Sketchy Read Online Free PDF Page B

up.
    She can barely stand. Her long, dark auburn hair falls over half of her face. Mascara is smudged under her eyes. She stumbles on her heels as she walks over to the bed and sits down by us. Her tight black dress scootches up, revealing her firm, spray-tanned thighs.
    I stand. “What are you doing here, Aggie? What’s she doing here?” I ask Marcus. “Are you two… oh my god, while I was in rehab? You two hooked up?”
    Marcus looks irritated at Aggie. “Of course not, Bea. She’s just a friend.”
    “Holy shit.” Aggie starts laughing. She crumples down onto the pillow, smiles, and says, “Oh my god, this shit, Marcus, this shit you gave me, it’s like—oh my god, come here and gimme a hug. Oh, wow… Beeeeea… isthatyou? Shit I thi’ I gonna be—” And she vomits over the side of the bed.
    “Holy crap!” Marcus rushes to the bathroom for a towel.Whistler leaps up onto the windowsill, his fur fluffed.
    I button my sweater and look down at Aggie, now sleeping soundly, looking very comfortable in Marcus’s bed. Her breath is calm and relaxed through her drooling, slack jaw. Chunks of barf cling to her auburn curls. Her left breast falls out of the top of her dress.
    Is that what I looked like? Was that me?
    Marcus cleans the puke off the floor. “Bea… she just comes to me for shit, that’s all.”
    I grab my purse. “Fuck you. I have to get out of here.”

    I make it to the last fifteen minutes at St. Anne’s so the mediator can sign my card and prove to my parents that I was there, at the meeting. I barge in, out of breath, make up a crazy story about a flat tire and having to walk miles to a gas station to get help.
    The group looks at me, no expression on their faces, no “yeah, right, your dog ate your homework” kind of look. They seem to accept the lie. The Hawaiian-shirt guy signs the card, no problem. “We look forward to seeing you again, Bea.”
    Unreal.
    I make it home by curfew.

3 months
3 days
12 hours
    “T his is nice, Chris.” I breathe in the crisp, clean autumn air as we eat our paper-bagged lunches on the bleachers above the football field. Chris snaps photos of the colorful maples across the stadium.
    “Look at the beautiful colors—the orange blanket of leaves,” Chris says, looking through the lens.
    “Pretty, aren’t they?” But I’m not looking at the maples—I’m looking at Chris, how happy he is—how content he is with a simple tree. I sketch, but it isn’t the tree I draw.
    Suddenly and rudely, the blanket of leaves is trampled and crushed by the incoming cleats of the football players.
    I close my sketchbook. “Shit, it was so peaceful. Why do they have to practice during lunch?”
    “The homecoming game. It’s Friday, remember?” He puts his camera cap on.
    I roll my eyes. “Right. Can’t wait.”
    Chris elbows me. “Hey, it’s our first date. I happen to be looking forward to it.”
    I offer him a celery stick. “You know… I saw a couple old friends the other night.”
    Chris looks at me with concern. “Uh-oh. You stayed out of trouble?”
    “Yeah, yeah, I did, thank goodness. But it got me thinking.”
    Chris dips the celery into the peanut butter on his sandwich. “About what?”
    “That maybe they weren’t friends after all. And I don’t know… it makes me sad. I feel like a fool.”
    Chris puts his arm around me. “Well, now you have me.”
    I smile. “I do, don’t I?”
    “You do.”
    “Hey, Chris, you want to go shopping with me after school?”
    “Really? Wow, could I?”
    “I was planning on going to my favorite thrift store. Maybe we could find something kickass to wear Friday night?”
    “I’m in. Thanks.”
    The football players begin to run up the bleacher stairs in formation, two at a time, chanting “hut hut” with each step.
    Chris’s backpack is in the way of Jersey #9, a hulking fullback, and before Chris can move it, the jerk kicks, slamming the pack into Chris’s leg. “Get your fucking bag outta the