The Cave Dwellers Christina McDowell (top 10 inspirational books .TXT) 📖

Bunny looks at the photograph. “Oh, shit, that’s Linda Williams.”

“You know her?” Mackenzie asks, intrigued.

“My mom knows her, they belong to our club. My mom does not like that woman. She says she’s a gossip, doesn’t trust her.… Your sister slays.”

“I think my mom wants to belong to your club because she keeps showing me pictures.”

“Interesting,” Bunny says with enthusiastic skepticism.

Later that evening, when Betsy picks up Mackenzie from her so-called playdate with Bunny, she asks, “So, how did you like Mrs. Bartholomew?” To which Mackenzie replies, “She was lovely. But she thinks Mrs. Williams is a gossip and not to be trusted.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Spring Valley, the “suburb” of the district, home to newscasters and lobbyists, lawyers and partners at Deloitte, was built on top of WWI bombs and a chemical weapons testing site. Before the gray stone mansions, swimming pools, and swing sets, it was an open valley scattered with buried canisters—chemical mortar rounds and 75-millimeter shells of mustard gas, a lethal substance that causes internal and external bleeding, blisters, and blindness. It was a year before the murders that Mr. Cowan, Chase’s dad, was mowing his lawn one Saturday morning when Lincoln, their black Lab, began yelping and whining at the orange plastic fence of the construction site next door for the soon-to-be nine-thousand-square-foot mansion for some diplomat. Mr. Cowan looked at Lincoln to find liquid coming out of his eyes and mouth. Most families agreed to move out after that, to have the ground around their houses inspected for more bombs. Not the Cowans, afraid the value of their house would go down. Men in orange hazmat suits would wave from across the fence each morning while Mr. Cowan sipped his coffee and read the Washington Post. He still has his safe room equipped with the lie detector where he will occasionally ask Chase if he’s addicted to drugs or stolen any of his money.

Marty, Stan, and Billy are hunched over Chase’s laptop. The safe room is covered in blankets and pillows and there’s an old television set up for video games; four controllers take up most of the floor space, and it smells like sweaty gym bags. Add in the metal door with gadgets and bolted locks, and it’s a cross between a teenage boy’s man cave and solitary confinement.

“Watch this, it’s going to change your life,” says Chase. Stan pulls a bottle of Everclear from his backpack, takes a swig, then passes it to Billy. Chase logs into a private Vimeo account. Marty slides his glasses up his nose and inches closer to the screen as a young brunette makes her way over to a four-posted canopy bed.

“We’re going to Paris, baby.” Chase laughs. The girl, in her school uniform, green plaid skirt, white collared shirt, Adidas, unclasps her bra from under her shirt and throws it on the floor, her nipples poking through cotton. She places herself on the bed and lifts up her right leg so you can see her pink underwear. This is not a girl from St. Peter’s Academy. This is a girl from the all-girls Holden Farms, which the boys from the all-boys school call Ho-town Farms as though they themselves were exempt from any fuck-boy titles. Her father is a weapons dealer and spends most of the year in the Middle East; she most often serves along the lines of an expense report rather than a daughter.

She settles into the pillow as a jock steps into the frame wearing a number seventeen jersey.

“Dude, is that Kevin Dallinger?” asks Billy.

“Sure is,” replies Marty, “it’s your boy!” He pats Billy on the back. Kevin is on the rival baseball team.

“That little fucking slut,” Billy whispers at the computer, referring to Kevin, “let’s see those ginger pubes.”

Stan starts laughing uncontrollably as they watch Kevin on-screen pull down his pants, then climb onto the bed. “I can’t, I can’t!” Stan doubles over.

“Wait for it, wait for it…” Chase’s enthusiasm catches fire; he pinches the tip of his crotch, scooting closer to his laptop. “We’re goin’ to the Eiffel Tower, baby!”

The recording shakes on-screen. The person filming sets the camera down on the fireplace mantel, creating a full frontal shot of the queen-size bed.

As the jock reveals himself on camera, Billy, Stan, and Marty—in unison—cup their hands over their mouths and yell, “Ohhhh!!!”

“No fuckin’ way is that Danny Davis, I fuckin’ knew he was gay.” Billy fist-bumps Marty as if they had a bet going. Stan takes another swig of Everclear, then pulls a Juul out of his pocket and takes a hit.

The girl removes her pink underwear, flinging it across the room, and gets on all fours as Kevin positions himself on his knees in front of her. Danny climbs onto the bed, naked, and positions himself behind her, creating the appearance of a girl/boy Eiffel Tower, the girl at its center, the bridge, as she blows Kevin and allows Danny to take her from behind.

Chase falls over laughing. “It’s so good!”

“Yo, Billy, I wanna do Eiffel Tower with you and Bunny.” Stan does a little dance.

“Fuck you, dude.… My Eiffel Tower days are over,” Billy says, feigning old-man wisdom.

“Oh, your Eiffel Tower days? As if you had any?” Marty calls bullshit and laughs. “You wish, man.”

“Oh yeah, you’ve never even been to Paris yet, you pussy,” Billy says, insinuating virgin.

“Yeah, Smarty, you gonna tap New Girl?” Chase asks.

“Shut up, man,” Marty replies, embarrassed he hasn’t lost his virginity yet. “I’ve been focusing on school and applications and shit, I haven’t had time.”

“Uh-huh,” Billy replies as if that’s the lamest excuse he’s ever heard.

“Some of us actually have to work to get into school instead of having our dad’s last name.” Marty hits where it hurts.

Billy stays eerily calm as if hunting for prey before he gets up and takes a step toward Marty. He backs him up against the wall, cocked head, eyes locked. “What