paired her cheap yellow polyester dress with
purple leggings—was as dead a giveaway to her new-in-town status as what the girl did next.
“Oh, I sorry,” she said, looking up at Meena with a smile that changed her whole face
and made her go from merely pretty to almost beautiful. “Please, you want sit?”
The girl moved her purse, which she’d left on the seat next to her, so that Meena could
sit down beside her. No New Yorker would ever have done such a thing. Not when there were
a dozen other empty seats on the train.
Meena’s heart sank.
Because now she knew two things with absolute certainty: One was that, despite the
miracle of the nearly empty subway car, things definitely weren’t going to go her way that day.
The other was that the girl with the plastic butterflies on her shoes was going to be dead
before the end of the week.