"Ben Jeapes - Pages Out Of Order" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jeapes Ben)

disdainful.
"Boys will be boys," he said. I was angry.
"Doesn't it bother you?" I demanded. "Just for a little drink--"
"If they didn't want to go," he said, "all they had to do was not get
drunk. And as for getting in to intensive care, nearly getting yourself
killed, using up a good hospital bed which someone deserving might need
..." Then he grabbed my shoulders and looked me straight in the eyes.
"Will, promise me now, you'll never, ever be so stupid, right?"
"Well, I ... I mean ..." I stammered.
"Promise!"
"Sure, I promise."
And it was a safe promise. I'd never been drunk in my life and I wasn't a
rebel. I didn't go out of my way to break the rules.
Then I had more important things on my mind, like "O" levels. I'd first
heard of these mystical institutions when I was eight, which meant I had
been dreading them for half my life. The crucial bits of paper that would
affect the rest of my time on this world. Never mind your degree or your
"A" levels or even just practical experience -- without a good crop of
"O"s, no prospective employer will even look at you. When you've had that
hammered into you for half of your existence, getting through them is
worth celebrating.
Which a group of us did, with a couple of bottles of whisky. Don't ask me
where it came from. I just remember being flattered by the invitation to
join a group of the lads who had got the magical fluid from somewhere. We
retired behind the bushes in the park and drank it.
Choose your friends. I passed out first and they left me there.
I was woken up by Tom, shaking me.
"Will! Will, for fuck's sake, Will!" He slapped me, hard, and it didn't
hurt a bit. He was muttering to himself, something like:
"Too late, Melton, too fucking late--"
The fact that this was the first time in ages that I had seen Tom worked
up about anything, or even swearing, failed to register. I looked blearily
up at both of him and burst out laughing.
"I'm pissed!" I squealed, and fell onto my back, quivering with mirth. It
was the funniest thing ever.
"Will, you berk," he said more softly, and pulled me to my feet. He
supported me back to the house.
"Wha'going?" I demanded.
"Back to the study for some coffee. The housemaster's on the prowl and
he's not going to find you. He's not."
"The housemaster!" I called. "Hello, Bugsy! I've ... hee, hee, hee, I've
had a whole bottle ..." I collapsed laughing again, dragging Tom down.
He got me to the study with the help of a passing third former. The kettle
had just boiled.
"Drink," he ordered, thrusting a cup of coffee into my hands. I sipped it
reluctantly.
"Tastes soapy," I objected.
"That's because you're pissed. Finish it."
I shrugged and did as he said.
"Still soapy." He looked thoughtful.