© 2005 by Carlson Management Co., Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form without written permission from NavPress, P.O. Box 35001, Colorado Springs, CO 80935. www.navpress.com
THINK Books is an imprint of NavPress. THINK is a registered trademark of NavPress. Absence of ® in connection with marks of NavPress or other parties does not indicate an absence of registration of those marks.
ISBN 1-57683-533-2
Cover design by studiogearbox.com
Cover photo by Powerstock/Superstock
Creative Team: Gabe Filkey, Arvid Wallen, Erin Healy, Cara Iverson, Laura Spray, Pat Miller
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in association with the literary agency of Sara A. Fortenberry.
Carlson, Melody.
Burnt orange : color me wasted / Melody Carlson.
p. cm. -- (Truecolors series ; 5)
Summary: The daughter of a pastor justifies going to drinking parties
as helping others, disregarding the feelings of real friends.
ISBN 1-57683-533-2
[1. Alcohol—Fiction. 2. Traffic accidents—Fiction. 3. High
schools--Fiction. 4. Schools--Fiction. 5. Christian life--Fiction.] I.
Title.
PZ7.C216637Bu 2005
[Fic]--dc22
2004022364
Printed in Canada
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 / 09 08 07 06 05
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Other Books by Melody Carlson
Pitch Black (NavPress)
Torch Red (NavPress)
Deep Green (NavPress)
Dark Blue (NavPress)
DIARY OF A TEENAGE GIRL series (Multnomah)
DEGREES OF GUILT series (Tyndale)
Crystal Lies (WaterBrook)
Finding Alice (WaterBrook)
Looking for Cassandra Jane (Tyndale)
Contents
one
two
three
four
five
six
seven
eight
nine
ten
eleven
twelve
thirteen
fourteen
fifteen
sixteen
seventeen
eighteen
nineteen
twenty
twenty-one
reader’s guide
TrueColors Book 6:
Fool’s Gold
Coming in July 2005
about the author
one
“HELLO, MY NAME IS AMBER CONRAD,” I SAY IN MY MOST SERIOUS VOICE, “and I’m an alcoholic.” I’m standing at the podium at the front of the room wearing a new T-shirt and a deadpan expression. I take a deep breath and continue. “And I am here tonight to admit that I am in need of serious help.”
Suddenly my friends burst out laughing and, of course, I can’t help but laugh too. I step away from the wooden podium and head over to the kitchen area to help Simi and Lisa set up. It’s actually youth-group night at our church, and the three of us got here early because we’re in charge of setting up snacks.
“You happy now that I fessed up?” I ask Simi Gartolini in my most sarcastic voice. Simi can take it. My best friend since middle school, she’s been on my case all day long about this.
“Hey, I never accused you of being an alcoholic,” she responds in a slightly defensive tone as she fills a bowl with cheese twists. “I only said I was concerned that you went to that party last night.”
“Yeah,” says Lisa Chan as she arranges soft-drink cans into a cooler full of ice. “What’s up with that, Amber? You knew what those kids were up to. Everyone knows they’re just a bunch of alkies.”
I laugh at this absurdity. “Yeah, sure, Lisa. Everyone at that party is an alcoholic. Get real.”
“Well, they’re boozers,” she retorts in that slightly superior tone. “You can’t deny that.”
“I think you guys are just jealous,” I say, hoping I can change the subject from drinking to something a little more comfortable. “I think you’re picking on me just because you two didn’t get an invite to Tommy Campbell’s party.”
“Tommy Campbell’s a snob and a moron.” Simi makes a face as she pops a bright orange cheese twist into her mouth. “I don’t even know why you think he’s so cool anyway.”
“Oooh,” I say to Simi now. “Sounding pretty judgmental for a Christian, don’t ya think?” Then I grab a bag of tortilla chips and attempt to open it, finally resorting to using my teeth to rip the stubborn plastic bag.
“I’m not judging. I just think God expects us to have some common sense when it comes to choosing friends,” she says, “and I think your dad does too.”
“Yeah,” adds Lisa. “Going to that party was a dumb move, Amber. I mean, kids look up to us as Christians and we’re supposed to be the leaders in youth group. Seriously, what’s going to happen when word gets around that Amber Conrad, daughter of Pastor Conrad, is a beer-drinking party girl now?”
“Man, I never should’ve told you guys about it.” I sigh loudly and roll my eyes. “Besides, like I already told you, I only had one beer and I didn’t even drink the whole thing. Seriously, it’s no big deal, okay? The only reason I was there at all was just so I could witness to Claire Phillips—”
“Yeah, you bet,” says Simi. “That’s a great idea, Amber—go to a drinking party, have a beer, and then witness to someone.”
Lisa laughs. “Yeah, brilliant plan. Maybe you should share your strategy with the youth group tonight. Maybe we could take it to the bars.”
Okay, now I’m feeling pretty defensive. I mean, what right do these two have to judge me and everyone else on the planet for that matter? Like, who died and made these two girls God?
