Pointe by Brandy Colbert Read Free Book Online

freshman year. I went stag with Sara-Kate and Phil when we were sophomores, but it would be fun to switch it up this year, if there was actually someone I wanted to ask me. Someone available.
    Last year, Phil got wasted on airplane bottles of gin and we found him in the Andersons’ game room with Klein: arms around each other, straight-up kumbaya bro-love in front of the Indiana Jones pinball machine, and we couldn’t tell how long they’d been in there. Seeing the two of them get along so well would have been disturbing if it hadn’t been so funny. I swear I heard the words
best buddy
slurred back and forth a few times. Of course Phil denies it and I honestly don’t think Klein remembers any part of that night, let alone the end.
    â€œWhatever, Theo. It’s still not the same as hooking up with him.”
    â€œIt was a couple of times. There was no sex. And it was, like, a million years ago, so I’d appreciate it if you’d stop bringing it up.”
    I glare at him, but it’s not my full-on death stare. Murderous looks don’t go with my new sweater. I’m so flat that most sweaters look ridiculous on me, but my mother brought this one home last week and it’s perfect. Fitted with a deep scoop neck and made from soft cashmere the color of eggplant.
    â€œNot a million.” Phil won’t let it go. “Freshman year. Two.”
    â€œMaybe
you
need to get laid and stop fixating on who
I
didn’t sleep with two years ago.” I look to Sara-Kate for support. “Right?”
    She holds up her hands, shakes her pale purple head at us. “I am
so
not getting into this. Now let’s go find some booze. Mama’s thirsty.”
    Next stop: the kitchen. Nearly every brand and type of liquor imaginable is spread out on the granite counters—some uncapped, some half empty, and others completely untouched, like the monstrous bottle of butterscotch schnapps. The door at the back of the room opens out to a terrace, where people are gathered around three kegs. Music pulsates through the house at such a deafening volume that even the bottles clink to the beat.
    Phil and Sara-Kate go outside to check on the keg situation while I peruse my options on the counter. I’m inspecting the label on a bottle of vodka when Klein walks in. He hasn’t changed much since we used to hang out. He shaved off his curls so that his hair is nothing more than black prickles, but it only accentuates his remarkable bone structure.
    He stands so close to me, I can smell the soap from his shower. And the liquor on his breath. Better than cologne, I guess.
    â€œLegs. You made it.”
    I smile and say hello. I guess I’ll always be grateful to Klein in some way. He’s not my type, but he’s exactly what I needed two years ago. He made me forget what had happened to Donovan and also those months at Juniper Hill. But most importantly, he made me forget about Trent.
    Trent, who was five years older, eighteen to my thirteen. Trent Miller, who told me he loved me and wanted to be with me and made me believe every word he said about us. Trent Ryan Miller, who just up and left one day, who was never to be heard from again, who the shrinks decided was a big part of the reason I ended up at Juniper Hill in the first place. That is, when they weren’t busy blaming ballet.
    Klein was sloppy, but he was sweet and always treated me like I was the best-looking girl in the room. He still does, so long as his girlfriend’s not around. As if she knows I’m thinking about her, Trisha wanders in a few moments later, all glassy eyes and fashionably unbrushed hair. Trisha is tall and thin, but not the type of thin that makes people want to send you away.
    â€œHi, Theo,” she says in this faraway voice. “It’s really amazing about Donovan. I sat behind him in fourth grade. Remember? We did that science fair project with the rain gauge.”
    I don’t, but I