What We Saw by Aaron Hartzler Read Free Book Online Page A

officially redacted.” I grab my purse and look pointedly at Rachel. “I better not be in any others.”
    â€œI swear. You’re not.”
    â€œDon’t worry.” Christy drapes her arm around my shoulders. “You left before the party got moved to the basement.”
    â€œThe basement?”
    Rachel turns the phone toward me. “I can’t believe you haven’t seen this yet.”
    Greg Watts’s Instagram feed. A shot of Deacon with a girl slung over one of his shoulders. I remember my dad hauling me around like this when I was a kid, playing in the backyard. Oh, look! I found a sack of potatoes. Mmmm! These’ll be good eatin’ . . . I’d giggle and squeal as he tromped around, his arm wrapped firmly behind my knees, the blood rushing to my face.
    The girl in this picture is Stacey, and she is clearly not giggling. She’s only wearing a bra and her tiny black skirt, and she doesn’t even look conscious. Her mouth lolls open, eyes closed, arms hang limp. She’s bent at the waist, tossed over Deacon’sshoulder, his chin resting on her butt, his arm clamped across her upper thighs.
    Dooney is in the picture, too, squatting down behind Deacon, holding Stacey’s hair out of her face, making a goofy look meant to mimic hers: tongue stuck out, eyes rolled back in his head. And over it all, Deacon’s bright grin, a smile on the verge of a laugh: inviting, warm, funny—just like him, usually—but somehow that smile doesn’t seem to match this picture.
    â€œWhere’s her top?” I ask.
    â€œStill in the corner of Dooney’s rec room, I’m guessing,” says Rachel.
    â€œAlong with her dignity,” agrees Lindsey.
    Rachel grabs my shoulder and turns me to face her. “Speaking of tops, is that new?”
    â€œOh yeah. It was a birthday present.”
    Grandma Clark sent it to me last month along with a card that had a unicorn on it. It’s just a cotton blouse from the Gap—probably the clearance rack at the outlet near her condo. She doesn’t always get it right, but this one fits perfectly, and the deep emerald green brings out the slightest hint of red in my hair.
    â€œYou saved it since your birthday?” Lindsey is incredulous. “But it’s so cute.”
    â€œTotally,” agrees Rachel. “Really shows off your rack. But not in a slutty sort of way.”
    Dooney and Deacon have their faces buried in separate phones now, thumbs tapping like mad. Above us, Ben catchesmy eye as he starts down the stairs. He flips his chin up once in my direction and winks. I smile back.
    Lindsey catches the whole thing. “Oh, I get it,” she says. “You just needed someone to wear it for.”
    Rachel looks over her shoulder and sees Ben at his locker. “Right? Hey, Kate, Ben talking to anybody lately?”
    â€œStop it, you guys.”
    Christy catches on and her eyes narrow. “Heard about your little walk in the park yesterday. Or was it a nap?”
    â€œWe are just friends.”
    The warning bell rings: two minutes before first period starts. Actually, I should say the “tone sounds.” Over winter break, Principal Hargrove replaced the aging standard metal bells and clappers at Coral Sands High with a new system that plays a bizarre electronic beep to signal the beginning and end of each class period. Rachel says it’s a perfect concert B-flat. She can tune her flute to it at the beginning of band. Regardless, it’s been three months and it still makes me jump every time.
    â€œI will never get used to that,” I groan.
    â€œMe neither,” says Lindsey.
    â€œWhy can’t it be a nice prerecorded voice?” Rachel demonstrates, sounding like one of those golf commentators on TV: “Ladies and gentlemen, first period will begin in two minutes. Please proceed to your homeroom . ”
    The four of us are laughing as we walk into geology. Ben