Beware of Love in Technicolor Read Online Free Page A

lime daiquiris my parents would make by the pitcher on hot summer weekends. They called them Frozen Bullfrogs. So maybe I wasn’t very good at being the typical teenager, but the allure of a $3 plastic cup and a keg in someone’s dank and musty basement missed its mark with me. Though I had seen my share of drunkenness, I had never been drunk. I thought it was beneath me. I was far too sophisticated to go carrying on like that.
                  “So, what do you think, Greer?” John asked, pulling me back into the circle I was slowly fading out of. He seemed remarkably comfortable with the group of strangers, and I envied him his calm, easy demeanor.
                  “Uh, I don’t drink, so I think I’m going to go back to my room,” I stated flatly. I figured it was best to get it out in the open, give them all a reason not to like me, and get back to the Pit. No such luck.
                  “Aw, you can’t go back to your room on our first night here,” Ben taunted, putting an arm around my shoulder. The Pissy Posse glared at me in the twilight. I felt John’s eyes on me, waiting to see how I would react under pressure.
                  I have never liked all eyes being on me. I tend to say things before I think, in an effort to deflect the conversation and keep the awkward silences at bay.
                  “I think there’s a comedian upstairs at my dorm. I was going to check that out,” I offered weakly.
                  “What time?” John asked.
                  “Nine, I think,” I answered. Inside, I was groaning a loud, long groan. I wanted to be rid of these people.
                  “Well, that still gives us time to get to that party on Main Street afterward,” John assuaged the group.
                  “And y’all can check out my room before we go!” Molly twanged with delight. She had to take two steps for every one step taken by the rest of us, just to keep up. It gave her the appearance of that little dog in those old Bugs Bunny cartoons, jumping over the big dog, yipping incessantly.
                  John and I walked in front, leading the herd. I must have seen at least a dozen kids from my class in high school. We all felt the obligation to say hello, even if we wouldn’t have last spring. Any port in a storm, I guess.
                  John and I talked about music. We shared the same taste for The Cure and The Smiths, though he was more inclined toward the gothic sounds of Sisters of Mercy or Joy Division, where I was more likely to be listening to the Ramones or The Clash. I told him that Depeche Mode were a bunch of posers, and he teased me for liking Guns n Roses. By the time we got to room 107, the group had trailed off to only seven, plus myself.
                  We made small talk. I handed out cans of soda my mother had supplied me with, for just such an occasion. Under my bed were neatly arranged rows of Diet Coke, Sprite, root beer, and ginger ale cans, like little metal soldiers waiting for deployment.
                  John made a comment that I had a cooler CD collection than his own. Molly taught Ben to play Tetris on her computer. The Pissy Posse made plans for the next day, which did not include anyone else in the room.
                  I don’t remember the comedian, so I cannot say if he was funny or not. After the performance I slipped away quietly, while John spoke with a former buddy from high school. I don’t think any of the rest of them noticed I was gone.
     
     
    ***
     
     
                  I never hung out with Alex or her friends again after that night. Neither did Molly. She never said anything, but I know that first night was the prototype that inspired her first year of college, two thousand miles from familiar. Oh well. Water under the bridge, and all that.