"Christopher Pike - Weekend" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pike Christopher)

busted for smoking dope, they got depressed and made fools of themselves over meaningless crushes,
they got lousy grades and hated their parents. But they didn't die, not in his world. They couldn't die
slowly and take a piece of him with them. God, how he hated himself for having left her for Angie! But
what could he do? He simply couldn't handle it. Was this the real reason he identified with Ryan O'Neal's
character inLove Story ? What can you say about an eighteen-year-old girl who died...

Park kicked the flat tyre. "What the hell. I don't care if we ever get there."

Sol went right on reading his mind. Blowing smoke in his face, he said, "You're such a wimp."

"Just because I won't go back across the border with you and your stash?"

"Who said I picked up anything? But don't change the subject. A real man would stand by his babe
when she's in a tight spot. Robin's a great chick. She gets in trouble and you dump her." Sol spat.

"You should talk," Park snapped, throwing all caution aside. "What about Kerry and tight spots?"

"That was not the same. Kerry got humiliated, and we all felt bad for her, but it was only a joke. Dying
is... it's no joke." He added quietly, "I know."

Park wondered at the change in his tone. Probably a memory of a friend stuck with a bloody knife had
surfaced. Park pulled off his shirt, and wiped the sweat from his face. "I'll have a talk with her," he said.

"If that's the best you can do, then do it."

Park wanted to change the subject. Peering in the direction of the canteen, he remarked: "What are
those guys doing? They've been gone awhile."

"Probably getting drunk."

"I don't think Flynn drinks."

"Bert will down enough beer to make up for him."

"Hey, Sol, what do you think of that Flynn?"

"I don't think he's a wimp."

"Give me a break, would ya?"
 Sol patted his cheek lightly. Up close, Sol's features were thick and fearsome; however Park had to
admit he was probably handsome. Strangely enough, he looked part Slavic -- his mouth especially,
which was large and sensual. Also, his dark hair had a hint of red, and fine curls that girls loved to run
their fingers through. But his sharp black eyes, his calculating expressions, and swollen, tattooed biceps
were clearly from the wrong side of the tracks.

"Okay, Preppy," he said. "I don't know nothing about him. He hardly talks. And besides, who cares?"

"I sometimes wonder about him. He looks -- it's weird - he looks familiar."

"Yeah, now that you mention it," Sol said thoughtfully, then shrugging. "But who cares?"