Marianne by Elizabeth Hammer (best books to read in life TXT) 📕

she was, and quickly became offended and almost nervous. He was old, and she was obviously not. Plus, it might have been just an urban legend, but she’d heard that those places had sex rooms with whips, and drinks called Embalming Fluid, and all sorts of nastiness. She didn’t reply and just bolted out the door.

She speed-walked back to Fantasyland, checking behind her the whole way for lurking warlocks. She met Sally in the princess restroom where she’d left her. Sally, Georgia, and herself had been riding all the fairytale rides, but Georgia needed a cranberry juice break. Marianne was fully in with all the Goths now that she was dressing out. More than in; she was cool. And strangest of all, Georgia seemed to be campaigning to be her new sidekick, copying everything Marianne said and did.

She found the girls camped out in the handicapped stall. Georgia let Marianne in and latched the door behind her. Georgia was punk tonight—blue hair, riveted bracelets, and squares of fabric with band logos pinned all over her jacket. “So, um, Marianne,” said Georgia. “We’re trying to decide what kinds of guys are hottest. Goth, Punk, Jocks...”

Marianne sat down on the floor, ignoring the unseen filth, and sighed at Georgia. All the new friendliness aside, Georgia still drove her crazy sometimes. “Do you talk about anything but subculture?”

“Oh, come on,” she said, unruffled. “Just play.” Nothing Marianne did ruffled her tonight. Georgia was either really bigoted and only liked Marianne because she was weird like herself now, or she was really insecure and finally felt accepted by Marianne. Marianne knew which one it was, but she didn’t want to admit it. Then she might have to actually like Georgia.

“Fine,” said Marianne, opening her coffee to cool. “What have you gone over, already?”

Sally laughed her cute, bell-like laugh and smoothed down the ruffles of her flowing black and red gown. “I said gay guys. Hands down.”

Marianne smiled. “Yeah, that’s just because you love pain. It doesn’t have anything to do with looks.”

“I beg to differ,” said Sally, holding up a finger. “Have you seen that new guy, Jason, at school?”

“Well, okay,” said Marianne. “He’s pretty cute, but come on.”

Georgia was sitting on her legs and bounced once. “I said skaters.”

Of course she did. Marianne turned to impale Sally with her eyes. She’d obviously spilled about Patrick.

Sally winked at her and teased her orange ratted hair.

Georgia took a drink of her vodka cranberry juice and set it down next to her. “Here, I brought extra,” she said, getting another two bottles from her bag. She handed a bottle to both Sally and Marianne.

Marianne took it just to be nice. “Well, I think skaters are the hottest, of course. But you’ve gotta mention soldiers and cops.”

“Oh, now who’s not in it for the looks?” said Sally. “I mean, they’re buff and heroic and all. But the haircuts, Marianne. Come on.”

“Cop-staches are classic,” said Marianne. “You can’t judge classic. You’re right, though, it’s not about looks for me.”

Georgia sighed. “Yeah. Me, neither.”

Marianne wanted to roll her eyes so badly that she opened the cranberry juice and took a drink just for something to do. Plus, she was supposed to be kissing off the world tonight. Alcohol was a good way to do that.

“Good, huh?” said Georgia.

Marianne held up the bottle and looked at it. “Not bad at all. Better than I thought it would be, anyway.”

“Here.” Sally tossed over her own bottle. “Go for it. I’ll drive.”

“I...” Marianne started to shake her head and then stopped. Never mind. She downed half her bottle as fast as she could.

“That bad, huh?” asked Sally.

“What?” Marianne rasped out.

“Did Patrick dump you or something?”

“No.” Marianne shrugged. “He’s just out of town again and I’m insanely bored.”

“Love jonesing!” said Georgia, in a gruff, manly voice.

“Oh, Marianne doesn’t love him,” said Sally, wagging her finger at Georgia in a very teacher-ish way. “Don’t say that. She gets very irritated.”

“You love him!” said Georgia, in that manly voice again.

“Enough,” said Marianne, crossing her arms.

Sally leaned over and picked up Marianne’s bottle. She put it in Marianne’s hand. “Drink the rest of that. Then we’ll talk.”

Marianne shook her head and obeyed.

An hour later, the girls had moved to the Frontierland smoking section, and Marianne had finished her second bottle of cranberry juice. They were sitting on wooden benches, surrounded by fake concrete rocks and stump-shaped ashtrays. Georgia had taken all the fabric squares off her jacket and pinned them all over Marianne’s skirt. Marianne was sober enough to know how stupid she looked and sober enough to appreciate how amazing it was that she didn’t care. “Vodka is my new boyfriend,” she said, snatching Sally’s clove away and taking it for herself.

Sally pulled out another cigarette and lit it. “That’s fine. Just don’t marry him like Georgia.”

“Nope,” said Marianne, smiling. “I’m going to marry Patrick Devlin. You know... if he doesn’t leave me.”

Georgia giggled at the word “marry.” Her style made her look harsh, but she was actually a sap. “Are you gonna change your name to Marianne Devlin?”

Marianne laughed and blew out her smoke. “Honey, I’d change my name to Patrick Devlin if they’d let me. Or if… you know… it wouldn’t be super confusing.”

Georgia leaned forward in her seat—a little too far, though, so she must have been drunk, too. “But no, really. Is it, like, really serious? Does he love you?”

“Yes.” Marianne looked at her cigarette and frowned. “No. Well, yes. I don’t know.”

Sally choked on her smoke. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It’s private,” mumbled Marianne. She leaned forward in her seat and looked down at the concrete that was supposed to look like dirt. She sighed. “He says he loves me. He does love me,” she said more firmly. “I just don’t... I just don’t like it for some reason.”

Georgia wrinkled her nose. “I know what you mean. Once you actually get them to love you it gets boring.”

“No.” Marianne looked up in shock.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Georgia, shrugging.