“Whatever,” I finally say as if I don’t really care. “Think what you want about me.” I use a slightly wounded tone, hoping to garner some pity, but then I hear the sound of voices coming down the hallway toward us and I know it’s too late. “But hey,” I say quickly, “it’s not like you have to tell everybody in youth group about my sinful ways.”
“You don’t think they’ll hear about it anyway?” asks Simi.
“I don’t see how.” Then I get more serious. “Come on, you guys,” I plead, “don’t make this into a big deal, okay? I mean, I trusted you with this. I thought you were my friends.”
Simi smiles now. “Okay, Amber. My lips are sealed.”
“Yeah, mine too,” says Lisa, although she looks slightly smug. “You happy now?”
I shrug. “Hey, I appreciate it.”
“But you can’t blame us if the story leaks out anyway.”
I know she’s probably right. It’s not like I can really keep a lid on the big news that I, Amber Conrad, a slightly nerdish pastor’s kid, went to Tommy’s party last night. I know as well as anyone how rumors can fly through the information mill at South Ashton, but usually the rumors are about someone else. I don’t think there’s ever been a rumor about me personally. Like, who would care? Of course, now that I’m a senior and graduation is only two months away, well, maybe I don’t really care either. I mean, hey, maybe it’s about time I did something worth talking about!
But as the room starts filling up with youth-group kids, I’m not so sure anymore. I mean, do I really want these guys to know w
hat I was up to last night? These are church kids I have known for years—kids whose parents are close friends with my parents—and, for the most part, they’re fairly nice kids. Now, I know that everyone has their problems and stuff and nobody’s perfect, but these are the kinds of kids who really try to follow God and live their lives for his glory. And for the most part, they are my friends too. But the truth is, I’m actually thinking they’re just a little bit boring right now. Maybe I think this more tonight than usual. Of course, I don’t let this show. I know better than that.
Instead, I smile and say “hey” to everyone, just like always. I even compliment Tyler Addison on his haircut, although I honestly think it’s way too short for his long and narrow head. In fact, he kind of looks like Homer Simpson right now. And I ask Laney Edwards if she’s lost weight, and this makes her smile. The truth is, she looks heavier than ever, and that fuzzy hot-pink sweater isn’t helping one bit.
Okay, I’ll admit it: I’m a total hypocrite sometimes. But it’s like I’m supposed to have this happy outlook on life all the time, like I’m supposed to make everyone feel good about themselves even if I’m telling a big fat lie. It’s just how a pastor’s family is supposed to act, you know?
Oh sure, my parents never actually say as much. In fact, I’m pretty sure my dad would deny he acts like that at all, which in my opinion is just another form of deceit. Okay, in defense of my well-meaning parents, I think maybe they actually sort of believe the outrageous things they say. It’s like they’ve been doing it for so long that they can’t even tell the difference between the truth and phony baloney.
Anyway, I’ve studied them over the years, and I’ve learned from them as they play their little feel-good game without ever thinking twice. They just smile and tell their little white lies and act like it’s no big deal. And naturally, being a good daughter, I just follow their lead and do the same.
That’s probably what had gotten Claire Phillips’ attention last week. It looked like she was having a bad day, so I complimented her on her outfit, which, although I suspect by the labels was probably expensive, didn’t really look that great on her. It actually made her look stockier than she is. Not that she’s exactly chubby, but she’s kind of short and compact—that curvy kind of compact that guys seem to appreciate, including her boyfriend, Tommy Campbell.
“Thanks, Amber,” she said to me with a bright smile. Then she asked if I had my notes from English lit on me.
“Sure,” I told her. “Do you want to borrow them? I noticed you missed class yesterday.”
“Yeah, I was sick,” she said. “But I don’t want to get behind. Mr. Sorenson is hard enough on us as it is.”
“Man, I know,” I agreed. “He gave me a C for midterms.”
“You got a C?” Her eyes grew wide.
“Yeah, and when I asked him why, he said it was to push me harder for the final grade. Can you believe it? I’ve really been trying to keep my GPA up.”
“Man, that’s harsh,” she said as I handed her my notes. “I’ll get these back to you in time for class,” she promised.
I should know better than to loan out my notes, but for some reason, I trusted Claire—and all right, she’s one of the most popular girls in our class and I wouldn’t mind if she liked me better. So I was pleasantly surprised when she returned my notes, in perfect condition I might add, and then actually invited me to come to Tommy’s party.
“I can invite whoever I want,” she assured me as we walked into Mr. Sorenson’s class. “So, I hope you’ll come, Amber. I’d really like to see you there.” Then she laughed. “And everyone knows Tommy’s parties are the best.”
I blinked and tried not to look too surprised, and then I told her I’d think about it. By the end of class, she’d already written down his address and phone number on a torn-off corner of notebook paper. “Here,” she said. “Now, seriously, I want you to come, okay?”
“Okay,” I said and then added, “I mean, I’ll think about it.”
“Good.” She smiled. “Since there are only two months until graduation, I’ve been trying to get to know more kids, you know, so I’ll know more people at our class reunions.”
Now, I had to laugh at that. “I guess I haven’t been thinking that far ahead,” I admitted.
She grinned. “Well, maybe you should.”
