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Authors: Jill Bialosky
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and I made our way to the keg, passing a joint back and forth between us. A neighbor called the police; the party broke up for a while, then resumed, full force, once the cops had left.
I went outside on the patio to smoke a cigarette. The night was mute, no hint of birds in the backyard, not a sound from a cricket; just the bare world at night gazing down on me like a loving father. My arms and legs had that pins-and-needles feeling, that numbness I got when I was buzzed.
Most of the evening Maria was perched on the top of the kitchen counter sucking up to Billy Fitzpatrick, who was one of six brothers. Three of the Fitzpatrick brothers played on our high school hockey team. Maria had lusted after Billy for as long as I could remember, but Billy was hanging out with Lucy Brownwein, who had thick red hair and perfectly sculpted breasts. Early that year we had learned that Billy’s brother Josh was diagnosed with leukemia and would not make it to Christmas. How could Josh, with his soft, curly brown hair and dark eyes, who at sixteen was already an amazing artist—his self-portraits bedecked our art room walls—wake up one morning and learn that he had months to live? While the rest of my friends seemed content to flirt and gossip, I stared at Billy wondering what it was like to know your brother was going to die.
Brian Horrigan passed me a joint. I took a toke. “Where’s Austin?” he asked.
I was glad word had leaked out that Austin and I were together.
Skippy and his entourage were doing shots of peppermint schnapps. Johnny and Daniella were practically having sex on
the living room couch. On the coffee table Robbie and Steve were doing lines of coke with a rolled-up dollar bill. Steve divvied it out from a vial’s worth that probably cost about as much as my family’s monthly grocery bill. The twins, Franny and Mindy Klinger, were describing their identical summer wardrobes, which they purchased on a shopping trip with their mother in Paris. I was in one of those moods where I questioned the point of existence.
I cornered Maria as she was coming out of the Larsens’ perfumed bathroom, and begged her to drive me to the track.
“Now? It’s after midnight.”
“You owe me,” I said, because I had come with her to the Larsen party so she could see Billy. Maria glanced into the kitchen. Lucy and Billy were making out against the refrigerator door.
We drove to the track in her father’s Lincoln.
“Do you think Austin will be pissed off that I’m showing up unannounced?” I asked, and lit up a cigarette.
“Does he have a reason to be?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” We were stopped at an intersection. I knew Maria wasn’t going to cut Austin any slack now that he was the focus of my attention. But, still, the remark got to me.
After we parked and walked back to the stables, we found Austin sitting on a hay bale across from Jane Smart, sharing a beer with her. Maria and I looked at each other. Jane’s cheeks were flushed. Turned out they had been riding together that afternoon. Austin had gotten someone to cover for him at the barn. Austin came toward me and lit up like a Christmas tree, half excited and half shocked to see me. But why hadn’t he tried to find me at Skippy Larsen’s party, where I’d told him I was going, instead of hanging out with Jane? He asked me to
go riding with him the next day, and there was no way I was going to say no and allow him to take Jane instead.
Austin saddled up
the horses, made a step with the interlocked fingers of both hands, and boosted me onto a horse called Night. Austin assured me that she was calm and gentle. He walked Night slowly around the fenced-in paddock by holding on to her bridle until I got used to the feel of the saddle, the weight of the reins in my hands. Austin showed me how to pull her back, how to coax, and cluck, and give the horse encouragement.
“They know if you’re afraid, Anna. They sense it,” he said, as if
I went outside on the patio to smoke a cigarette. The night was mute, no hint of birds in the backyard, not a sound from a cricket; just the bare world at night gazing down on me like a loving father. My arms and legs had that pins-and-needles feeling, that numbness I got when I was buzzed.
Most of the evening Maria was perched on the top of the kitchen counter sucking up to Billy Fitzpatrick, who was one of six brothers. Three of the Fitzpatrick brothers played on our high school hockey team. Maria had lusted after Billy for as long as I could remember, but Billy was hanging out with Lucy Brownwein, who had thick red hair and perfectly sculpted breasts. Early that year we had learned that Billy’s brother Josh was diagnosed with leukemia and would not make it to Christmas. How could Josh, with his soft, curly brown hair and dark eyes, who at sixteen was already an amazing artist—his self-portraits bedecked our art room walls—wake up one morning and learn that he had months to live? While the rest of my friends seemed content to flirt and gossip, I stared at Billy wondering what it was like to know your brother was going to die.
Brian Horrigan passed me a joint. I took a toke. “Where’s Austin?” he asked.
I was glad word had leaked out that Austin and I were together.
Skippy and his entourage were doing shots of peppermint schnapps. Johnny and Daniella were practically having sex on
the living room couch. On the coffee table Robbie and Steve were doing lines of coke with a rolled-up dollar bill. Steve divvied it out from a vial’s worth that probably cost about as much as my family’s monthly grocery bill. The twins, Franny and Mindy Klinger, were describing their identical summer wardrobes, which they purchased on a shopping trip with their mother in Paris. I was in one of those moods where I questioned the point of existence.
I cornered Maria as she was coming out of the Larsens’ perfumed bathroom, and begged her to drive me to the track.
“Now? It’s after midnight.”
“You owe me,” I said, because I had come with her to the Larsen party so she could see Billy. Maria glanced into the kitchen. Lucy and Billy were making out against the refrigerator door.
We drove to the track in her father’s Lincoln.
“Do you think Austin will be pissed off that I’m showing up unannounced?” I asked, and lit up a cigarette.
“Does he have a reason to be?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” We were stopped at an intersection. I knew Maria wasn’t going to cut Austin any slack now that he was the focus of my attention. But, still, the remark got to me.
After we parked and walked back to the stables, we found Austin sitting on a hay bale across from Jane Smart, sharing a beer with her. Maria and I looked at each other. Jane’s cheeks were flushed. Turned out they had been riding together that afternoon. Austin had gotten someone to cover for him at the barn. Austin came toward me and lit up like a Christmas tree, half excited and half shocked to see me. But why hadn’t he tried to find me at Skippy Larsen’s party, where I’d told him I was going, instead of hanging out with Jane? He asked me to
go riding with him the next day, and there was no way I was going to say no and allow him to take Jane instead.
Austin saddled up
the horses, made a step with the interlocked fingers of both hands, and boosted me onto a horse called Night. Austin assured me that she was calm and gentle. He walked Night slowly around the fenced-in paddock by holding on to her bridle until I got used to the feel of the saddle, the weight of the reins in my hands. Austin showed me how to pull her back, how to coax, and cluck, and give the horse encouragement.
“They know if you’re afraid, Anna. They sense it,” he said, as if
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