Everything Beautiful by Simmone Howell Read Free Book Online

any piercings?”
“What do you like in a girl?”
“Beavis or Butthead?”
“Elvis or Marilyn?”
“Jesus or George Bush?”
“Where’s the weirdest place you ever had sex?”
“How many Christians does it take to change a light-bulb?”
Then I noticed the white cord running down to his bag. He had earplugs in. Oh.
“Hey!” I yanked the cord out of his ear. “I was talking to you.”
He put his earplugs away and looked down at his feet. Maybe he was shy. Definitely he was weird. Either way he still wasn’t talking. I watched him dig in his pocket and take out a vial. He shook out two white pills, put one on his tongue, and swallowed.
I was so used to his brick wall pose that when he finally looked at me I went mute. Dylan’s eyes were heavy lidded, grave, and gray. He silently offered me the other pill.
“What’ll it do?”
Dylan raised his eyebrows, daring me.
“Okay.” I said, taking the pill.
Craig bounded up to us then, his lips quirked into a half smile. “Bonding over carcinogens? Why am I not surprised? We should put up a sign: Smoke Here.” He worked his Youth Leader schtick. “Just make sure you extinguish the butts. This is tinderbox country.”
Dylan made a noise that was somewhere between a scoff and a snort.
Craig repositioned himself so that he was standing in front of us with his arms folded. “We’re setting up for night cricket.” He nodded to Dylan. “Wanna umpire?”
Nothing.
“What about you?” Craig was looking at me like he knew all my secrets.
“No thanks.”
Craig looked momentarily put out. Then he palmed his faux-hawk, issued a “Laters,” and strode over to where some Mallees were teasing a frog with a flashlight.
Dylan and I watched him go. We turned to each other.
“ Laters.”
We said it at the same time with the same wince, then we smiled and looked away. I watched Craig parade across the plain, gathering players. He was showing a lot of leg in his tight white shorts. Maybe I was gazing, because Dylan spoke up, and when he did his voice was a shock to the silence. He said, “If you want to get on that , ask him about the time he saved Sarita’s life.”
“What makes you think I want to ‘get on that’?”
“All girls go for Craig. Your whole frothy gothy flower-wielding shit doesn’t fool me.”
I looked at him. I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not. And now it seemed I was mistaken in recognizing any kinship between us. I wanted to talk to him more, but he started twitching in his chair, lifting and lowering his butt, patting and prodding his legs. I decided he was trying to unnerve me. And I decided that I wouldn’t let him.
Fleur was walking toward the shower block. Dylan suddenly shoved his hands down on his wheels and shouted, “Fleur—wait up!” She must have heard him, but she just about-faced and walked faster, away from him. Dylan went off-road. It was a tragi-comic sight to see this sad-eyed Wheelchair Boy getting bogged down in the woodchip, but by then the pill he’d given me had started to take effect. My eyelids were drooping like sails. I staggered back to the cabin and fell in a heap on the bed.
Sarita was wearing full cricket whites. Clearly borrowed. She was swimming in them. “Aren’t you playing?” she asked.
I didn’t even have the energy to laugh. I closed my eyes. One day down, two to go. Could I do it? Maybe if I stayed like this—drugged up, in absentia. As I drifted off to the sound of night cricket and real crickets I styled the Vanity Fair Spirit Ranch photo spread in my mind. Craig and Fleur were the Ken and Barbie, Sarita was the Quiet One, Bird was the Wild Card, the twins were the Empty Vessels Waiting to Be Filled, Richard was the Professor. Ethan was the Collaborator. I was the Drama, and Dylan—
—Dylan was the Darkness.

12
Drama Queens
I woke up to the sound of the PA squealing. There was a loud clunk and then Roslyn’s voice came through, bigger than life.
“Attention, campers. This is your