Read Online Lost Stars by Lisa Selin Davis - Free Book Online Page A

beer in my hand suddenly seemed like it was on fire. He didn’t drink. He was hanging out with these people and not drinking. How was such a thing possible? I put the beer on the table and it spilled a little bit. It was on my hands. My hands would smell like beer. I shook my head. Greta left. It was Dean. And me. Alone. Alone-ish, anyway. Tommy was swaying, offbeat, to the rhythm, watching us.
    â€œI have a question,” I said, immediately regretting my announcement.
    â€œYou’re in luck,” he said. “I have an answer.”
    â€œOh, well, right. So . . . How come you don’t drink?” The music was so loud—​the Replacements’ “Sixteen Blue”—​that I could barely hear myself.
    â€œUm,” he said, looking at his hands again. “Stuff. Things.”
    â€œOh.” Okay, he wasn’t going to tell me. That was fine. Tightlipped. Who was I, anyway? He didn’t know me.
    He shifted his body toward me now, just a little bit, and I squirmed and adjusted my shirt, I pulled it down a little bit and the lacy top of my bra peeked out and I didn’t fix it. I crossed my right leg over my left and bounced it a little on there. No drink, no protection, but my body was leaning toward his, involuntarily.
    â€œI kind of screwed some shit up when I drank.”
    â€œOh.” What was wrong with me? Was “Oh” all I could say? What did “screw shit up” mean? What was he talking about? How could he have a good time without drinking? I hated drinking. Why couldn’t I not drink?
    â€œDon’t worry,” he said, and now it was he who put his hands in the air, like I was sticking him up. “I’m not contagious.” And he smiled again. And then the shyness overtook him again and he put his hands down and opened his mouth like he was going to say something and then thought better of it, and the same thing was happening to me. We were opening and closing our mouths like fish in water, like fish out of water. It was so uncomfortable and it was so alluring and it was too much. It was almost as bad as the poison, the anger. I felt like I was going to vomit.
    â€œOh shit,” I said, and ran to the bathroom and slammed the door shut and the whole Genesee beer ball came tumbling out of me. I sat by the toilet, defeated, deflated, empty. Soo came in and quickly shut the door behind her.
    â€œDon’t say it,” I told her. “I know I drink too much.” I had that headache I always got from alcohol and I had just ruined my chances and that boy would probably never talk to me again. I laid my whole body down on the cold tile floor and kicked my legs and shook my head back and forth with enough velocity to give me whiplash and I let out some kind of crazy curdled sound that even I could barely hear over the music. I let the fit take over me.
    Soo said, “Shhh, it’s okay.” She took a lock of my hair and put it behind my ear and that was probably the nicest thing that had happened to me in my life since my mom took off. She kept her hands on me until my body calmed down, until I could release the crying.
    I stood up and looked in the mirror, cringing at what I saw. Whenever we went around and played the what-movie-star-do-you-look-like game, no one could ever name someone for me. I wanted to be Ally Sheedy, but I wasn’t. My eyes were red, drunk-looking, and even with the alcohol out of my system, I felt tipsy and poisoned and poisonous.
    I walked out of the bathroom, hanging my head in shame. A familiar beat was pounding. Dean was standing next to the turntable, holding the sleeve of
Thriller.
Dean had put Michael Jackson on. But he didn’t look up. Or at least, if he did, I didn’t see him, because I walked out without saying goodbye to anyone and went home. I’d be back long before my curfew, riding my bike in the misty night.
    Â 
    My father, perpetually the science teacher even