Underneath Everything Read Online Free PDF Page B

moreofmybeer.Iwipeatthedropsonmyjeans.
    Hudsondoesn’tnotice.He’srollingtheloosewhitethreadatthekneeofhisjeansandstealingglances atCal,who’ssettinguptheshotglassesatthebarinsomekindofpyramid.He’salwaysbeenashowman.
    BetweenhimandBella,thispartybasicallyhasprofessionalentertainment.
    “YouandCalarestillclose,”Isay,figuringit’sasafeplacetostart.ButIknowI’mwrongassoonas IseethedeepcreaseformbetweenHudson’seyes.
    “Somepeoplestickaround,”hesays.Thebeerturnssourinmymouth.He’sstillangry.
    Thiswasamistake.
    I’mabouttogetupwhenIfeelataponmyshoulder.
    Ijumpinmyseat,untilIrealizeit’sjusttheguytomyleft,offeringmeahit.
    “I’mcool,”ItellhimasItakethepipeandpassittoHudson.Hepassesittothegirlonhisright,who nodsyes,takesahugehit,thenproceedstohaveahackingfit,thekindwhereyoucoughandcoughand coughandcan’tcatchyourbreath.Sheshakesherheadand,stillcoughing,passesittothenextperson.
    Whenthemusicchanges,HudsonandIspeakatthesametime.
    Me:“I’llleaveyoualo—”
    Hudson:“Wanttogetoutofhere?”
    It’swhatwealwayssaidtoescapefromparties.Neitherofuslikedbeingaroundsomanypeople.But whywouldhesayitnowwhen,obviously,he’smadatme?Whywouldheaskmetotalkwhenhe’sbeen ignoringmeformorethanayear?
    WhenIdon’tanswerimmediately,Hudsonwipeshispalmonthekneeofhisjeans.“Imean,it’scool ifyoudon’twantto.”Hebrushesastraycurlfromhisfaceandtucksitbehindhisear.
    I’mstillhavingtroublespeaking,butnowit’snotbecauseIdon’tknowwhattosay.It’sbecausethe wordsriseupinmetooquickly—theexplanationInevergottogive;thethingsIwantedtoscreamtheday IsawhimwalkintoschoolwithJolene,waitatherlocker,holdherhand,andpretendhisfingershadn’t run through my hair a week before. I waited, day after day, but I never got a chance to say them. Now they’reasfamiliartomeasmyjeans,andjustasworn.Buthereheis.Rightinfrontofme.AndI’mangry, too. I could do it. I could say he doesn’t matter to me, that he barely exists, that when I see him, I see nothingatall.
    ButI’dbelying.
    “There’saguestroomontheothersideofthebasement,”Isay,standingup.“Followme.”
    UNCORRECTEDE-PROOF—NOTFORSALE
    HarperCollinsPublishers
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    CHAPTER5
    HUDSONFOLLOWSMEoutofthecave,pasttheflip-cupgame,thePing-Pongtable,thecouches,andtheflat screen.Idon’tlookoverwhenpeoplescreamandthrowtheirhandsupinvictoryorturnwhentheylaugh atsomethingonTV.Ijuststarestraightaheadatthedooronthefarendofthebasementandpicturewhat’s behindit:twobedroomsontheleft,bothsmallandblueandtraditional,andoneontheright,enormous, withlavenderwallsandanattachedbathroom.It’shardtoforgetthebathroom.Ithasshell-shapedsoap, shell-patternedhandtowels,andaglass-doorshowerwithshelletchings.Or,atleast,itusedto.
    Ipushopenthedoorandstepintothedarkhallway.Hudsonfollowsme,shuttingoutthesoundand lightfromtherestofthebasementwithasoftclick.Iflattenmypalmagainstthesideofthewallandslide itaround,searchingfortheswitch.Itshouldberighthere,butforsomereasonIcan’tfindit.ThefartherI reach,thefasterIbreathe.Hudsonmusthearme,becausebythetimeIfinallyfindtheswitch,sodoeshe.
    Our fingers meet. I feel high—dizzy, disoriented, like I’m spinning. And it’s not from the secondhand smokeorthewarmbeer.It’shim.Inthedark.Onthefringe.It’showwe’vealwaysbeen.
    ThefirsttimeHudsonheldmyhandwasonaSaturdaynight,sophomorespring.Cal’sparentswere out,sohethrewapartyathisduplex.AndsinceCalwasfriendswithprettymucheveryone,theplace waspacked.KriswaswithJim.Bellawasdancing.Calwasbartending.Jolenewasoffwithherlatest plaything—each boy fell hard, then fell away. Jolene always came back to me. But she wasn’t finished yet, so I did what I always do at parties: I searched for a corner, a place away from all the noise and voices,towaitforher.Ifounditinasmalldenoffthelivingroom,litbluebyafinishedmovie.That’s whereIfoundHudsontoo.
    Hewassittingonthecouch,runninghisthumbovertheinkhe’dpennedontherubberstripthatlined