Part 83 (2/2)

to drum such pagan nonsense as monsters out of young girls' heads. But

again, if she dreamed of that night, as she did when she was ill or

upset, she remembered the terror of walking down the dark hall, the

sounds all around, the dark monsters holding Darren as he cried and

struggled. She remembered falling.

And when she awoke, she would remember nothing at all.

Marianne came through the door in an exaggerated stagger. She held out

her hands. ”Ruined.” She dropped backward onto her bed. ”What French

count would want to kiss them now?”

”Rough going?” Emma asked, struggling not to grin.

”Five bathrooms. Disgusting. Ugh. When I get out of this joint, I'm

going to have a housekeeper for my housekeeper.” She rolled over on her

stomach, crossing her ankles in the air. Emma only smiled, enjoying the

sound of Marianne's brisk American voice. ”I heard Mary Jane

Witherspoon talking to Teresa O'Malley. She's going to do it with her

boyfriend when she goes home this summer.”

”Who?”

”I dunno. His name's Chuck or Huck or something.”

”No, I mean Mary Jane or Teresa?”

”Mary Jane, you dork. She's sixteen and built.”

Emma frowned down at her own flat chest. She wondered if she'd have

b.o.o.bs to speak of when she hit sixteen. And if she'd have a boyfriend

to do it with.

”What if she gets pregnant like Susan did last spring?”

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