Crush by Stefan Petrucha Read Free Book Online Page A

something—that totally messed with his head. And he knew it was probably just being full-on freaked out by speaking with a member of the opposite sex, a rare occurrence at best. But it wasn’t like he thought she was hot. She didn’t intimidate him in that way. He didn’t really know what to tell David.
    He settled for “She’s okay, I guess.”
    â€œI’m translating that to mean freak, and not the good kind.”
    â€œNo,” Jonathan said. “She’s cool. I mean, I was all pissed off with Mom, so I bailed. Then I saw Toby the Scab at Perky’s, reminding me why my life sucked so thoroughly. Kirsty just kind of showed up. It wasn’t like anything was wrong with her. I just didn’t have my mojo flowing.”
    â€œJonny Boy,” David said, “you have no mojo. I say that as a friend. You are mojo-impaired. You’re mojo-less. You lack da MO…JO.”
    â€œLike you’re any better?”
    â€œI am the Mojo Master. Kiss my ring, bitch.”
    Jonathan broke up laughing. He could picture David standing in the middle of his room, one hand on a hip and the other extended, palm down, presenting his fingers and a ring.
    â€œYou’re totally deluded,” Jonathan said.
    â€œI paint pretty pictures of an ugly world. So, what’s the story? Are you going to ask her out? Is Kirsty going to be Jonathan’s she-slave or what?”
    â€œNo,” he said. “I’m not into her like that.”
    â€œGood,” David said. “You keep feeding the undying flame of Emma worship, and I’ll handle Kirsty. That way you won’t get hurt when she realizes she can’t live without the David.”
    â€œShe’s all yours.”
    â€œAll is going according to plan.”
    â€œYou’re disturbed,” Jonathan said.
    â€œYou don’t know the half of it,” David replied.
    Â 
    Jonathan lay in bed, staring at the shadows on the ceiling. Unable to sleep, he thought about Kirsty, her plain face somehow more complete, more attractive at night, and he thought about Mr. Weaver. Since Kirsty was in his English lit class with Mr. Weaver (and they did talk about the guy a little), it wasn’t a big stretch, this connection. Itwas, however, strange. In his mind he was walking with Kirsty, listening to her speak: I couldn’t go in either…I didn’t really like the people I saw…My dad scared them away…Strange so many people are out…after what happened to Mr. Weaver . Then Jonathan pictured Mr. Weaver in his living room—he had no idea why; he certainly didn’t know what the teacher’s house looked like—and the pudgy Weaver was watching television, drinking a beer from a tall glass. The next moment Mr. Weaver was gasping silently, clawing at his face. Strange so many people are out …Then Mr. Weaver was outside, soaring through space, but it wasn’t a pleasant flight. He scratched and kicked at the air, his mouth was open as if to scream, but no sound emerged. He hit high up on a tree, his body bending back slightly with the impact. He fell forward, arms and legs dangling, his body perfectly balanced on a thick tree limb.
    Jonathan shook the reverie from his mind. It was just too unpleasant, so he decided to think about something else.
    That was easy enough.
    He thought about Emma O’Neil. Imagined holding her, and this time it wasn’t just to comfort herwhile she mourned their late English teacher. No, what Jonathan imagined was having met Emma by accident at the mall instead of Kirsty. He saw her smiling, almost mischievous face, hanging before the neon tubes of the ice-cream parlor.
    She wore the short red skirt she’d worn two Mondays ago, the fabric smooth and tight to her hips. With the skirt she wore a snug white sweater with short sleeves, a top Jonathan had seen her wear half a dozen times, to breathtaking effect. She didn’t say anything at first,