Night Fever Read Online Free Page A

shoulda gone with Clay. He said I could.”
    â€œIf you ever go with Clay, I’ll take away your basketball and hoop,” she threatened, using the only weapon she had.
    He actually paled. Basketball was his life. “Come on, Becky, I was just kidding!”
    â€œI hope so,” she said. “Clay is keeping bad company. I have enough trouble without adding you to it.”
    â€œThat’s right,” Granddad seconded.
    Mack picked up his fork. “Okay. I’ll keep away from Bill and Dick. Just don’t bother my B-ball.”
    â€œThat’s a deal,” Becky promised, and tried not to look too relieved.
    She’d done the dishes and cleaned up the living room and washed two loads of clothes while Granddad and Mack watched television. Then she supervised Mack’s homework, got him to bed, settled Granddad, took a bath, and started to go to bed herself. Before she could, however, Clay staggered into the living room, giggling and reeking of beer.
    The overpowering maltish smell made her sick. Nothing in her experience had prepared her to deal with this. She stared at him with helpless fury, hating the home life that had led him into such a trap. He was at the age where he needed a man to guide him, a man’s example to follow. He was looking for a measuring stick, and instead of using Granddad, he’d found the Harris brothers.
    â€œOh, Clay,” she said miserably. He looked so much like her, with his brown hair and slender build, but his eyes were pure green, not hazel like hers and Mack’s and his face had a ruddy look.
    He grinned at her. “I won’t be sick, you know. I smoked a joint before I tanked up on beer.” He blinked. “I’m quitting school, Becky, because it’s for wimps and retards.”
    â€œNo, you aren’t,” she said shortly. “I’m not working myself to death to watch you become a professional bum.”
    He glared at her dizzily. “You’re just my sister, Becky. You can’t tell me what to do.”
    â€œStand and watch me,” she said. “I don’t want you hanging around with those Harris boys anymore. They’re leading you right into trouble.”
    â€œThey’re my friends, and I’ll hang out with them if I want to,” he informed her. He felt wild. He’d smoked some crack, as well, and his head was about to explode. The high had been beautiful, but now that it was wearing off, he felt more depressed than ever. “I hate being poor!” he announced.
    Becky glared at him. “Then get a job,” she said coldly. “I did. I got one even before I graduated from high school. I worked at three before I found this one, and took night courses so that I could land it.”
    â€œHere we go again, Saint Becky,” he said, slurring the words. “So you work. Big deal. What do we have to show for it?! We’re dirt poor, and now that Granddad’s ill, it’ll get worse!”
    She felt herself getting sick inside. She knew that, but having Clay fling it in her face didn’t help. He was drunk, she tried to tell herself, he didn’t know what he was saying. It hurt all the same.
    â€œYou selfish little boy,” she said angrily. “You ungrateful brat! I’m working myself to death, and here you are complaining that we don’t have anything!”
    He swayed, sat down heavily, and took a slow breath. She probably was right, but he was too stoned to care. “Leave me alone,” he muttered, stretching out on the couch. “Just leave me alone.”
    â€œWhat have you had besides beer and marijuana?” she demanded.
    â€œA little crack,” he said drowsily. “Everybody does it. Leave me alone—I’m sleepy.”
    He sprawled and closed his eyes. He was asleep at once. Becky stood over him in stunned agony. Crack. She’d never seen it, but she knew very well what it was from the news—an illegal