Free Cuts Like a Knife by Darlene Ryan Page A

all-time favorite. Maybe that did mean something. At the time, I thought it was just a donut. Maybe I was wrong.
    â€œSo where were you all day?” she asked after the coffee and both donuts were gone.
    I leaned my head back against the rough shingles and closed my eyes. “Helping my mother clean out the basement,” I said. I wouldn’t have said that to anyone else, but I knew Mac wouldn’t make fun of me.
    â€œThat’s nice,” she said. I felt her lean back against the wall too.
    â€œYou going over to the school later to work on your composition?” I asked after a moment. “Hanson said he’d be there so we can get into the music room.”
    â€œNope. I’m done.”
    I opened my eyes wide and turned to look at her. “What do you mean you’re done? How the hell can you be done?”
    Mac’s face was tipped up to the sky like she was soaking up the sun, except there really wasn’t any. About two weeks ago she’d suddenly cut off all her long red hair for a short, chopped cut with messy bangs. I was still getting used to it.
    â€œI mean I’m done. Fini . Completo . I wrote out the rest of the music. I recorded it. I burned the cd. I’m done.”
    The composition project was half of our term music mark. I couldn’t believe Mac was finished while I was still struggling to get the notes on paper—that is, if I’d actually had any music in my head to write down.
    I let my head fall back against the wall again and stared up into the gray April sky. “Friday, you weren’t any further ahead than I am. What did you do? Spend the whole day in the music room?”
    I felt her shrug beside me. “Last night, mostly,” she said.
    â€œYou lie,” I said, letting my eyes slide sideways so I could see her without moving my head. “There was a dance last night, so Hanson would have been in the gym making sure none of the guys on the hockey team were drinking or putting their hands down some girl’s thong.”
    Her lips twitched with a hint of a smile. “Great visual, Danny Boy. But just so you know, some of us don’t go for the butt-floss look.”
    I reached over and gave her shoulder a shove. “Yeah, well, thanks for that visual, Mac.”
    She grinned, but she kept her head against the brown shingles, and her eyes stayed closed.
    I stretched my legs across the wooden deck and slid down until the back of my head was the only thing still against the building. “Seriously, how’d you get into the music room?”
    â€œMaybe I broke in. Maybe I picked the lock with a paperclip and a toothpick. Maybe I swiped pointy-faced Mrs. Robinson’s keys. Or maybe…”
    She let the word hang in the air for a long moment. “Maybe Mr. Hanson went in to get a guitar, because some suck-up suggested he sit in with the band for a song. And maybe he didn’t lock up behind himself the way he should have.”
    She opened her eyes then and jumped to her feet. “C’mon, Danny Boy,” she said, jerking her head toward the steps. “Let’s go.”
    â€œWhat are you on?” I said, squinting up at her. “I spent all day hauling boxes of crap that came from my grandparents’ house out of the basement of my parents’ house. Leave me alone. Let me sleep.”
    I closed my eyes, but she bent down, grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet. Mac was kinda short—she only came up to my shoulder—but she was strong. I could feel her fingers digging into my wrist through my sweatshirt, and I pretty much had to go with her, because she wasn’t letting go and I was going to fall on my ass going down those stairs if I didn’t keep up.

Chapter Two
    â€œWhere are we going?” I said as Mac cut across the grass, headed for the hill that led down to the street.
    She’d let go of my arm, and I was following her, mostly because what the hell else did I have