Beautiful Malice by Rebecca James

afternoon. At the old farmer’s shed. Well, I think it was going to be a band practice, but it’s turned into more of a party. Apparently, quite a few people are going to watch them play. You know, music, a few beers. It should be fun.”
    “Sounds awesome,” I said.
    “Band practice?” Rachel said. “How cool. I’d love to hear them. Can I come?”
    “They’re seniors, Rach. They’ll be drinking and stuff. You’ll feel totally out of place.”
    “Not if there’s good music, I won’t.”
    “No. No way. Don’t be stupid . You have to go home and practice.”
    “Oh, come on, Katie. Please . Can’t I just come and watch for a while and then go home? I know you think I’m just a baby, but I’m not. And I really need some fun. I’ll be practicing every minute of every day for the next few weeks. The music will inspire me. Please.”
    “Inspire you?” I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right. Amateur grunge rock? As if.”
    “Please, Katie? Please? Just for an hour?”
    “No.”
    “Oh, for God’s sake,” said Carly, looking irritated. “Just let her come. What does it matter? We don’t have time to sit here and argue about it.”
    There was no real reason to keep saying no—we could go for an hour and get home before Mom and Dad, and Rachel would still have plenty of time to practice—I just didn’t want her tagging along. But I couldn’t say that without making Rachel cry, and if she cried now she’d ruin everything—I’d have to take her home, look after her, wipe her snotty nose. Despite what she said, she really could be a big baby at times.
    “All right, then.” I kept my voice deliberately cold. “You can come. But don’t blame me if Mom and Dad have a shit fit.”

10
    A unt Vivien tries to hide it, but I can tell that she’s surprised when I say that I’m going away with Alice and Robbie for the weekend. She hugs me tight before she leaves for work.
    “You enjoy yourself, young lady,” she says.
    We’ve agreed to head to the beach, and we take my car, the new Honda, because it’s the fastest and the most comfortable. We leave on Friday morning. Both Alice and I should be at school, but the teachers are fairly lenient with seniors. They probably won’t even notice our absence. In any case, I’ve brought my copy of Hamlet and plan to reread it while lazing on the beach. Robbie has taken a rare weekend off from the restaurant. The three of us are excited and in good spirits and laugh and joke for most of the drive. When we arrive we go to the supermarket and stock up on supplies for the next few days. Alice fills the shopping cart with chocolate and candy, Robbie and I collect more practical things—eggs and milk and bread and toilet paper. We put our groceries into the trunk of the car and check our map, then head east on the little road that takes us toward the beach.
    We’ve rented an old two-bedroom cottage. We found it listed on the Net, and though there were a couple of photos of the interior—the kitchen and the dining room—we’re not entirely certain what we’re going to find. So when we arrive and see a charming, whitewashed little house with a deck overlooking the beach, we are both delighted and relieved.
    We rush inside and run through the house, laughing and shouting.
    “This is perfect!”
    “God. Look at that enormous old bathtub!”
    “And look at the view. You can hear the ocean from every room. Wow! This is just gorgeous!”
    “Oh, hey, come here and look at the bedrooms. Look at those beds.”
    We put our swimsuits on and race down to the beach. We all run straight in to the water without bothering to test the temperature, and dive under the waves. The water is icy, but I am far too happy, far too high on life and friendship and the knowledge that there are three entire days of fun ahead, to worry about the cold. Alice and Robbie splash each other and hug. Alice runs from him, laughing and stumbling. He catches her, but she pulls away and one strap of her