Read Online Narc by Crissa-Jean Chappell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Crissa-Jean Chappell
Tags: Fiction, Romance, YA), Young Adult, ya fiction, Miami, Relationships, secrets, drugs, jail, drug abuse, narc, narcotics, drug deal
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invitation.
She unlocked the door. Light flooded the grass and I stood, spotlit, unable to budge.
After a moment, she shook her head and said, “Come on, Aaron. The mosquitoes are nasty. You’ll catch West Nile and it will be my fault.”
When I stepped inside the house, it felt empty, as if everyone else had disappeared. Morgan ducked into the hallway. She came back with an armful of blankets and dumped them on a couch in the living room. At her heels, a small white dog yipped and sneezed.
“My stepmom’s attack poodle,” Morgan explained. “She has allergies.”
“Your stepmom or the poodle?”
“Both,” she said, reaching down to scratch the poodle’s ears. “She’s like, my ideal dog. But if you ignore her, she’ll pee on your bed. Come on,” she said and I followed her down the hall. At first, I thought I was sleeping on the couch, but she led me into a bedroom.
Morgan clicked on the light. “You can crash here. Sorry about the mess.”
I stepped over an avalanche of clothes heaped on the floor. On the dresser leaned a castle made of Legos and a baseball cap that said “StarStyled” with a dancer leaping over the word. A mobile threw geometric shadows across the room, making me feel as if I’d sunk underwater.
Looking around Morgan’s bedroom didn’t lend any clues to what she was really like. In fact, I didn’t know this girl any more than she knew me.
She yanked back the bedspread, which was decorated with twirling ballerinas.
“You’re really into dance, huh?” I said.
“Isn’t every little girl?”
“You’re not little anymore.”
She frowned. “I was supposed to go to this big deal school for ballet. Obviously, I didn’t get in.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“Look at me.”
“I am looking.”
In fact, I was looking all the time.
Morgan shook her head. “You’re not getting it. Even when my stepmom put me on a diet … ”
“A diet? How old were you?”
“Like, twelve.”
“Shit. That’s so wrong.”
“I know. But I still didn’t make the weight requirement. In other words, I’m too fat.”
“That’s totally not true.”
“Yeah, well. Tell that to the dance director.”
A pair of tangled headphones toppled on the floor. She scooped it up. “Helps me fall asleep.”
“Me too,” I said. “You ever dream about music? That’s like, the best.”
“Doesn’t happen to me. At least, I don’t think so. I never remember my dreams.”
“How can you not remember them?”
“Maybe I don’t have any,” she said, glancing away.
“Oh, come on. Even my dog has dreams. You see his little feet going … ” I flapped my fingers in front of her face.
Morgan tossed a pillow at me. She noticed the rubber band around my wrist and tugged it, snapping it against my skin. “You look like shit, by the way,” she said. Then she left me there, clutching the pillow in both arms.
I shut the door. At one time, it might’ve had a lock, but now there was just a splintery hole gaping beneath the doorknob. On the back of the door was a bulletin board rippling with pictures and cards: BFF, best friends forever. 2 Good 2 B 4-Gotten. Stay sweet! Don’t change!
If only it were that easy.
Everybody changed, whether we wanted to or not.
I couldn’t look at this stuff anymore. Just snooping through the cards was enough to drown me in a megadose of guilt. What the hell was I doing? I didn’t want to hurt these girls, but that’s exactly what I was supposed to do. And I was scared shitless about what was going to happen, but I couldn’t decide if I was doing the right thing or not. It was getting harder to tell the difference.
I flipped the light switch and stumbled toward the bed, tripping over things in the dark. I crawled under the covers and gawked at the ceiling, where glow-in-the-dark stars looped and swirled and finally faded away.
8 : House of Women
The next morning, I woke up and saw a lady standing in the middle of the bedroom, stuffing clothes
She unlocked the door. Light flooded the grass and I stood, spotlit, unable to budge.
After a moment, she shook her head and said, “Come on, Aaron. The mosquitoes are nasty. You’ll catch West Nile and it will be my fault.”
When I stepped inside the house, it felt empty, as if everyone else had disappeared. Morgan ducked into the hallway. She came back with an armful of blankets and dumped them on a couch in the living room. At her heels, a small white dog yipped and sneezed.
“My stepmom’s attack poodle,” Morgan explained. “She has allergies.”
“Your stepmom or the poodle?”
“Both,” she said, reaching down to scratch the poodle’s ears. “She’s like, my ideal dog. But if you ignore her, she’ll pee on your bed. Come on,” she said and I followed her down the hall. At first, I thought I was sleeping on the couch, but she led me into a bedroom.
Morgan clicked on the light. “You can crash here. Sorry about the mess.”
I stepped over an avalanche of clothes heaped on the floor. On the dresser leaned a castle made of Legos and a baseball cap that said “StarStyled” with a dancer leaping over the word. A mobile threw geometric shadows across the room, making me feel as if I’d sunk underwater.
Looking around Morgan’s bedroom didn’t lend any clues to what she was really like. In fact, I didn’t know this girl any more than she knew me.
She yanked back the bedspread, which was decorated with twirling ballerinas.
“You’re really into dance, huh?” I said.
“Isn’t every little girl?”
“You’re not little anymore.”
She frowned. “I was supposed to go to this big deal school for ballet. Obviously, I didn’t get in.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“Look at me.”
“I am looking.”
In fact, I was looking all the time.
Morgan shook her head. “You’re not getting it. Even when my stepmom put me on a diet … ”
“A diet? How old were you?”
“Like, twelve.”
“Shit. That’s so wrong.”
“I know. But I still didn’t make the weight requirement. In other words, I’m too fat.”
“That’s totally not true.”
“Yeah, well. Tell that to the dance director.”
A pair of tangled headphones toppled on the floor. She scooped it up. “Helps me fall asleep.”
“Me too,” I said. “You ever dream about music? That’s like, the best.”
“Doesn’t happen to me. At least, I don’t think so. I never remember my dreams.”
“How can you not remember them?”
“Maybe I don’t have any,” she said, glancing away.
“Oh, come on. Even my dog has dreams. You see his little feet going … ” I flapped my fingers in front of her face.
Morgan tossed a pillow at me. She noticed the rubber band around my wrist and tugged it, snapping it against my skin. “You look like shit, by the way,” she said. Then she left me there, clutching the pillow in both arms.
I shut the door. At one time, it might’ve had a lock, but now there was just a splintery hole gaping beneath the doorknob. On the back of the door was a bulletin board rippling with pictures and cards: BFF, best friends forever. 2 Good 2 B 4-Gotten. Stay sweet! Don’t change!
If only it were that easy.
Everybody changed, whether we wanted to or not.
I couldn’t look at this stuff anymore. Just snooping through the cards was enough to drown me in a megadose of guilt. What the hell was I doing? I didn’t want to hurt these girls, but that’s exactly what I was supposed to do. And I was scared shitless about what was going to happen, but I couldn’t decide if I was doing the right thing or not. It was getting harder to tell the difference.
I flipped the light switch and stumbled toward the bed, tripping over things in the dark. I crawled under the covers and gawked at the ceiling, where glow-in-the-dark stars looped and swirled and finally faded away.
8 : House of Women
The next morning, I woke up and saw a lady standing in the middle of the bedroom, stuffing clothes
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