Gorilla Beach by Nicole "Snooki" Polizzi Read Free Book Online Page B

that.”
    Frank said, “Stay out of it.”
    â€œCan someone please make Frankie’s toddler stop crying?” said Gia.
    Cara hauled back, her bony fist then launching forward. Gia darted left. Cara’s punch sailed through space and landed squarely on Fredo’s jaw.
    â€œFredo!” shouted Gia. “You bitch! No one punches my date.”
    In a haze, Fredo sank to his knees. He watched a fuzzy movie of a mouse in a red-feathered dress grabbing a handful of his hateful cousin’s hair and yanking it hard. Cara screamed in pain, which made him smile. His vision blurred. On his back now, Fredo stared at a thousand shimmering lights from a dozen mirrored balls. But then he realized they were the stars.

Chapter Seven

Guidar on the Fritz
    The bar was across the banquet room, next to a giant ice sculpture of Cupid shooting an arrow through a heart. Maria must have pushed for this. Stanley probably looked at it and saw dollar bills melting.
    If Bella ever got married, she’d … scratch that. Why give yourself to someone who would break your heart at the first sign of trouble? When she let herself think about her father Charlie’s actions last winter—refusing to help Marissa when she was sick, then walking out on their family when they were at their worst—Bella’s heart felt like that sculpture. A block of ice.
    â€œDrink,” she said to herself. Man, did she need (another) one. The shots of Bacardi might as well have been poured down the sink for all the good they did her.
    To the bartender, she said, “Tequila.”
    He set up a glass and poured. She shot it, replaced the glass, and said, “Again.”
    He refilled her glass.
    â€œCan I join you?” asked a kid standing next to her. In his early twenties, he was dressed in black jeans, motorcycle boots, a gray T-shirt with a white skull on it, and black blazer. His skin was pale. The hair? Jet-black with spikes. He must have emptied a can of Deluxe Aqua Net to keep the clumps sticking straight up. Around hissky-blue eyes, he wore as much black eyeliner as she did. A punk? In South Jersey? The kid took a wrong turn somewhere around the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Not her usual type, but cute. Sexy.
    â€œFree country,” she said.
    â€œTwo hundred and thirty-six years old today.” The punk nodded at the bartender and downed his shot. “Happy July Fourth. Happy wedding. Excellent bridesmaiding. You didn’t fall down or drop the bouquet. Congratulations.”
    â€œThanks. Standing up for ten minutes straight is a tough job. But some bitch has to do it.”
    He smiled. His teeth were charmingly crooked.
    Bella found herself smiling back at him. She felt an old urge to sketch his face. She used to draw a lot, back in high school. Bella had taken a few art classes and would have liked to do more. But her dad didn’t see the point of pursuing art, or college for that matter. His plan was for Bella to marry a kid from the neighborhood and spend the rest of her life shitting out babies and cranking out sausage at the family deli. Bella begged to go to college for three years and was on the verge of giving up when Charlie sold the deli, leaving Bella without a solid plan for the future. Thanks to Mom’s subtle manipulation, Dad agreed to pay some of Bella’s college tuition. She’d enrolled at New York University in Manhattan’s Greenwich Village last fall.
    Her freshman year was a struggle. She’d had a vision of walking through Washington Square Park in thigh-high leather boots, her hair extensions blowing in the autumn wind, shopping at the Bebe store on Fifth Avenue with new friends, drinking espressos in Little Italy, reading, studying, having deep conversations about literature and art. Never happened. Bella found it impossible to make friends. She tried. But the kids at NYU wanted nothing to do with her.
    The decision was made early on that instead of living