Read Online The Survivors by Will Weaver - Free Book Online Page B

drug?”
    Ray grins. “Here’s mine; we’ll switch.”
    â€œThat old switch-the-popcorn-bag trick,” Sarah says as she takes his.
    They stand munching their popcorn like crazy so they don’t have to talk.
    â€œSo where are all your friends tonight?” Sarah asks.
    Ray shrugs. “They’re not big football fans.”
    â€œSo what brings you here?”
    â€œWell. To be honest …” Suddenly Ray gags—then coughs and expels a white bullet of popcorn. “Jeez, sorry!” He covers his mouth, and his face reddens.
    â€œThe old choke-on-the-popcorn trick,” Sarah says.
    Ray’s dark eyes shine; they make Sarah’s face feel warm.
    â€œNo kilt tonight?” She glances down at his jeans.
    â€œIt gets cold later,” Ray says, “if you know what I mean.”
    â€œLet’s not go there,” Sarah says. It’s her turn to grin stupidly and look away.
    â€œActually, I wear the kilt just to annoy Mr. James, the school principal. Drives him crazy.”
    â€œHow so?”
    â€œEnforcing the school dress codes is his life’s ambition. He called me in right away the first day of school about my kilt and threatened to send me home. But I was way ahead of him—I had the papers,” Ray says.
    â€œPapers?”
    â€œIf you have a Scottish family name, there’s a particular plaid that belongs to your clan. I had the list that proved it, so he had to let me go. But he was steamed, let me tell you.”
    Sarah glances over her shoulder toward the bleachers. Rays starts munching popcorn again. “So tell me about your family,” she says.
    â€œPretty generic,” Ray says. “One older brother. My mom’s an artist—which is sort of where I got hooked on drawing, I guess—and my dad’s a nurse at the hospital. I work there, too, about twenty hours a week.”
    â€œSo you’re an artist and a doctor?” Sarah teases.
    â€œI wish. My dad got me a janitor’s job. I’m one of the swing-shift guys who do floors. What about your family?”
    She gives him the short version: transfer student on open enrollment, her family’s summer place “on the lake,” a phrase that everybody in Minnesota understands. “My mom’s an editor and a literary agent, and my dad’s a musician,” she says.
    â€œA musician? Cool,” Ray says.
    â€œSort of a musician,” she says quickly. “More like wants to be a musician. Someday.”
    â€œWhat does he play?”
    She hesitates a second. “Piano,” she says.
    Ray nods. “My mom’s a sculptor. She makes these wild things out of found material. She won’t use anything new—it has to be thrown-away stuff.”
    â€œCool,” Sarah says.
    They’re standing really close now.
    â€œI’d better get back,” Sarah says.
    The skin on Ray’s forehead bunches. “Before you do, tell me again why you hang out with Mackenzie?”
    â€œWhy do you hang out with your friends?” she replies.
    â€œMackenzie’s not your friend. The only friend Mackenzie has is Mackenzie.”
    â€œI’ve gotta go. Really.”
    â€œSee you in school?” Ray says.
    â€œI guess.”
    â€œWhat I meant was will you talk to me in school?”
    â€œSure,” Sarah says evasively.
    â€œNo, I mean talk talk. Like we are now.”
    â€œSure. That is, if I have no aftereffects from the popcorn you gave me.” They hug briefly, clumsily, and then Sarah hurries away.
    Back in the bleachers, Mackenzie is overly focused on the game.
    â€œThere goes Django!” Rachel says as a receiver races for a pass—and gathers it in. The crowd cheers. Django breaks loose for a few yards but is tackled; he goes down in a pile of players and a faint cloud of dust.
    â€œWhat’s the score?” Sarah says brightly.
    Mackenzie is silent. Then she turns to Sarah. “Were