Betwixt Read Online Free PDF Page B

was shining
     outside her window in greenish yellow beams. She rubbed her eyes then glanced at the clock. “Right on time.”
    At the other end of the line, Morgan D’Amici laughed.
    “Yeah. I learned it in ’Nam. Jesus, Ondine, relax! It’s a party we’re throwing, not a tea for Laura Bush.”
    “Oh, right. You’re right.” Ondine giggled awkwardly. She didn’t know her fellow senior very well, but one thing she did know
     was that Morgan D’Amici was funny, if a little pushy.Flirtatious, Ondine was used to. Girls half hit on her all the time. But Morgan: the chick was beautiful all right, but
wow.
Intense.
    The two girls had just started to be friends when they found out they’d both be taking Raphael Inman’s painting class that
     summer at Reed. Ondine had always admired the girl from afar — student council; all APs; casually, indestructibly pretty —
     and had known her younger brother, K.A., since they were kids and played AYSO together. But she hadn’t known Morgan as well.
     They’d hung in different crowds, Ondine gravitating toward the artsy kids and Morgan sticking with one or two quiet, admiring
     girls who’d rotate out every few months. She’d always been aware of the dark-haired girl, though, as someone would be aware
     of one’s shadow.
    Once they got to know each other, it turned out Trish Mason knew Morgan’s mother, Yvonne D’Amici, from the hair salon Yvonne
     worked at, and Trish frequented. Trish invited the D’Amicis — without the father, whom Yvonne had divorced a few years before
     — to their last Christmas party. Over virgin eggnogs and complaints about little brothers, Morgan and Ondine got to know each
     other.
    “So what time are we on for?” Morgan paused and her light, scratchy voice became serious. “And how are we going to get the
     booze?”
    Ondine was again impressed by the other girl’s initiative and laughed.
    “Damn, Morgan. You’re not joking about being ready for a party.”
    Morgan moaned. “I’m sorry — it’s just the end of school was a few weeks ago and all the graduation parties sucked ass and
     I’ve been so
bored
lately. I want to make sure our class gets senior year started
right.
”
    “You’re telling me.”
    “And I guess I’m just excited. You know — end of the year, Raphael’s class.” Her voice sweetened. “Our becoming friends …”
     Ondine smiled into the phone. She liked the girl’s straight-forwardness, even if it was a little much. Half pushy, half pleading.
     “Right?” Morgan said now.
We’re friends, right?
    “Totally.”
    A picture of Morgan flashed in Ondine’s mind — except that it wasn’t her, quite. It was Morgan’s head — black-haired, doll-like
     — on a moth’s body. Dark wings; dark breast; clinging to white satin, spattered with red. It was a tiny, odd vision, but it
     made Ondine’s heart skip a beat. She took out a pen and a piece of paper from her bureau and shook her head. “All right.
Party,
” she said, writing it down then crossing it out. “No.
Best — Party — of — the — Year.
” On the other end of the line, Morgan
mm-hmm
ed. Ondine added
Ondine & Morgan presenting.
    “So what do we need?”
    “Well …” Morgan contemplated. “Those little spinach squares my mom put in her purse during your last party. Andfrankfurters. We definitely need frankfurters. Cheez Whiz, three-layer bean dip. You know, all the really classy stuff.” The
     girl’s voice lowered to a sultry pitch. “Baby, all we need is
al-kee-hol.
”
    Ondine groaned. At five three and small boned — despite the fact that she was grown-up enough for her parents to trust her
     to live alone for a year — she looked very young. She always hated it — even the perks, like getting into movies on the cheap.
     Morgan, too, was small, five four and petite as a ballerina, although something about her demeanor seemed older. Not old enough
     to buy liquor without ID, however.
    “You don’t have a fake, do