The Party by Christopher Pike Read Free Book Online Page B

She had long black hair tied back in a ponytail that reached to her waist.
    “Oh.” She put in her change, made her selection. A can of orange soda popped out below. “What do you need?”
    “Nothing, I wasn’t that thirsty.” He was dying for a drink. “Thanks, anyway.”
    “No,” she said, glancing up at him with big, lustrous eyes, a serious, perhaps sad, expression. “I have change.”
    Nick shrugged. “I need a quarter.”
    She reached in her tiny purse. “I have three dimes.”
    He took out his dime and three nickels. This was all the money he had in the world. He’d gone without lunch. This was another reason he needed a job in a hurry. He had to buy almost all his own food. He took her dimes and bought his Coke, giving her back the spare nickel. “Thanks,” he said, opening the can, shifting nervously on his feet. She was staring at him,
    “Do you know you’re bleeding?” she asked finally.
    He touched the side of his head. It had started again. “It’s nothing. I cut it.”
    “Does it hurt?”
    “No. A little. It will stop in a minute.”
    She went to touch the area. He recoiled automatically, and she quickly withdrew her hand. “I’m sorry,” she said.
    “It’s really nothing,” he said quickly.
    “You were in a fight, weren’t you?”
    He began to shake his head, stopped. “Yes, I was.”
    Her next question caught him off guard. “Did you win?”
    “I don’t think he’ll want to fight me again.”
    She offered her hand. l’m Maria Gonzales. You’re Nick, aren’t you?”
    He shook her hand briefly. Her skin was cool, very soft. “How did you know?”
    “I’ve watched you this week. You walk from one place to another. You never talk to anyone. I did that when I first got here.”
    She had a strong Spanish accent. He wondered if she had only recently come into the United States. He’d had experience with a variety of ethnic groups in his old neighborhood. He suspected she wasn’t from Mexico, but from farther south, from El Salvador or Nicaragua. “I don’t know many people here,” he said.
    “Do you know anybody?”
    “I know the name of the guy who threw me into the mirror.”
    She smiled faintly. She had deep red heartshaped lips, smooth high cheeks untouched by makeup. Her pink dress hung loose and cool but he could tell she had a fine figure. She had a freshness about her he had seldom seen in his old neighborhood. She had probably led a clean life.
    “And I bet he knows your name,” she said.
    Nick smiled, too, pleased with himself for having made a mildly funny remark, and happy to be talking to someone who was kind. Yet at the same time he felt the sudden urge to curtail the conversation. Perhaps he wanted to quit while he was ahead. Maybe he didn’t think he was good enough to be talking to someone like Maria.
    “Nice meeting you,” he mumbled, backing up a step. “I better be going.”
    “Do you take the bus home?”
    “No.”
    “Oh, you have a car?”
    He stopped. The truth sounded so poor. “Not really.”
    “Where do you live?”
    In a shack.
    “Near Houston and Second.”
    “I live over that way. You don’t walk home every day, do you?”
    “Sometimes I hitch a ride.” No one had picked him up so far.
    “You should take the bus. There’s one coming in about ten minutes. You shouldn’t be walking home after getting hit like that on the head.”
    The urge to get away intensified. He felt exposed, as though any second this girl was going to see something repulsive in him. He took another step back. “I’ll be all right. I’ve got to go. Thanks again for the Coke.”
    “Take care of yourself, Nick.”
    He hurried off the campus, walking in the direction of the mall. He didn’t understand it. She had sounded concerned about him.

Chapter Four
    Sara Cantrell approached the soda machines seconds after Maria Gonzales and Nick Grutler finished talking. Sara was feeling pretty good. She was glad she had spoken her mind about the candidates in