You, Maybe Read Online Free Page B

me to come over to his house Sunday,” I told him. “To watch the football game.”
    Michael laughed.
    “I’m serious.”
    “You’re not going, are you?”
    I shrugged. “I’m doing a party right near his house, so I might stop by, after.”
    “In your clown costume?” Michael asked. “Carson Gold and his BP friends would enjoy that.”
    We watched the dogs sniff around the trees. Fluffy is very particular about her spots; Sarge will pee anywhere and everywhere.
    “Forget it,” I said. “How’s the song?”
    “In pieces.”
    “Should we work on it, after?”
    “Maybe,” he said.
    By then we had gotten down to the dried-up stream in back of Dead End B. I leaned against the big, bare elm tree we carved our initials into last year. Michael unleashed the dogs, who chased each other around. Michael pressed up against me and we made out for a minute. That’s what we always do when we walk Fluffy and Sarge. People sometimes think Michael and I are going out with each other, but we aren’t. We’re just friends who make out with each other. Neither one of us wants a romantic entanglement; neither of us feels the typical high school need to be half a couple. We don’t get jealous of each other and we’re honest with each other; we’ve been friends since nursery school. Kissing just happens to be part of our friendship, that’s all. I think if parents knew how many afternoons teenagers spent fooling around with their friends, they’d lock us all up until we turned twenty. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe they did the same with their friends when they were young, too.
    Usually we make out for a while but this time I pulled away. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy making out with Michael. I just wasn’t in the mood. For the first time.
    Michael looked at me all confused and maybe a little rejected.
    “What?” I asked, defensively. “Even a nympho like me is entitled to be not in the mood occasionally, right?”
    “Whatever.” He shrugged and looked down, so his dark hair flopped over his face and I couldn’t see his eyes anymore.
    “I just, I have a lot on my mind today.”
    “He drove you home?” Michael asked. “That’s why you weren’t on the bus?”
    “Yeah.”
    “After sixth or after seventh? Because I looked for you in the library, seventh.”
    “After sixth.”
    He turned away.
    “What? He has seventh free, too. A lot of people do,” I babbled. “Remember back in like September, October, when you were hooking up all the time with Emma Barrett seventh period?”
    “Twice.” Michael patted his leg and the dogs came running. We started back up the hill together. “You were hooking up with him?”
    I shrugged; he shook his head. Michael hates BPs.
    “So you think I should blow it off, then?” I asked him. “The football party, I mean?”
    He bent down to latch on the leashes. “Is he messing with you, you think?”
    “In what way?”
    “Forget it.” He stomped away from me, up the hill.
    “Hey.” I caught up with him and grabbed his elbow.
    “Think about it, think who this is. Carson Gold. How does he treat girls? And what do they look like, every one of them? How do they act? Right? Do you think he, or any one of his girlfriends, has ever had an original thought, or done an outrageous thing? What kind of music does he listen to? Whatever is ‘in’, I bet you.”
    “You are such a snob, Michael,” I said. “The worst kind of snob, because you think you’re above snobbery. What kind of music does he like? Give me a break. He happens to be a smart, interesting guy who invited me over to watch a football game. That’s all. It’s not a referendum on his character. Forget it, I never should’ve even mentioned it.” I started up the hill by myself.
    He yelled from down below, “I’d love to see you show up there as Tallulah the Clown. You think he’d even invite you in?”
    “I told him I work as a clown,” I yelled back. “And he thought it was cool, as a matter of fact.