The Party by Christopher Pike Page B

drive us to the game,” Polly said eagerly.
    “Whatever,” Jessica nodded, still yawning. “Get in, Sara.”
    When they were cruising down the road, the air conditioner on full and Polly following on their tail, Sara asked, “Why are you going to the game? You should stay home and rest.”
    Jessica rubbed her tired eyes beneath her glasses. She had only put on the glasses at Sara’s insistence. Lately Jessica’s sight had gotten so bad that Sara hated to get in the car when she was driving. That morning in political science, before she fell asleep, Sara had noticed Jessica straining to see the screen. The girl had a history of allergies; her eyes were too sensitive for contacts, even for soft lenses. Yet she resisted wearing her glasses, even when there was no one else around; simple vanity, there was no question about it.
    “I would, but I told my journalism teacher I’d take some pictures for the paper,” Jessica said.
    “You volunteered?”
    “Not exactly. The teacher saw the pictures I’d taken last year for Mesa’s annual. She likes my work. I think she’s been waiting for me and my camera to show up. I don’t mind. I’ve got to do something now that I’m not a cheerleader anymore. And I promised Alice I’d come. She has this guy she wants me to meet.”
    “What’s his name?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Bill Skater?”
    Jessica smiled. “I wish. It’ll be fun watching him play tonight.”
    “It might be funny . I wasn’t kidding in the assembly when I said I’d heard he was awful.”
    Jessica shrugged. “I could care less what he can do with a football.”
    Sara sneered. “What makes you think you’re ever going to find out what he can do with you?”
    Jessica grinned. “It’s only September. I’ve got till June. Fm going to invite him to the party.”
    “I know.”
    Jessica lost her grin. “You don’t think we’re pressuring Polly into something she doesn’t want to do, do you?”
    “Polly’s just being Polly. If we didn’t give her a shove every now and then, she’d be mummified in her bedroom closet. Besides, the party was Alice’s idea.” Sara rubbed her aching arm. A purple bruise was beginning to appear below her elbow. “I have someone Fm going to invite, too.”
    “Who?”
    “This guy I ran into.”

Chapter Five
    Michael Olson was doing inventory at the Eleven when Nick Grutler walked in. Michael had seen Nick at school—it was hard not to see that tall, black body—and wondered if he played basketball. He had thought of asking him. It was not fear of Nick that had kept Michael quiet. Once Bubba had accused Michael of being especially kind to minorities because he felt guilty about not fully trusting them. It was Bubba’s contention that everyone was prejudiced to a degree, and the best anyone could do was to try not to let it interfere with how he treated other races. But Michael was genuinely color blind. People were people to him.
    Michael had not approached Nick because Nick did not look as if he wanted to be approached. It was as simple as that. The Rock probably wished he’d had as keen instincts. Michael had heard what had happened in the weight room. But unlike Russ Desmond, he did not take pleasure in The Rock’s downfall. Michael disliked violence in any form.
    But now that Nick had come into his store, Michael felt no qualms about introducing himself. He nodded as Nick approached the counter. “Hi, how are you doing? Don’t we go to school together?”
    A flicker of surprise crossed Nick’s eyes. “I go to Tabb,” he mumbled.
    “So do I.” Michael offered his hand. “I’m Michael Olson. Nick Grutler, right?”
    Nick shook his hand. He had a mean grip. “How did you know?”
    “You can expect most people at school to know your name after you floored The Rock.”
    A note of wariness entered his voice. “Was he a friend of yours?”
    “The Rock doesn’t have many friends.” Michael had only brought up the weight room incident because he