Downers Grove Read Online Free Page A

puke on the first landing.
    â€œLooks promising,” I sneered.
    Tracy held my hand as we entered the apartment and dragged me directly toward the kitchen. Green Day was blasting. A few murky lights burned in the corners. There were lots of bodies, lots of sweaty faces, but nobody I recognized from school. A few rocker sluts were pinned down in the corners giving face to major scum.
    â€œWhere are we?” I shouted over the music.
    â€œIt’s some poor idiot’s idea of a bachelor pad.” Tracy shrugged her shoulders and pointed to the Bud babe poster taped to the wood-paneled wall. “I think his name is Chuck or something.”
    â€œAnd what kind of guy is Chuck?” I asked.
    â€œProbably an ex-football player who didn’t get a scholarship and is now doing time at the local community college, trying to get his grades up for a shot at state college in two years. Maybe he’ll even make something of himself as long as he doesn’t kill anybody in the meantime.” Tracy went straight for the refrigerator, which was scarfed down to a torn open twelve-pack of Milwaukee’s Best. Tracy took two and handed me one. I scanned the room and began sorting through the dismal prospects. The problem with jocks is that they’re as interchangeable as a lightbulb. And when they look at you at this time of night it’s with only one purpose in mind. Gross.
    â€œTastes like Lake Michigan,” Tracy said, looking at the can.
    I opened the freezer. “What do you suppose is in those plastic containers?” I asked.

    â€œBody parts,” some fathead said, butting in to grab a beer.
    â€œHow come looking around this room gives me very little reason to doubt you?” I asked.
    â€œMaybe you watch too many scary movies,” he said.
    â€œOr lived them.” Tracy began drifting away.
    â€œWhere are you going?” I asked.
    â€œOver there.” She pointed toward the couch. “You still know how to scream don’t you?”
    I leaned against the kitchen counter trying to look ugly when Mr. Body Parts started hitting on me like I owed him something for the beer. He was an overweight musclehead with little or no understanding of his incredible lack of charm.
    â€œI’m Chuck. Who are you?” He let out a huge belch, popping his beer can open one-handed.
    â€œI’m gone.” I turned and headed for the bathroom which, thank God, nobody had puked in yet. I sat on the toilet, but was totally pee shy. My limbs felt cold, and I wished I was at home curled under my sheets sleeping toward tomorrow.
    Someone hurriedly pounded on the door, so I pulled my corduroys up, flushed the toilet, and opened the door. Chuck comes barreling in and locks the door behind him. Fatso’s got a big drunken date-rape grin leaking across his face, and he’s acting all superior, like maybe he’s too good for me and I’m about to get lucky.
    â€œWe meet again,” he says.
    â€œWe say good-bye again.” I tried getting around him, but he stood in the way and stared at my breasts like the vacant drooling ape that he was.
    â€œWhat’s your hurry?” he asked.
    â€œWell, to be honest, I really don’t want to watch you pee.”

    â€œWhat are you doing in here then?”
    â€œI’m not here, it’s just an illusion.” I tried getting past him again, but he pinned me against the towel rack, pressed his nose against mine to advertise his psycho capabilities.
    â€œYou feel like you’re here to me.” He laughed, as if the two sides of his brain were trying to outwit each other, then he grabbed my waist and pushed his against mine, so I could feel the merchandise packed under his denim jeans. He looked compulsive and prone to irrational ideas, someone who might prove very harmful if not handled with the utmost care.
    When his hand slid up my arm and over my breast I stepped back and kicked him in the balls as hard as I