Can't Go Home (Oasis Waterfall) Read Online Free PDF Page A

English,” she jabs, rolling her eyes.
    Sydney pulled a full four semesters in college with a 1.9 GPA when she decided that college was only for “ugly people who couldn’t get by on their looks.” Hey, I warned you; she’s a bitch.
    Continuing, Syd says, “Seventh grade Katie didn’t think she was good enough for Todd. And now … now … 24-year-old Kathryn doesn’t think she’s good enough for Dre.”
    The server brings Syd’s wine, and pours her a glass while simultaneously staring straight down her blouse. I’m actually impressed that he didn’t spill the Merlot in her lap. “I’m just saying, Hon, if we’re going to have a party, can it not be one of your ‘woe-is-me-pity-parties?’ They’re so lame and such a buzz kill.”
    “Buzz kill? That’s your first sip,” I counter.
    “Oh that’s right. I’m sorry I’m late. I had a lunch date with my director. A liquid lunch … in his office … on his desk.” Sydney laughs, throwing her head back as the men in the restaurant gawk and probably adjust themselves.
    “You’re telling me that I sat here by myself for lunch while you were getting drunk and screwing your director … again?” I ask incredulously. When would I ever learn?
    “Don’t get all pissy. You need to lighten up and start getting in the game,” she says. “Katie … I mean ‘Kathryn,’ I’m sure there are men out there, maybe this Dre guy, who want to do you too. You just have to grab the ball and slam dunk it.” Did she really just say “maybe” guys want to have sex with me? She’s unbelievable.
    Sydney turns sideways in her chair, hiking her skirt up around her thighs, crossing one long leg over the other, revealing more leg than both of mine put together. “Watch this,” she commands. Sydney leans over and feigns buckling her already-buckled high-heeled, strappy sandal. As she sits back up, she lightly trails her hand back up her leg and then finally flips her hair over her shoulder. Within five seconds, the busboy and server are at our table refilling our waters and clearing my plates. “You have to sell the merchandise. You want this Dre guy, then make him want you.”
    “I never said I wanted him,” I add quietly, looking at my empty iced tea glass.
    “You never said you didn’t either,” Sydney says.
    Sydney and I have been friends since fifth grade. I had just moved to town, and the teacher paired us up as “bonding buddies.” Sydney’s job was to show me around and introduce me to other students. My job was to bail her out of trouble when she got caught on the playground explaining to four other students what the word “foreplay” meant. (Her definition back then: doing four dirty things before you had sex.)
    At recess on my first day at Reynolds Elementary, Sydney told me to stay in the big climbing tires while she stood outside with her friends. I was under no circumstances allowed to exit the tire without her approval. I went into the tire, and did as I was told. Sydney was the “Queen Bee,” and she was holding court outside of the tires. When she and her friends were talking, one girl said she heard the word “foreplay” on the bus and wanted to know what it was. Sydney explained what it was and that was that.
    After recess, all the girls blabbed, and Sydney was called in to the office. I knew then what I had to do. I knew the importance of getting in with the “cool kids” at school. Or at least I thought it was important at the time. Truthfully, the “cool kids” are just like everyone else: afraid, shy, awkward, and dying to fit in and be accepted.
    Anyway, I raised my hand and took the fall for Sydney, my soon-to-be best friend for life. My new teacher sent me to the office, where Sydney was already waiting to see the principal. I confessed that it was me who defined the dirty word. Sydney said that it was she. We fought about it in front of the balding, paunchy principal. I told him that I just wanted to fit in, so I told the