Part 16 (2/2)
Day Six Mile 93 Peter didn't know what he had said to offend her. ”I'm writing,” she told him.
”I brought you another margarita.”
”No thank you.”
Peter shrugged, and took a sip himself. ”You eat yet?”
”No.”
”Why not?”
”I'm not hungry. I'm trying to write,” she reminded him. She waved her notebook, but Peter sat down anyway.
”Oh my G.o.d, are you blind?”
Peter handed the mug to Amy. Amy set it on the sand and hugged her notebook to her chest, as though trying to prevent him from peeking. He kept forgetting she was only seventeen, and then she'd do something like this, like someone in fifth grade.
”So when are you going to put the moves on Dixie?” Amy said.
”Excuse me?”
”It's so so obvious.” obvious.”
Peter snorted. ”Dixie's got a boyfriend.”
”So what?”
”Well, maybe I will, and maybe I won't.”
”Are you scared? What, are you a virgin or something?”
”What do you think? Are you?” you?” As soon as he said it, he kicked himself. Can of worms! Change the subject! Sure enough, Amy tucked her pen between the pages of her journal. She squinted at JT, who was working in his boat. As soon as he said it, he kicked himself. Can of worms! Change the subject! Sure enough, Amy tucked her pen between the pages of her journal. She squinted at JT, who was working in his boat.
”Tell me about your first time,” she said. ”How old were you?”
”Are you serious? I am definitely not having this discussion,” he said. ”There are laws against this.”
”Did you like her?”
”Like I said. Not having this discussion.”
”I'll ask Mitch.e.l.l then,” said Amy, and she waved to Mitch.e.l.l, who hesitated, unsure of the invitation.
”Oh, for Christ's sake. Fine,” Peter said in a low voice. ”It sucked.”
”Why?”
”She cried.”
”I was too drunk to cry,” she said. ”Would you f.u.c.k a girl who was drunk?”
”Jesus!”
”Would you?”
”What do you think?” think?”
Amy was silent.
”You going to elaborate?” he demanded.
”No.”
”Good. Because I don't want you to.”
”Good.”
”Then we're in agreement.”
”We are.”
”Good.” Peter carried his plate over to the wash table, sc.r.a.ped it clean, dunked it through the series of buckets. Then, against his better judgment but motivated by some vague sense of brotherly concern that p.i.s.sed him off yet couldn't be ignored, he returned to the spot where Amy was sitting. He kept his voice low.
”You shouldn't let yourself get drunk like that. Guys can be a.s.sholes, you know.”
”Thanks for the tip.”
He was definitely angry now-at himself, at Amy. He didn't want to be hearing any of this, yet he couldn't walk away.
”What got you in such a p.i.s.sy mood back there with Jill?”
For the first time in all of this conversation, she turned and faced him. ”Because you shouldn't go telling people you know what high school is like for me! You have no idea what high school is like for me!”
”And this has something to do with your getting drunk?”
”No clue at all,” she continued.
”Sorry.”
”Absolutely no clue.”
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