You Killed Wesley Payne by Sean Beaudoin

Author:Sean Beaudoin [BEAUDOIN, SEAN]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780316122221
Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
Published: 2011-02-01T05:00:00+00:00

Back upstairs, Ronnie Newport was sitting on a long velvet couch. His pompadour was perfectly slicked, and he wore brand-new jeans with the cuffs rolled about six inches. Newport looked at Dalton without even registering him. He was smoking a cigarette, holding it by the filter with two fingers, the butt facing straight upward, like he’d developed a whole new method of smoking and soon everyone else would be holding them that way too. And he was probably right. The big-hair girls sat on either side of him, nattering away.

Ask him now, straight out. Did you take pictures of Lee Harvies? Do you know who they are? And why did you lie to me about driving?

But there was something about Newport’s placid look that made Dalton hesitate. Not to mention Lu Lu Footer was standing over him insisting there was no smoking inside. He didn’t register her either, just kept puffing away. Soon the big hairs lit up as well, and the room was like a lungbox your cousin Ferdie was roasting marshmallows in.

“DALTON!”

Mole was in the room off the kitchen, hunkered with some other Euclidians. They had an elaborately engineered beer bong in the air, Mole pulling off it like a suckling while the rowdy Euclidians chanted “MOLE-LES-TER! MOLE-LES-TER! MOLE-LES-TER!” Despite all their high-fiving and sousy bravado, they scattered as soon as Dalton walked up.

“You think maybe you should slow it down a bit there?”

“The writer of proverbs!” Mole belched wetly. “The leader of cheers! The dozer of bulls! The jump-offer of high buildings and low bridges!”

“They make decaf now.”

“Funny, guy. Funny. You, guy, are a funny guy. Like, seriously.”

“Have you seen Macy?”

“No. No. No. No. And it’s, like, tragic, ’cause—”

“Have you seen Cassiopeia?”

“Oh, yeah. She’s in the pool.” Mole put his hands over his mouth like a ringmaster with a megaphone. “That Whiskey Lick’s taking a swim, boys, and she’s wetter than Madonna at a Kabbalah wristband store!”

Crowdarounds started to poke their heads in to see what the rumpus was. Most of them poked their heads back out, but the exceptionally bored stayed, vainly hoping someone might throw a punch.

“Doing laps,” Mole mused. “While half the guys in school pretend not to watch. It’s a parade of half-thumbed rodneys out there, I swear. Get it? It’s a parade, and she’s the float!”

Dalton didn’t see Cassiopeia in the pool. There were guys milling around, but mostly they seemed to be waiting for someone oblivious to shove in with all their clothes on.

“What do you need her for, anyway?” Mole asked. “Salt River’s got all kinds of girls. And you being you, tough and cool and all, you can have your pick. You walk down the hall and they practically start ovulating in unison. For a geek like me? It’s pretty much, hey, I got four years to find someone to let me kiss them once in a while. Four years and if I’m lucky, maybe sniff a random boob.”

“Mole—”

“But don’t get me wrong. I’m not greedy. That’s really all I need.

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