Marigold by Heather Manheim (best books for 8th graders .TXT) 📕

had access to things—there were ways. Namaguchi was a lead person, and he had got the wine for his wedding to Ana and kept the leftover bottles. When he started coming to the bunker, he brought the bottles, too. Quinn said he did not care if others drank them; there were plenty, and they were there for whoever wanted them. “I’ll pour you some Riesling to try. It is very appealing. Almost everyone likes it.”

Davis watched as Quinn pulled out a glass and poured in a golden-hued elixir. Davis took a sip of the cool, syrupy liquid. She flinched at first, jerked her head back, and squinted like she had no idea what was coming because she hadn’t. But, after a second, she took another sip. Something was intriguing about it to her, something fascinating and inviting that Davis had never had before. It felt like it was warming her up from the inside out. She took another sip.

Before Davis knew it, they had moved to the dining table in the other room, and about an hour had passed. Davis too quickly had drunk two glasses of this wine, and now, Quinn was pouring her another. They were giggling; Davis, who had never really had any friends, felt a certain kinship with this young girl. Davis started to fight back the tears. She did not know what would make her cry, but she felt very emotional and worked up suddenly. “You know, um, you know…you are very nice, you know. What a nice young girl, you girl.” Davis had meant the words to come out smoothly and be a nice compliment, but they seemed slurred and messed up. She wasn’t even entirely sure where she had messed up the words but knew they were not right after saying them. Davis crossed her eyes, her face showing her confusion over her words.

Quinn looked surprised at first, and Davis felt sheepish and silly, glowing hot in the cheeks and wishing she hadn’t said it. Davis started to apologize when Quinn, giggling, said, “That’s very nice! By the way, when was the last time you ate? I think you may need some food in your stomach. Especially since you’ve never drunk alcohol before!”

“Um…luuuunch? Or…um, yes, I ate last at lunch!”

“Okay, I’m going to get some food; you wait here,” said Quinn, giggling like crazy.

When Quinn came back, Cricket was next to her. “Hey-o!!!” Cricket gave a wave and called out to Davis before sitting down next to Quinn. Cricket explained she had been bored over in her bunker and was wandering about, exploring when she thought she’d pop over here and see if anyone else was still up. Quinn had mentioned the wine, and it didn’t take Cricket a second of thought to agree. Before she knew it, Davis was drinking with two new friends—if you could call them friends. Davis had never really had any real girlfriends but assumed this was what it felt like as they were laughing, chatting, and giggling. What an odd sensation, Davis thought; she had always wondered how it would feel to have girlfriends. To sit, talk about something or nothing even. To connect and feel love and be loved, just for who you are, not doing anything specific. As Davis was pondering, Ana walked in. “Am I interrupting something?”

“NO!” said Quinn, and Davis noticed her cheeks blushed hotly. Quinn slid down the bench more, creating a space between her and Cricket and created a place for Ana to sit down. “I was just hanging out with the ladies. Having some wine and snacks.”

“Oh, I came by your room to ask you something and was startled to see you were not there with it being so late,” said Ana blushing. “I would love to join you guys if that’s okay?”

Quinn was then pouring wine into a fourth glass, and before she knew it, Davis was drinking with three new friends. If this is what friends are, that nagging thought in the back of her head that she wasn’t entirely sure persisted. Davis decided to test the water to see if this was indeed friendship and was glad that she had started slowing down drinking wine and was drinking more water. Davis had also been nibbling on the veggies and bread Quinn had put out. Davis assumed it was because of this she was feeling a bit more stable and less dizzy and silly. “So,” she said, sounding sleepy, “Something has been bothering me, and I know my words are failing me a bit tonight, but I think I need you to know. Yes. I think.”

“You can tell us whatever you want,” Quinn replied kindly and delicately.

“I just need a few moments to compose my thoughts.”

Davis took a good drink of water and popped a few nuts in her mouth. She was trying to think but also calm herself down as much as she could before speaking. Davis was aware that everyone was trying hard not to stare at her, making small looks and saying the occasional word to each other. As Davis continued to relax around everyone, she reached into a bowl on the table—Quinn called them chips, said they were sliced-thin potatoes and baked crisp. Davis found those were quite tasty. As eating and drinking water had made her feel better, eventually, she discovered she had kept doing it mindlessly. Finally, Davis realized that she had paused for a ridiculously long time before telling her story, so she started, “Well, um, this is difficult. But I have these nightmares. Um, scary stuff. A boy, reaching out, screaming from the dark. To me.”

“Well, we all have bad dreams sometimes, as unsettling as it can be, everything is all right,” offered Cricket helpfully. She also reached across the table and patted Davis’s hand, which struck Davis oddly. The move felt motherly, and Cricket was anything but motherly.

“Yeah, I guess. But, hmmm, what to say. Well, the thing is, I know where the nightmare came from, and I’m responsible