"Stephen King. The Girl who loved Tom Gordon." - читать интересную книгу автора

an avenue now, but still not bad-went off to the left, marked by a sign
reading NO. CONWAY 5.2. The other branch, smaller and mostly overgrown,
read KEZAR NOTCH 10.
"Guys, I have to pee," said The Invisible Girl, and of course neither
of them took any notice; they just headed up the branch which led to North
Conway, walking side by side like lovers and looking into each other's
faces like lovers and arguing like the bitterest enemies. We should have
stayed home, Trisha thought. They could have done this at home, and I could
have read a book. The Hobbit again, maybe - a story about guys who like to
walk in the woods.
"Who cares, I'm peeing," she said sulkily, and walked a little way
down the path marked KEZAR NOTCH. Here the pines which had stayed modestly
back from the main trail crowded in, reaching with their blueblack
branches, and there was underbrush, as well-clogs and clogs of it. She
looked for the shiny leaves that meant poison ivy, poison oak, or poison
sumac, and didn't see any ... thank God for small favors. Her mother had
shown her pictures of those and taught her to identify them two years ago,
when life had been happier and simpler. In those days Trisha had gone
tramping in the woods with her mother quite a bit. (Pete's bitterest
complaint about the trip to Plant-A-Torium was that their mother had wanted
to go there. The obvious truth of this seemed to blind him to how selfish
he had sounded, harping on it all day long.)
On one of their walks, Mom had also taught her how girls peed in the
woods. She began by saying, "The most important thing - maybe the only
important thing-is not to do it in a patch of poison ivy. Now look. Watch
me and do it just the way I do it."
Trisha now looked both ways, saw no one, and decided she'd get off the
trail anyway. The way to Kezar Notch looked hardly used - little more than
an alley compared to the broad thoroughfare of the main trail-but she still
didn't want to squat right in the middle of it. It seemed indecorous.
She stepped off the path in the direction of the North Conway fork,
and she could still hear them arguing. Later on, after she was good and
lost and trying not to believe she might die in the woods, Trisha would
remember the last phrase she got in the clear; her brother's hurt,
indignant voice: --don't know why we have to pay for what you guys did
wrong!
She walked half a dozen steps toward the sound of his voice, stepping
carefully around a clump of brambles even though she was wearing jeans
instead of shorts. She paused, looked back, and realized she could still
see the Kezar Notch path ... which meant that anyone coming along it would
be able to see her, squatting and peeing with a half-loaded knapsack on her
back and a Red Sox cap on her head. Em-bare-ASS-ing, as Pepsi might say
(Quilla Andersen had once remarked that Penelope Robichaud's picture should
be next to the word vulgar in the dictionary).
Trisha went down a mild slope, her sneakers slipping a little in a
carpet of last year's dead leaves, and when she got to the bottom she
couldn't see the Kezar Notch path any more. Good. From the other direction,
straight ahead through the woods, she heard a man's voice and a girl's
answering laughter-hikers on the main trail, and not far away, by the
sound. As Trisha unsnapped her jeans it occurred to her that if her mother