Thin Ice by Anthea Carson

Author:Anthea Carson [Carson, Anthea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Teen & Young Adult, Literature & Fiction, Social & Family Issues, Drugs & Alcohol Abuse, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Horror
ISBN: 1491027711
Amazon: B00E1JNWVA
Published: 2013-07-16T00:00:00+00:00

11

I didn’t break my sober streak that night, although Gay had made a good point about me not drinking, and how it was making me less mellow.

A few nights later—or it could have been the next night, or a week later—we went to a party.

The party was way out near Brooks Road. Krishna’s friend John Larsen lived out there in a rooming house. His family used to live across the street from me. I’d played doctor with him when we were little.

The Larsens had always owned that rooming house, but I had never been in it before. John and his little sister Julie would tell me that they were going to the rooming house for the weekend, or that they had to go out and clean it. I didn’t know what a rooming house was, but what I pictured in my mind was pretty much exactly what I found: a large, old, Victorian house with many small rooms. The rooms were not laid out in any orderly fashion, which made it seem like there were more of them.

What a perfect place for a party. It seemed like all the rooms were empty. I knew, realistically, that this couldn’t be true. This was a primary income source for the Larsens, so there had to be renters.

Like the quarry party, it seemed all the high-school kids had somehow heard word of this party, and many different groups had shown up. The punks, freaks, jocks, and other groups and subgroups.

I sat in one of the rooms, staring at the walls, staring at the teenagers, observing them, detached. Most of these people weren’t my usual punk friends. I mean, Krishna walked by occasionally and made a comment, but for the most part these were jocks.

Gay had been sitting next to me for a long time, though I was only barely aware of her until she said, “You’re no fun anymore, now that you’re not drinking.”

I was sitting on a bed in one of the rooms. The bed had old-fashioned, crocheted bedspreads. There was a yellow lamp sitting on the bedside table. Its red lampshade made the light that reflected on the cream-colored bedspread orange.

Near the bedside table was a window with one of those old, wooden, heavy windowsills. Hard to open. Hard to close. And it hadn’t been painted in a while. When it last had been, it had been painted red. I examined the bedspread, the bedside table and lamp, and the black night.

“Give me a beer then,” I said to Gay. I had a blank face. I knew I did. I could feel it not smiling. I hadn’t been smiling at anything anyone said or did. My arm stretched out behind me, hand open. I knew she would grab it for me. I felt it in my hands almost immediately. It was as if she had been waiting there with it. Waiting for me to ask.

It wasn’t cold, but I couldn’t have cared less. I didn’t need to rip the bottle top off; she had already taken care of that for me.

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