And that’s how I ended up going to Tommy Campbell’s party. And here’s the truth: I actually had fun. And it wasn’t boring at all. Claire was really nice to me, and then her other friends were fairly nice too. It’s like everyone just really cut loose and had a great time. Sure, some kids drank too much and one girl even got sick and threw up in the pool, which really put a damper on swimming. But I didn’t get drunk and I didn’t get sick. Mostly, I just had an unexpectedly fun time. And, really, what’s wrong with that? I mean, even Jesus drank wine with his friends. And wasn’t his first miracle turning water into wine? So, seriously, what’s the problem?
two
TO MY RELIEF, NO ONE IN YOUTH GROUP SEEMS TO KNOW ABOUT MY previous evening’s activities. So, I sit in the back with Simi and listen as Glen Stanley (our youth pastor) tells a funny story about how his new Doberman puppy is systematically destroying everything in his studio apartment. Then suddenly my cell phone rings and everyone turns around and glares at me. I feel sort of silly, since my own dad always makes a big deal of reminding the congregation to turn off their phones during church services.
I can’t imagine who’d be calling me now, since most of my friends are right here in the youth house. But I wave my hand in a kind of apology as I rush out to the hallway to answer the call. I hope nothing’s wrong at home.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Amber,” says an unfamiliar girl’s voice. “What’s up?”
“Who is this?”
“It’s Claire.” She laughs. “Don’t you remember me, girlfriend?”
“Oh.” I try not to sound surprised. “Yeah, sure. I just didn’t recognize your voice and the connection isn’t that clear.”
“Oh, I’ll speak up. Can you hear me now?”
I laugh at this tired joke as I go through the kitchen and out the back door, where I can talk without being overheard by the youth group. “Yeah, yeah. I can hear you now.”
“Well, I was just stuck at home and thought I’d give you a call and see if you want to do something.”
I consider telling her that I’m busy tonight, but instead I stupidly ask, “What did you have in mind?”
“Oh, I just thought maybe we could hang together. You have a car, don’t you?”
“Yeah . . .”
“Well, want to come over here and pick me up and we can find something exciting to do?” She laughs. “Or at least something more entertaining than watching this stupid rerun of The O.C.”
I’m surprised Claire is stuck at home on a Saturday night. I’d always assumed that someone like her would be hanging with her friends or out on a date with Tommy—anything more interesting than sitting at home or being at youth group.
For whatever unexplainable reason, I agree to go pick Claire up. But now this means I have to blow off Simi and ask her to get a ride home with someone else. I’m guessing Lisa will cover for me.
“Is something wrong?” Simi asks after I tell her that I have to leave.
“I just need to get home,” I say. And I feel a real stab of guilt and wonder, Why am I lying to Simi? It’s not like it’s a big deal to go do something with Claire. Even so, I feel certain that Simi wouldn’t understand. How could she when I don’t?
She nods. “Well, call me later.”
I promise to do that and then take off jogging to my car that’s parked in front of the youth house. But as I go, I feel guilty about ditching Simi. I remember the promise I made to her when her parents moved to the other side of town last year and she was all worried that the distance would affect our friendship. “Don’t worry,” I told her. “We’ve been best friends for like five years now. Nothing’s going to change t
hat.” And so she got permission to finish her senior year at South Ashton instead of going to North Ashton (a school we pretend to hate). The only problem was that it became pretty inconvenient to share rides since it like doubles the driving time. The only reason I gave her a ride to church tonight was because we were already hanging together anyway, so really she should understand this whole thing.
As guilty as I feel, I also have this very real sense of excitement and adventure, almost like I’m playing hooky or something—not that I’ve ever done that before. But something about skipping out on youth group to go hang with someone as cool as Claire seems rather risky and thrilling.
I unlock my Neon and climb in and then glance nervously around the interior to observe that it’s relatively neat in here tonight. I usually let my car get pretty junky during the school week, you know, with fast-food bags and wrappers and stuff from school and, well, whatever. But then I usually give it a cleanout on weekends. Otherwise, my dad peeks in and makes some stupid comment like, “Maybe you’ll want to be a garbage-truck driver someday, Amber.” Fortunately, I did the cleanout this morning.
I follow the directions Claire gave me and drive toward a new development that’s not too far from where I live—well, in earth miles anyway. River’s Edge is an expensive subdivision that’s situated around an eighteen-hole golf course, and I’ve heard that the houses there run about a half million apiece.
I didn’t realize that Claire was so rich, but I have to admit that I’m curious to see where she lives. I mean, I was pretty impressed with Tommy’s house last night. The fact that it had a huge inground pool was pretty impressive, but that seems to be nothing compared to the houses I’m driving past now.
I finally locate her home and after parking my suddenly cheap-looking Neon in the wide brick driveway, I walk toward the front door, feeling like an intruder. Not only that, but I begin to wonder if this isn’t just some kind of trick. I mean, why would someone like Claire invite me over here on a Saturday night?
“Hey, you!” calls out Claire as she opens the big double doors. “Come on in.”
Burnt Orange Page 1
