kiss peter. @winterbarger.
DERRY'S WORSE PAST CURFEW, though he'd hardly thought it possible before he'd ended up on a joyride past ten in the camaro, worry humming acutely under his fingertips and the dark a loomin' infallible presence whisperin' filth and terror into his right ear. it'd been a good night for cruising and forcing the engine to the end of its tether, whistlin' jaunty at girls stranded out in the rousin' storm, and that's how he'd found her out by the old neibolt house, a pale slip in the oily dark. ( CLEVER PETER, SWEET PETER. ) ( picking up girls outta the-- the good of his heart as the rain comes down hard and the gutters retch out all derry's secrets onto the flat open road. )
THEY DON'T TALK. ( not really. ) that's fine -- he doesn't know this chick ( SWEET LAURIE WINTERBARGER who wants you like a raccoon stuck in a trap wants to chew its own damn leg off for an out ) or anything about her, save for the fact that she's one of the older chicks in DERRY HIGH, a senior wrought haggard and miserable by scares subtler, more insidious, than his typical HORROR - FLICK FARE / that she startles like a damn rabbity thing when he puts his hand on the back of her seat to get a good look out the back window, like she's waiting on him to -- HIT HER, or slip a curious hand down her collar, or, or something fucked-up. he ends up asking ' you alright? ', painfully aware she's not of the MANHATTAN POSSE he was raised around. boyhood spent flittin' between DERRY OF THE SQUALID AND SORDID and TOOTH - FILLED, TOOTHSOME, WEST BROADWAY taught him to keep his fingers outta the nooks and crannies of things lest he find something he may not like. ' you okay? ' he asks. she looks at him funny.
laurie winterbarger looks like she's been taught somethin' different-- like she's been taught somethin' damn frightful. so they don't talk, save for pleasantries, ( ' what're you doing out this late? ' ' i -- ' ' your date stand you up, huh? your man? TOP GUY, i'll bet. ' ' fuck off, gordon, really. ' ) peter bitching about marcia going on a bender, his summer, his sister, --dear thing-- the occasional give of gravel to pavement under his wheels the only sign they're GOING SOMEWHERE and not just scratchin' wide loopin' tire marks 'round derry. somewhere along the line he gets his leg leaned against hers, sodden, an easy - lax thing passing for a smile playing at her taciturn mouth, his fingers and her foot drummin' along to yes' crooning about lonely hearts. they're at the halfway point of the guitar solo, crawlin' down a street that might be hers at a damn snail's pace when she kisses him.
laurie winterbarger does not kiss like she wants anything out of it. CHASTE seems to be the way to go, here; peter does his best to kiss-- careful, hand skimmin' her jaw, careful not to bruise. A REAL PEACH, this winterbarger girl, a wary thing of cold dim dread rolling under his fingertips each time the thunder CRACKS outside. the song's closing when he smiles against her, grinning a boy, MERRY despite the oppressive dark.
' real bad date, i'll guess. '
