Class - Cecily Von Ziegesar [61]
Tragedy pulled a bag of frozen beans from the freezer. She turned it over in her hands and sniffed it. Then she tossed it back inside the freezer and slammed the door. “A party? Rock on!”
“No one would come,” Adam said quietly.
“Please,” Tragedy argued. “All you have to do is make it very clear that there will be beer, and believe me, people will come.”
Adam rolled a pea across the table. He flicked it at his mom. She flicked it to his dad, who flicked it back to Adam. “Go on, son. We promise to get out of your hair,” Eli said. “And we’ll get the keg. Heck, we’ll get five kegs!”
Adam put the pea back on his plate. If he had a party, maybe she would come. And if she came, she might give him another chance. She might even kiss him again.
“We’ll need to put up flyers,” Tragedy advised. “But we have to make sure they’re not queer. You know, so people will actually show up.”
“We’re having a party!” Ellen slapped the table with her pudgy, work-worn palms. She glanced at Adam. “Are you in, or what?”
“All right,” Adam said. “I’m in.”
Tragedy gathered up her containers and put them into the backpack she’d filled with warm clothes stolen from her father. Then she added a couple of bottles of home brew.
Ellen elbowed Eli in the arm. “She’s running away again.”
Eli tugged on his mustache. “Honeybunch, you’re not, are you? You’re not running away.”
Tragedy cinched up the pack and slung it onto her back. For once in her life the thought hadn’t occurred to her. “And miss the party? No freakin’ way.”
Patrick stood in front of Nick’s yurt, admiring it. It was beautiful. Bent timbers, white canvas walls, and a high ceiling with a hole in it so you could see the stars. He’d been watching it all day. No one was in there. Almost everyone at Dexter had left campus, including his sister. But she had taken her car, and now he had no way to get around, no place to sleep, and nothing to eat. Last night he’d slept in the woods. When he woke up his limbs were so stiff he could barely stand. This big tent would still be cold at night, but he could use the sleeping bag the guy who’d built it had left behind and maybe build a fire.
Normally he went south at this time of year. Florida was always good, as long as he stayed away from Miami Beach. Sleeping on Miami Beach was like writing yourself a personal invitation to jail with no get-out-of-jail-free card. But he couldn’t leave now. Not when things were just starting to get interesting.
He snuck into the tent, put down his copy of Dianetics, and scooted into the red sleeping bag, curling his legs around the pole that held up the roof. It was newly dark and the flap in the ceiling was open. He could just make out the handle of the Big Dipper, beginning to twinkle. The sky was a deep violet, enhanced by the purplish-blue light that shone atop Dexter’s chapel spire. Vaguely he remembered a Dexter myth about that light. It was supposed to shine all the time, twenty-four hours, rain or shine, winter and summer. The light would only go out when a girl managed to graduate with her virginity intact. Back in the day, his goody-two-shoes sister might have been a contender, but not anymore. Now that she wasn’t so good, he was even starting to like her.
“Hey, you hungry?”
It was that girl. She was standing in the doorway of the tent. “You better be, ’cause I brought a shitload of food.”
She had turkey and mashed potatoes and stuffing and brownies and bottles of beer. Patrick hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday morning. He wasn’t sure where to begin.
“What happened to your Rolls-Royce, or whatever that car was you were driving?” the girl asked.
He grabbed a brownie and shoved it into his mouth.
“Man, I can’t watch you eat.” Tragedy glanced around the yurt. “It’s pretty awesome in here, but you should close up the roof. It’s getting cold.”
Patrick didn’t say anything. Why was she being so nice to him when he hadn’t done anything to deserve her kindness? He unwrapped the turkey and devoured it. Tragedy grabbed the long pole