[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
Rosie.
We ve decided to stay in Austin, Rosie finishes. For good. Or at least for a few years.
You& what?
Rosie interprets my shock as rapturous joy and her face breaks into a huge smile. It s true! she says
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
excitedly. Les has done such a good job with the shop that Satya wants him to take it over.
And Rosie has been offered a position at that day spa, Les adds. They love her and want her to start
as soon as she s done with her certification.
They beam at each other and Rosie bounces happily on my mattress.
Wait a minute! Shock waves of panic shoot through me. Nowyou guys want to settle down?Here? In
the one city where I ve made such a mess of things I can t even leave my bed?
Rosie and Les glance quizzically at each other, totally thrown by my sudden burst of anger. Les is
probably thinking I need berries and yogurt and Rosie probably wants to irrigate my large intestine. They
just don t get me. They haven t in a long time.
I can t take this. They re the two things that never change around me and I can t stand looking at them.
So I do what we Dempseys are good at doing: I leave.
I bounce out of bed and head through the door, running barefoot for the stairs. Forget hibernating in this
cave. I need to be alone.
Because that s how I feel.
It s hard to do an angry, stompy walk when you re wearing flip-flops.
After leaving my parents staring at each other, I didn t want to go back and change out of my sleepwear.
So I raced down to the shop and grabbed a trench coat and the first shoes I could find a pair of
sparkly red flip-flops.
So here I am, wandering down Rio Grande, looking like a flasher with bed-head and trying to figure out
a destination. Preferably someplace where I can think and cry and not be carted off to the state hospital.
I suddenly smell bergamot, and it s like when wisps of smoke form beckoning hands in those cartoons. I
follow the scent to that coffee shop where the beautiful people hang out the one where Miles cornered
me. There s hardly anyone inside. Too early for partying high schoolers. I tramp up to the counter with
visions of hot tea and red currant scones dancing in my head.
Can I help you? asks a hipster dude as he dries a large soda-style glass with a white cup towel.
Yeah, I& oh. All of a sudden I realize I don t have any money. I know it s only tea, but I m so
disappointed I feel like crying again. I m sorry, I mumble. I forgot my purse.
Hey, aren t you the girl who works at Dudz? He leans across the counter, peering at me closely.
Yeah, I reply tentatively. How d you know?
I was in there the other day. You helped me.
I cock my head and study him. He does look familiar. Then I remember. You and your friend bought
those shirts for your gigs.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Right. Hey, whatever you want, it s on me. You guys gave me a deal, so it s the least I can do.
Thanks. I start to tear up a little this time out of gratitude. I m really frazzled. Earl Grey tea and one
of your red currant scones, please.
You got it. He flips the cup towel over his shoulder and picks up a pair of plastic tongs. I m trying to
telepathically guide him toward the big oblong one with the most currants when another aproned worker
appears beside him. A tattooed girl with dyed black dreads.
Isn t that her? she asks the hipster guy.
That s her, he replies, grinning at me.
She turns and drapes herself across the counter toward me. Weren t you on TV yesterday with Chip
Walker?
Yeah, I say. How d you even recognize me?
Ian knew it was you, she answers, nodding toward my hipster savior dude. And you still have some
white on your neck.
I reflexively put my hand to my throat, wishing for a mirror.
You re, like, famous around here, the girl continues.
I mwhat ? I make a face.
Maggie from Lakewood, right?
Uh& yeah. I stare at her in a daze, half mesmerized by the metal studs glistening in her nose. I ve never
met this person but she knows my name.
We hear all about you, she continues. We went to your shop the other day and bought a couple of
jumpsuits. My friend s going to paint hers. As she stares at me, I notice a sort of manic glimmer in her
eyes the kind people have when they meet famous idols.
And yet she s looking at me.Me! Some whacked-out teenager with too much hair, too little sense, and
zero friends.
Here you go. The guy leans in front of the girl to plunk down my tea and a plate with two scones.
Thanks, I mumble. Still half-stunned, I grab the plate and the saucer and shuffle over to a table in the
same corner where Miles basically told me I was full of it.
I eat and sip my drink, but it s all mechanical. I can t taste anything. The Stabbies are back. I thought I d
purged them during my shouting session with Les and Rosie, but apparently that was just a temporary lull.
Here they are again, needling me from all directions, as if I swallowed a baby porcupine. It doesn t help
that the girl and the guy behind the counter keep watching me, grinning as if they really know me. Which
they don t. Which no one does.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Including me.
I find it grotesquely ironic that what I really need right now, more than tea or scones or the fantasy of
brand-new, boring parents, is a friend. Someone who ll let me confess everything and then convince me it
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]