Novel & Cerita Ebook The Outsider

Fabian notices and squeezes my hands so I don't cry. "The last name I'm going to call is... Gabriella Johanson." He announces and I freeze. Did he just call my name? Am I dreaming? Is this for real? Fabian slaps my arm, jerking me back to reality and I calmly lean forward to collect my sketch sheet and a few people applauded but Trisha and her friends practically stared at me with a look of disgust and confusion on their faces.

It has always been myself and I. Maybe that is one of the factors why I grew up like this. At such a young age, I was able to provide for my own needs. Not only that, I am able to save money for my future as well. But at what cost? I became an ‘outlaw’ in my very own school. I have broken the school regulation of a religious school. That thought still bothers me, but I chose to continue what I am doing anyway. I even invited lots of my schoolmates so my business’ growth will be unstoppable.

He instructed the class. How many times has someone mentioned the word 'different' since I got here? At the fundraising event, I heard that word about ten times from the people my aunt introduced me to. How am I different? I wanted to tell out. He walked over to the table in front of the class and passed me a book. I realized it was a novel; Purple hibiscus by Chimamanda Adichie. "That's the book we're currently studying, you can take it with you to your seat. Also, you can take the seat beside Webster" He dismissed me and I was bothered about how I'm supposed to know who Webster was.

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A pity. “Are you even listening to me?” I lifted my eyes from the book in my hand. The Mark of Exile. It was the sequel to The Corpse in the Fog—a crime story about a man killing the lover of the woman he desperately wanted. You could say I was taking notes of very effective and interesting ways to kill Zesa’s lover. I’d had enough of him impeding my happiness.

I smiled, violently wiping the tears I couldn't fight back as I told myself—the old Yvie Grant was dead and I would live only for myself. As I returned inside to my quiet corner in the orphanage, a big black sedan soon stopped outside the gates of the orphanages. Soon, the caretaker was leading an elderly gray-haired man inside, and the other children were at once abuzz, flocking toward him like a swarm of locusts to present their gifts. "Hello, Sir!' "Let me sing for you, Sir!" "Can you look at my drawings, Sir?" I alone sat at that quiet corner, looking like a complete outsider.

Her eyes fell upon the diary resting on her nightstand, and she reached for it, realizing it could provide some solace and distraction while awaiting Max's return. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Chloe grasped the worn book. Many of the words within the diary had faded or been washed away over time. It would be a challenge to decipher her mother's words, but Chloe knew it was the only way to gain insight into her mother's thoughts and feelings. Flipping through the pages, she eventually reached the final entry. Her eyes widened as she read the bold inscription at the top of the page—her mother's maiden name: Violet Anderson.

**** Dear Reader, I very much hope that you enjoyed meeting the characters of the ‘Unseen Enemy’ series. The stories will continue in ‘Enemy Outside’ (Unseen Enemy #2), which focuses on Dallas and Olivia, and which is available here on GoodNovel. I also invite you to visit my website: www.marysoljamesromance.com

I turn the phone back off and return it to the desk. Finally, I turn back to the bookshelf. I pick up a book I found titled The Catcher in the Rye . I recognized the title as a classic piece of American literature, but I've never read it myself. His copy looks distinctly different from the rest of his books. The others look either new or almost new, but this one looks as though it has been read several times. I settle on the couch, open the book, and begin to read. ~~~ I freeze when I hear thumping outside on the porch. The doorknob rattles. I stare at the door in terror. A loud knock sounds. It's probably Ryan. It's got to be him. Definitely.

— That's the problem, I don't know anything about him — I confess. “Yeah, well, that could be a problem I have the answer to,” he says, as he takes a small book out of his pocket. The small book fits easily into the palm of his hand, and he hands it to me. I open the first page of the black leather bound book, which has nothing on the cover, and inside are detailed pages filled with writing and paintings of moons much like the marks on my neck. — Do you want to read? It's the story of the forbidden god and everything he stands for. - Yes. I mean thank you. You wrote this? I ask. He shakes his head without saying anything else. I look down at the book and start reading about this forbidden go