Bad Tickets by Kathleen O'Dell

Author:Kathleen O'Dell
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780375892097
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2008-09-09T00:00:00+00:00

But my fun and Elizabeth’s fun are two different things. On our last day of school, Jane brings vodka and lemonade in a plaid thermos.

“My parents restocked the liquor cabinet,” she says. “Let’s celebrate.”

We sit on the outdoor tables. She fills the plastic cup and pushes it toward me. “Drink up,” she says.

Elizabeth is over at another table, but Constance and Kathy are only three feet away. Slowly I sip, trying not to choke. When I try to speak, my voice is hoarse. “How much actual lemonade is in here?”

“A sprinkle,” says Jane. Then, whispering, she adds, “Don’t worry. Vodka doesn’t smell up your breath.” She takes the cup, fills it, slugs it down, and licks her lips.

We do this back and forth. I feel swoony. When the final cup is drunk, Jane slams it down and squeals, “Is everybody happy?”

I cover my smile and snort. Constance and Kathy give us confused looks.

“What is it with her hair today?” Jane says, as if Constance can’t hear. “She looks like old Rose Marie on The Dick Van Dyke Show.”

Kathy visibly elbows Constance.

“Shhhhhh!” I say, trying to raise my finger to my mouth, which seems to have moved.

Sloppily happy during our final sweltering hours in the classroom, I stare cross-eyed at the catechism word-search puzzle Sister has given us.

Jane, though, sticks out her tongue and applies herself. I’m thinking she must have an ungodly high tolerance for alcohol when she hands me her work.

Circled are the words dam, shit, whore, poop, and buggger.

“What’s buggger?” I ask.

“It’s a sexual thing,” Jane says, “which Sister obviously doesn’t know how to spell.”

When school’s out, Jane hands the puzzle to Constance, who looks down and slowly crumples it. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

“Drunk on life,” Jane says.

“It’s possible, you know,” I say smugly. Then I stick out my tongue. Constance is such a buggger.

Jane and I weave-skip-dance home, holding hands by the pinkie fingers, singing, “My baby does the hanky-panky…,” sort of showing the world how much more trouble we mean to get in.

Then I feel someone grab my other hand.

“Can we dance with you?” Paula asks. Katie is clinging to her side.

“Why not?” says Jane. She hops over and gives Paula a ballroom twirl.

“Me!” says Katie. So I twirl her, too.

“Kick line!” Jane puts her arm through mine and kicks like a chorus girl as Katie giggles. Jane kicks more violently. The barrettes start sliding from her hair.

“I can see her underwear,” Katie says to Paula. Then one of Jane’s square-toed flats goes flying off above her head. Paula ducks. It almost beans her.

As I fetch Jane’s shoe, I realize that we’ve gone from being cool drunk to stupid drunk. With super-sober Constance and Kathy watching us, I’m struck by how Katie and Paula might see us.

“Okay, little sisters,” I say, “run along home. I’ll catch up.”

“Awwwwww…”

“Now, don’t fret. You’ll see more of me this summer,” Jane says.

“They’ve seen plenty enough of her already,” I hear Constance say.

Deep down, I know she has a point, but then I’m suddenly distracted from my guilt by a monster case of the hiccups.

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