Read Online Souvenir of Cold Springs by Kitty Burns Florey - Free Book Online

campus.”
    â€œWow. That sounds serious.”
    Heather laughed. “I give us two months.”
    â€œWhy two months exactly?”
    â€œWhat? Oh, I don’t know. We’re going to this big bash on New Year’s Eve, for one thing. This dance. Strauss waltzes and champagne and pink balloons released at midnight. I’m on the committee, so I’m really obligated to show up with a date.”
    â€œDo you know how to waltz?”
    â€œOf course.”
    Margaret stared at her. “You guys waltz? Wow. What is this—a new thing?”
    â€œIt’s not that big a deal, Margaret. It’s kind of fun, and it’s very good exercise.” She picked at the chenille bedspread. “Timmy’s not crazy about it, actually, but what the hell.”
    â€œSo—you mean you want to break up with this guy but you can’t because you’re on the committee for this dance and you’ve got like—tickets for it?”
    â€œYeah—that’s roughly it. The tickets are fifty apiece.”
    â€œFifty dollars?”
    â€œAnd I have this dress.”
    â€œWhat kind of dress? A formal?” Margaret sat up, as if she were about to take notes. What a pain in the neck she must be in class.
    â€œWell, it’s long.” Heather thought of what the dress had cost her—the hole it had put in her checkbook. It had been a mistake—all of it: tickets, dress, Timmy, life. There they’d be at the dance, herself in the dress, Timmy bored and refusing to talk to anyone. The hell with him. She would talk to Rob Berglund, her committee head. And after the dance she would tell Timmy: Happy New Year, the time has come. “And I’ve got long white kid gloves to go with it,” she said.
    â€œOh my God.” Margaret flopped back on the bed again. “This is another world. I don’t think I want to go to college.” She reached under the pillow and brought out a flat tin box. Inside were three neatly rolled joints and a book of matches. “Want some?”
    â€œActually, they sent me up here to get you.”
    â€œThey can wait.” Margaret held out the box. “Here.”
    â€œI’m not really into this stuff at the moment, Margaret.”
    â€œYou don’t do drugs out there?”
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œNot even pot?”
    Heather said, “Frankly, I’ve got better things to do.” This was intermittently true.
    â€œI suppose you can’t get high and waltz at the same time.” Margaret held out the box. “Come on. You don’t have to be into it to smoke it once in a while. On special occasions, like when your relatives are bugging you.”
    â€œOh, all right.” The matchbook said Café Algiers in gold script on black. Heather knew that was a place in Cambridge. She wondered what Margaret’s life was like. She struck a match and inhaled, passed the joint to Margaret. She hadn’t smoked pot in a while, and she hoped desperately that it wouldn’t make her sick. She still felt queasy from the breakfast she’d had at the motel.
    Margaret inhaled like a pro and said, “Potent stuff, n’estce pas ?”
    â€œWhere do you kids get dope?”
    â€œMy friend Tara’s brother brought this back from Mexico.”
    â€œWhat a coincidence. My brother’s in Mexico right now.”
    Margaret pretended to cough and pounded herself on the chest. “Excuse me, Heather, but I really can’t stand your brother, if you want my honest opinion.”
    â€œI don’t, thanks, actually.”
    They smoked in a slightly hostile silence. The dope was making Heather feel better, oddly enough, but it seemed wrong to her that Margaret had been the one to offer it—this teenage whiz kid who, except for the weird hair and makeup, looked like she should still be playing with her Barbies—except that she knew perfectly well Margaret had never played with a Barbie