Dark Parties Read Online Free PDF Page B

impossible thought, but this hope is now a balloon floating above me and I’m
     holding on to it with a very thin string.
    I skid to a stop and look though the cracked window of the coffee shop. Ethan is sitting in our usual spot with his sketch
     pad open. Dark circles ring his deep-set eyes, making them appear disproportionately large for his face. His hand and pencil
     dance lightly across the page. I know that shell isEthan, but he hasn’t been the same since he was arrested. It was a silly dare. Loads of people do it. I don’t know what the
     police said or did to him. He won’t talk about it. All I know is he isn’t my Ethan anymore.
    It was a Saturday night six months ago. We were hanging out in his bedroom. He was drawing snowflakes on my stomach. That’s
     where I got the idea for my tattoo. His eyes sparkled with mischief. We lunged for each other and connected with a passion
     that would have melted my imaginary snowstorm. Kissing turned into the erratic dance of undressing. Suddenly he sprang away
     from me as if he’d been burned.
    “We can’t keep doing this,” he had said, panting.
    Stunned by the sudden shift in temperature, I reached for him, ready to say, “Damn the stupid vow.”
    “We’ve got to do something else. Anything.” He rocked back and forth. I could only think of one thing. I placed my hand on
     his thigh.
    “Neva!” He batted my hand away. “Cut it out.” He tugged on his jeans. “Think.”
    I hugged my nearly naked body. I was trying to think of the opposite of sex. “Let’s climb the Capitol Complex,” I suggested.
     Remembering thousands of people killed in The Terror would darken any mood.
    He pulled on his shirt and tossed me my jeans and sweatshirt. “Let’s do it.”
    The next thing I knew I was in the heart of the City staring up at the massive pile of rubble that was once the center of
     power for our government. One dark day a group of terrorists leveled the Capitol Complex with one massive bomb, killing our governmental leaders and thousands of others. Since
     the dead were extracted, not one pebble has been touched. Its twisted frame and crumbling stone are supposed to remind us
     of The Terror and what happens when people abandon patriotism and uniformity.
    That night Ethan had climbed up the mountain of debris. I held my breath as he catapulted himself higher and higher. He made
     it look so easy. When he’d nearly reached the top, where the Homeland flag flies forever at half-mast, he waved down at me
     with a big stupid grin on his face. His beige shirt was smudged with black and his jeans were covered with a fine white dust.
     I was more in love with him at that moment than I had ever been in my life.
    We’d talked about this since we were kids, but I never thought he’d do it. I started to scale the rubble. I wanted to feel
     what Ethan was feeling. I took a few tentative steps, testing the mass beneath my feet before I shifted my weight. I’d only
     managed to climb a few feet when I slipped and toppled back down to the ground. I heard Ethan calling my name, but I was laughing
     so hard, I could only wave up at him to let him know that, other than a bruised ego, I was okay.
    That’s when I heard the siren. Ethan shouted for me to hide. I should have been standing next to him. But I did what he told
     me; I found a pocket created by crossed beams and I waited and watched. The police cuffed him and dragged him away.
    They released him the next day, but Ethan is the new kind of missing. His body is still here, but there’s a part of himthat’s vanished. A part the government stole and I can never get back.
    “Susan?” A man touches my arm, and the memory slips away. I turn toward him and he scans my face.
    “Sorry,” he says, hands up in apology. “My mistake.”
    I follow the man into the coffee shop and walk over to Ethan. “Hi,” I say.
    He jumps. Even though he’s surrounded by people, he’s very much in his own space. I kiss him on the