| OCR Text |
Show Inside Out, 207 "Some guys were in here the other day trying to get her to say she'd go to the party. I think it's at the one named Russel's house." Russel. Russel Anderson? That must be him. But I didn't know where he lived. I thought of a phonebook. But there had to be hundreds of Andersons in Salt Lake City. "I don't suppose you know where he lives," I said without much hope. "Nope. Sorry," said Pete. The student directory would tell his address. Why hadn't I thought to bring it with me? It would take less time to go back home and look in the directory than to go through all the Andersons in the phonebook. I ran out to my bike, calling, "Thanks, Pete!" over my shoulder. I pedaled as fast as I could, hoping that after a few minutes of exertion my muscles would be warm enough to counteract the icy air. It was a strange feeling, flying through the night. Everything was vivid, piercing. I felt more alive than I ever had, there on the verge of losing everything. I breathed easily and lost myself in the exhilaration of the cold, bright stars and my pumping legs. By the time I reached home I had decided it was no use trying to sneak into the house and back out again without being noticed. I needed to just tell Dad. They were all sitting around the television watching The Sound of Music. "Hey, Andli!" Leslie called as I walked in. "Come watch with us. It's a tradition in my family to watch this movie every year on the night before Thanksgiving." "You know how the tradition started, don't you?" Emma asked Leslie. "Years ago, before dvd players and vers, we had to watch movies on the night they were shown. |
