Wild Awake by Hilary T. Smith

Author:Hilary T. Smith [Hilary T. Smith]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Juvenile Fiction, Girls & Women, Social Issues, Depression & Mental Illness, Adolescence
ISBN: 9780062184702
Google: 1pG7D_IzFPIC
Amazon: B009NF6WH8
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2013-05-27T22:00:00+00:00

chapter twenty-four

The rain doesn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon.

So I stay.

Skunk tiptoes upstairs, and when he comes back down he’s carrying a small clay teapot and two tiny cups without handles. We sit cross-legged on the rug in the middle of the floor, drink our tea, and talk in whispers so his aunt and uncle won’t hear. I can’t stop looking around the room, stealing glances at the radios, the lanterns, the junk-store painting of Kali, the quilt on Skunk’s bed. I still can’t quite believe I’m in here. Part of me’s on my wet bicycle, making her disciplined, hard-working, and responsible way home. It takes all my self-control not to chicken out and follow her.

Between thimblefuls of smoky, earthy tea, I make Skunk tell me the story of every radio in the room.

The boxy green one he found on top of someone’s trash.

The antique one in the walnut cabinet someone left at the bottom of their driveway with a FREE sign the morning after a garage sale.

The digital clock radio he stole from a hospital room.

The vintage 1960s transistor radio his dad gave him a week before he committed suicide in his apartment.

I tell myself I’ll only stay until we’re finished our tea, but the teapot never seems to run out. Every time Skunk lifts it to fill our cups, more tea trickles out. He asks me about the Imperial, and I tell him everything I’ve found out since the night we met.

“Are you sure you want to hear this?” I ask, remembering Lukas’s reaction, but in the cozy lamplight, it feels like there’s no secret too terrible to say. Skunk gives me a sweater to wear, a big brown woolen one that drapes over my whole body like a warm, fuzzy tent. I feel self-conscious wearing it, like I’m taking a nap in his bed. But it also makes my chest tingle. Get real, Kiri, I tell myself. This isn’t going anywhere.

Every few minutes my eyes flit to the clock on the little red radio. It’s four thirty a.m., I should go home. It’s five a.m., I should go home. It’s five fifteen, I should go home. At six a.m. there’s noise upstairs, and we can hear Skunk’s aunt and uncle taking showers and making breakfast.

“I should probably leave too,” I whisper. “I really need to practice.”

“At six in the morning?”

“Why not?”

“It’s still raining.”

“I’ll get wet.”

“At least finish your tea.”

“That teapot is enchanted. It never runs out.”

“I know.”

“So you’re saying you’re trying to enchant me?”

Skunk presses his lips together. “Wait and see.”

I sip my tea, trying to play it cool. But I can’t help it. I spring to my feet. “I really need to go.”

Skunk waves his arms. “Oh no! She’s fiending!”

“I am not fiending.”

“How many hours has it been since your last hit?”

I count. “Nine and a half.”

“Fiending,” says Skunk.

“I swear I’m not a junkie,” I say. “It’s just that my piano will explode if I don’t practice for long enough each day. It’s sort of like a bomb in that respect.

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