The Implosion of Aggie Winchester Read Online Free PDF Page A

Jefferson said, looking right at Sylvia.
    “The password is bite me,” she said, reaching down the front of her shirt and pulling out a small bag of pot. Jefferson grinned and snatched it from her.
    “Indeed, you shall pass,” he said with a fake British accent. He bowed slightly.
    My stomach fell. Why I thought this was the time he’d let us in without making Sylvia score him pot was beyond me. Sylvia didn’t look one bit put out, probably on account of how Jefferson threw awesome parties provisioned like he was a forty-year-old millionaire. Also, being here raised our status in the school—at least a little. We might be freaks, but we were freaks who partied with the right people.
    Still, it would be nice if once—just once—Jefferson let us in because he seemed to actually like us, not because he traded invites for pot. Also, it bothered me that he thought of us as novelties , which was exactly the word he used the first time we showed up at his house. He was drunk, wearing a bathrobe, and sipping Scotch. He took one look at us and said, and I quote, “The novelties are here. Now the party is interesting.”
    For this party, Jefferson was wearing more than a bathrobe—thank God. But not much else had changed. As if on cue, I felt the heat of eyes on me and looked up to see a group of perky freshman girls huddled in the corner, staring. I glared at them.
    “No looks of death at this party, please,” Jefferson scolded, seeing my expression.
    “What?” Sylvia asked me. “Is someone giving you shit? Do I need to go pull out some hair?”
    “No,” I said. “Forget it. It’s cool.”
    “They’re freshmen,” Jefferson said. “Let them be. They don’t yet know the rule that you are to be feared and respected—from a distance.”
    I turned my narrowed eyes on him, but instead of being intimidated, he just looked me up and down. “There’s strip poker in the study,” he said slowly. “I’d love it if you joined.”
    “Not fucking likely,” I replied, and Sylvia punched me.
    “Be nice,” she said. “Use your manners.” Then she turned back to Jefferson. “Pardon my friend. What she meant to say was thank you, but it isn’t fucking likely.”
    A cheer erupted from the corner of the room, and we all turned. Strung around a table were four guys high-fiving over a beer pong victory. Ryan was among them.
    Tall and blond, he looked like he belonged on a beach in California—not in Minnesota. His dark green eyes caught the stare of one of the girls nearby, and he winked.
    A flush crept into Sylvia’s pale cheeks. She pulled out her phone and texted a few words. A moment later, Ryan checked the phone on his belt and looked straight over at her. He grinned like a hyena.
    “I’ll catch you guys later,” Sylvia said, walking to the perimeter of the beer pong game. Knowing Sylvia, she’d hang out there until Ryan gave some kind of sign, then they’d sneak off, one after the other, to meet at some prearranged location.
    “See you,” I mumbled, and headed toward the kitchen. Thanks to the frozen pizza and salad mess, I was starving.
    Another gaggle of girls was clustered near the microwave when I walked into the kitchen. They whispered and giggled as I helped myself to some kind of fancy cheese, a handful of crackers, and another beer. I chewed and drank the beer down and watched them.
    They all had their phones out and were texting furiously. Their tight sweaters looked like they came from the same store; they all wore the same lip gloss.
    One of them—Cassie, was it?—raised her eyes to me, and I glowered. She dropped her gaze back to her phone. Damn right , I thought.
    Inside, I wobbled. Sure, Sylvia and I dressed and acted in a way that ensured the two of us didn’t get shit from anyone—but there were days when it was a lonely space to live in. Jefferson and a few others tolerated us for the “novelty” factor of our dark clothes and scary makeup, but it wasn’t like they were actually