Chapter 9
The lens of Tory’s digital camera is aimed straight at my face. The camera sits on a tripod, and that perches on a table, and the whole thing teeters. Any second now and none of us will have to worry about recording our pieces.
I feel like Jane on her stool, trapped again, and I try to channel that feeling, using it for fuel, like Sam talked about. I ignore the donkey teeth and try not to trip over my tongue.
When I finish, Tory clicks the camera off and then stares at me.
“Not bad,” she says. “You’re tapping into something you haven’t before. No wonder your scores improved. You know what you should do?”
I shake my head, still mulling what not bad means.
“Read your piece into the bathroom mirror at home, only place a pencil like this.” She shoves a pencil in her mouth so sh
