Dreamland City. Larina Lavergne

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      He’s perversely adorable, standing there with his hands covering his privates, a confused expression on his face.

      “I’ll go talk to her,” I assure him. “She was probably tweaked out from the pot.”

      He nods and looks around for his pants, pulling them on and then buckles his belt.

      I go outside, careful not to slam the door, and see Reagan on her hands and knees by the side of her car. She starts when she hears me approaching, but then she seems to calm down when she realizes that it’s me.

      “I dropped my keys. Help me find them.”

      Her eyes are red from crying and her makeup is smudged, but she still somehow manages to look pure and pristine even when she’s rummaging like a raccoon in the dirt.

      I get down on my hands and knees with her and grip her shoulders to stop her frantic movements. She shudders under my hands.

      “Reagan, what happened?”

      “What do you mean—nothing happened.” She pushes me away. Her eyes are wild, and she’s pawing violently again through the grass.

      Shit, these perfect girls are so fucked up.

      “Of course something happened. You freaked out and ran out here. Tell me what’s wrong.”

      “Nothing,” she mumbles. “Here they are!” She stumbles to her feet and opens the car door. I get right in beside her.

      “What do you think you’re doing?” she asks.

      “Sitting in your car,” I reply.

      She glares at me. “I’m going home. Get out.”

      “Reagan, you’re wasted. You’ll kill yourself.”

      “No I’m not.”

      “What’s fourteen multiplied by eight?”

      She opens her mouth, then closes it again.

      “Reagan, it’s fine. You can stay with me, OK? Tommy won’t bother you, I promise.”

      She’s silent, and I wait.

      “OK,” she says in a subdued tone before adding snidely, “By the way, I’ll have you know I couldn’t have multiplied that quickly even if I were sober.”

      I suppress a laugh, get out and help her out of the car; she leans on my arm as I lead us back to my trailer. “Home sweet home,” I say mockingly as we go back in. The place is still like we left it fifteen minutes ago, but Tommy has graciously put most of the pieces of the broken lamp in the trash.

      Reagan is leaning heavily on me and I bring her to my mother’s bedroom since it’s closer. I think that I should start calling it Beau’s bedroom.

      “Smells nice here,” Reagan murmurs. Her eyes are half-closed, and an errant lock of her hair has fallen over her face. “What is that smell?”

      It smells of Beau. I think Reagan smells a lot better.

      I dump my new friend on the bed and she sighs heavily, her eyes closing completely. And then I crawl into bed next to her, and fall asleep.

      9

      When I wake up the next day, my head hurts and my mouth tastes like a ball of sour, gritty cotton. As I sit slowly, I look around for Reagan but she’s already gone. I vaguely remember—it seemed like a dream—her getting up at the crack of dawn and the sound of the door closing behind her.

      When I stand up, my foot slides on a piece of cloth on the floor. I pick it up and stare stupidly at the frilly material before realizing that I’m holding a scarf. Dolce & Gabbana and I don’t have much of a relationship, so Reagan must have dropped it when she left. I can’t help myself from burying my face in it. She always smells so…clean.

      +++

      At school, I finally see Reagan Friday morning with a bunch of high-heeled short-skirted blond girls at Alpine Bagels on West Campus. She gives me a cool gaze as I get in line for coffee, then deliberately looks away. If she’s embarrassed by her behavior Sunday night with Tommy, she doesn’t show it. I consider giving her back her scarf—it’s been stuffed in the front pocket of my hoodie the entire week and the bulge is making me look like I’m pregnant—but the threatening trills of laughter emanating from that group scare me off. After grabbing my bagel and coffee, I hurry off.

      I skip my Math lecture and noontime finds me sitting on the lawn directly in front of Blackwell Hall, Reagan’s (and my former) cheesy European themed dorm. I know I’m waiting for her, I just don’t know why. It’s a grim looking day, and heavy clouds are sinking low on the horizon as if they’re trying to kiss the damp ground. The warmth is making me sleepy. A light drizzle starts up but I don’t move. Instead, I lie back and close my eyes.

      “Lily?”

      When I open my eyes, the first thing that emerges out of the inky blurriness is a pair of clear blue eyes.

      “Wha…”

      “Were you really asleep?”

      David Morgan squats down on his haunches next to me. There are flecks of moisture on his eyelashes and his hair is gaining a sheen from the drizzle. I blink, and he says again, “You were. Wow.”

      “I can sleep through anything.”

      “I believe it! Hey, so you live in Blackwell?”

      I sit up. “I did for a little while.”

      “Oh. Where do you live now?” He seems in no hurry to leave despite the drizzle, and as I scramble to get up, he offers me a hand, pulling me up easily.

      I’m about to answer when I see a familiar white umbrella bobbing towards us.

      It’s Reagan. When I don’t answer him, David turns to look too. We stand, frozen, as the white umbrella bobs closer.

      “Oh. Hey!” She stands, her brows furrowed, her eyes traveling from me to him, then back again, as if she’s trying to compute her two worlds colliding.

      “Hey,” David and I both blurt out at the same time.

      Reagan doesn’t miss a beat.

      “What’s up?” she asks.

      “Not much,” David replies, a touch uncomfortably.

      “I didn’t know you knew each other.” She’s peering closely at me as if she’s never seen me before, her eyes narrowed with flecks of gold dancing in the sea of hazel.

      “We don’t,” I say, just as David says, “We met a while ago.”

      There’s a long, awkward pause, then Reagan says smoothly, “Well, you guys want to hang out then?”

      I stare at them both. Almost unconsciously, David has moved СКАЧАТЬ