around the beer cans, vodka, and Artie’s cigarettes. No. No. No.
“Rose is homeschooled,” said David.
“Why don’t you let Rose answer for herself?” the girl said.
David looked at Clay. “Who brought Ms. Personality?”
“Becks is my sister’s friend.” Clay glared in her direction. “Hey, Becks, why don’t you share the potato juice?”
“How about I don’t?” she returned. “And it’s Rebecca,
John.
”
“Becks is in a bad mood,” Clay said. “She’s feeling sexually frustrated. That’s why she won’t share the vodka.”
He went to tickle her, but she batted him away.
“I’m in a bad mood because my ride passed out, and now I’m stuck here with you.” Rebecca nursed her bottle. Her body curved in on itself, a closed loop. The arrow in her brain had no one to point to.
“Where is your boy?” Rose asked.
David, who’d been saying something, stopped midsentence. The boys stared at Rose, then at Rebecca, who held the bottle an inch from her parted lips.
“Why don’t you mind your business, smartass?” she said at last.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to —”
“The hell with this,” Rebecca said, getting to her feet. “Nice friends, John.”
“She’ll be fine,” Clay said once she’d gone. “She’s just drunk.”
“And we’re not.” David reached for the cooler at Artie’s feet. “So let’s correct that situation.”
“Hell, yes!” Clay shouted.
Rose shrank in her seat — body language communicating regret, shame. David didn’t notice. He was crushing a beer can on his forehead. She felt sorry she’d upset the other girl. But David was happy. That was the important thing. The only important thing.
An hour later, Rose had not moved. Her epidermal sensors registered the night chill, but she had nothing to cover up with. David looked warm on the other side of the fire. His cheeks and neck were flush, and ringlets of damp hair clung to his brow. The boys talked loudly and hit each other, laughing. She wished David would put his arm around her.
Artie wasn’t drinking. Instead he smoked and stared at the fire, tossing his butts into the flames. Finally, lighting his sixth or seventh cigarette, he said something.
“Hey, red. What’s with the scowl?”
“Excuse me?”
“Why so glum?”
“I’m not glum. I’m waiting.”
Artie offered Rose a smoke, but she shook her head.
“It’s funny, Dave’s never mentioned you before.”
“We just met.”
“Really? Because you seem really close.”
She smiled warmly. “Really?”
“You guys hooking up?”
“Hooking up?” Train cars coupling, a fish caught on a line. This couldn’t be what he meant. Artie drew closer, sitting beside her.
“Listen.” His breath stank like tobacco. “David and I, we share everything, you know? What’s his is sort of mine. Because we’re best friends. Do you get what I’m saying?”
Again, Rose shook her head. A new feeling bubbled inside her — like what she’d felt in the car, only subtler.
“So tell me, what gets your motor running?”
He reached to touch her knee. A voice came from behind them.
“Hey, Stubb. I know this is a campsite, but go pop a tent someplace else, huh?”
It was Rebecca, cradling her bottle.
“What’s your problem?”
“I don’t
have
problems. I
solve
them.”
Artie stood and stretched. “Whatever.”
“Go bond,” Rebecca said, nodding toward the others. “If you’re looking for someone to grope, try David. He’s the one you’re in love with.”
“Bite me.” Artie stooped to grab his pack of cigarettes and headed for the stairs.
“You wish,” Rebecca muttered. She took Artie’s place on the I beam. “Hey. Sorry about him. He’s just a perv.”
“Thank you for making him go away,” Rose said. “He makes me . . . uncomfortable.”
“No surprise there.” Rebecca stared through the flames at the other boys, who were having a thumb war. “Look at them. You and me, babe, we’re totally
“Rose is homeschooled,” said David.
“Why don’t you let Rose answer for herself?” the girl said.
David looked at Clay. “Who brought Ms. Personality?”
“Becks is my sister’s friend.” Clay glared in her direction. “Hey, Becks, why don’t you share the potato juice?”
“How about I don’t?” she returned. “And it’s Rebecca,
John.
”
“Becks is in a bad mood,” Clay said. “She’s feeling sexually frustrated. That’s why she won’t share the vodka.”
He went to tickle her, but she batted him away.
“I’m in a bad mood because my ride passed out, and now I’m stuck here with you.” Rebecca nursed her bottle. Her body curved in on itself, a closed loop. The arrow in her brain had no one to point to.
“Where is your boy?” Rose asked.
David, who’d been saying something, stopped midsentence. The boys stared at Rose, then at Rebecca, who held the bottle an inch from her parted lips.
“Why don’t you mind your business, smartass?” she said at last.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to —”
“The hell with this,” Rebecca said, getting to her feet. “Nice friends, John.”
“She’ll be fine,” Clay said once she’d gone. “She’s just drunk.”
“And we’re not.” David reached for the cooler at Artie’s feet. “So let’s correct that situation.”
“Hell, yes!” Clay shouted.
Rose shrank in her seat — body language communicating regret, shame. David didn’t notice. He was crushing a beer can on his forehead. She felt sorry she’d upset the other girl. But David was happy. That was the important thing. The only important thing.
An hour later, Rose had not moved. Her epidermal sensors registered the night chill, but she had nothing to cover up with. David looked warm on the other side of the fire. His cheeks and neck were flush, and ringlets of damp hair clung to his brow. The boys talked loudly and hit each other, laughing. She wished David would put his arm around her.
Artie wasn’t drinking. Instead he smoked and stared at the fire, tossing his butts into the flames. Finally, lighting his sixth or seventh cigarette, he said something.
“Hey, red. What’s with the scowl?”
“Excuse me?”
“Why so glum?”
“I’m not glum. I’m waiting.”
Artie offered Rose a smoke, but she shook her head.
“It’s funny, Dave’s never mentioned you before.”
“We just met.”
“Really? Because you seem really close.”
She smiled warmly. “Really?”
“You guys hooking up?”
“Hooking up?” Train cars coupling, a fish caught on a line. This couldn’t be what he meant. Artie drew closer, sitting beside her.
“Listen.” His breath stank like tobacco. “David and I, we share everything, you know? What’s his is sort of mine. Because we’re best friends. Do you get what I’m saying?”
Again, Rose shook her head. A new feeling bubbled inside her — like what she’d felt in the car, only subtler.
“So tell me, what gets your motor running?”
He reached to touch her knee. A voice came from behind them.
“Hey, Stubb. I know this is a campsite, but go pop a tent someplace else, huh?”
It was Rebecca, cradling her bottle.
“What’s your problem?”
“I don’t
have
problems. I
solve
them.”
Artie stood and stretched. “Whatever.”
“Go bond,” Rebecca said, nodding toward the others. “If you’re looking for someone to grope, try David. He’s the one you’re in love with.”
“Bite me.” Artie stooped to grab his pack of cigarettes and headed for the stairs.
“You wish,” Rebecca muttered. She took Artie’s place on the I beam. “Hey. Sorry about him. He’s just a perv.”
“Thank you for making him go away,” Rose said. “He makes me . . . uncomfortable.”
“No surprise there.” Rebecca stared through the flames at the other boys, who were having a thumb war. “Look at them. You and me, babe, we’re totally
Similar Books
