The Book of David Read Online Free PDF Page A

yelled in mock protest, then poured what was left in the cup over his own head and melted into the college girls who insisted they “get him out of these wet clothes” while pulling his T-shirt off.
    â€œStopped by the hospital,” I explained. “Brought Erin.”
    â€œOooooh, heeeeey, Erin.” Amy was the cheerleader most likely to be drunk first. “How’s Tyyyyyyyyler?”
    Erin put her arm around Amy to keep her upright. “He’s alive, but he’s going to have to have surgery to fix his knee.”
    Jonathan let out a low whistle. “So he’s out for good.”
    â€œSays who?” Sears was really tall and really slow. It workedon the field, but in conversation it could be a chore. “Anybody know this guy?”
    Monica threw an arm around Jonathan’s shoulders. “This is Jon, everybody. He just transferred here from a school in Chicago, and he’s going to be the lead in The Music Man .”
    Jon opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. This was not the introduction he had hoped for. Even Tracker and the college girls were suddenly silent, staring. This truck was headed over the cliff.
    â€œThat’s awesome.”
    Sears, Flash, and Tracker all turned to look at me, and I realized I was the one who had blurted out those words. I blushed like a mofo, but it was dark except for the bonfire, which had just sparked to a full blaze a couple hundred feet away. Lots of shadows. I plowed ahead. “I forgot the auditions were today. Did you find out the cast already?”
    â€œNo,” said Monica with her imperial smile. “I just know talent when I see it.”
    â€œI’m on the swim team, too . . . ?” Jon offered this fact sheepishly—as a question: Will this help balance that I’m the drama geek?
    â€œSo that’s why your hair is wet in English every day.”
    â€œYup.” He smiled at me, relieved—a silent thank-you in his single syllable.
    Tracker was too drunk to care about anything except handing out beer, it seemed, the way of freshmen at their first big party after their first big win their first year on varsity.
    â€œHey, Music Man,” he brayed, thrusting a foaming red cup at Jon. “I’m the beer man. Drink up.”
    Jon sidestepped the slosh with a lighting-quick reflex and laughed. “No, thanks, Beer Man. If I’m gonna drink, I prefer the good stuff.” He smiled and passed the red cup to Amy, who’d been reaching for it anyway. She giggled a thank-you in Jon’s general direction as he pulled a bottle of Maker’s Mark out of the messenger bag he had slung over his shoulder.
    â€œAw’ight, fancy-pants!” Sears howled. “Now you’re singing a tune I know, Mr. Music Man.”
    Half a bottle of Maker’s later, the knots in my stomach had dispersed like the crowd. After Jon won over Sears, Tracker, Flash, and the college girls with the power of Kentucky straight bourbon, they headed for the hot tub. Too many roasted marshmallows at the bonfire made Amy start to barf (typical), and Monica and Erin helped her up the long expanse of lawn toward the switchback stairs that led up several terraces from the river to the pool.
    â€œBack in a second,” Monica chirped at us. “You boys get acquainted while I get little Pukey-Pukes-a-Lot here up to my bedroom.” Erin giggled and tried to hold Amy’s hair to one side asthe three of them did a weird six-legged race toward the house.
    â€œDoes she always drink this much?” Jon stared after them.
    â€œAmy?” I smiled. “Of course. Her dad’s a preacher.”
    Jon nodded with a knowing smile. “There does seem to be a direct correlation between the drunkenness of a cheerleader and her proximity to the laity.”
    I stared at him. “Huh?”
    Jon laughed, and something about it sounded like the notes of a song I remembered from a