‘Check out those tea sippers,’ Sunny mutters, reading my mind. She nods toward a crowd of River Oaks girls drinking Cokes and hanging off some sporty boys like they’d collapse into a pile of money without the support. The whole crowd is gathered around two Mustangs parked side by side, one black, one midnight blue. Fancy. It’s hard to believe this is some kid’s first car at sixteen, and it’s nicer than anything I’ll probably ever set foot in.
‘Why don’t they stay in River Oaks where they belong?’ Connie says, and loud, too, so she’ll be heard.
‘Bitch,’ one of the boys yells back. It’s a sea of khakis and buzz cuts and madras, but it’s clear the voice belongs to a blond boy with the build of a football player, all broad shoulders and puffed-out chest. Our gazes lock for just a moment, and he sneers, enjoying himself. I feel a chill I know isn’t just from the cool autumn air.
‘Drop dead twice,’ Connie hollers back at him, not skipping a beat. He scowls at us, and a chorus of angry voices rises up, but not one of the boys makes a move. Not that Connie isn’t ready if one does. Juanita and Sunny laugh out loud, but I just want to get away from this snarling pack. We keep moving, and I wonder if I’ll ever have half the guts that Connie Treadway has.
We find our crowd of kids by the final row of cars, and soon we’re ducking into smoke-filled back seats and taking little sips of Four Roses and Schlitz and trading gossip. I drink enough to make my cheeks flush but not so much the room feels like it’s spinning. Mama and Grandma will already be angry at me for taking off tonight without saying where I was going, so the last thing I need is to come home drunk again. Juanita and the girls got me so blitzed on my fifteenth birthday six months ago I could barely walk, and after that I wasn’t allowed to leave the house for ages.
Sunny floats away with her sometimes-boyfriend, Ray Swanson, into the back seat of Ray’s car, parked in the shadows under some trees. I don’t like him, honestly, because he’s always acting like Sunny’s his property, like his leather jacket or something. But he’s probably one of the cutest boys in our crowd, second only to Connie’s twin brother, Johnny, who is all dark eyes and lean muscles and cheekbones almost too pretty for a boy. But only just. Sometimes in bed under the covers, I’ve imagined what it would be like to kiss him, but he would never look at me twice. I’m sure to him, I’m just a kid.
Johnny’s here tonight, too. I spotted him the moment we arrived, brooding sullenly by the chain-link fence bordering Winkler’s, smoking and staring out over the crowd. His sister is acting the total opposite, quickly making herself the center of the party.
‘It’s so good to be home,’ Connie says, over and over again, jumping from group to group, bouncy and grinning, really emphasizing the word home. I’m pretty sure she’s on her way to getting real loaded, but she deserves to let loose tonight of all nights. For Connie, home is here with all of us. All the kids who make the cops grimace and the teachers nervous.
No one’s really watching the picture, and I give up trying to follow the plot. I spy Juanita giggling with a few other girls we know. It’s Juanita I’m closest to, really, but sometimes I can’t help but wonder if that’s only because we’re next-door neighbors and she sees me as a younger-cousin type to look out for. When I started tagging along with her about a year ago, right around the time my older sister, Cheryl, left home, Juanita never said I couldn’t join in. When it’s just her and me, it’s all right, but when it’s the whole crowd, I worry I don’t fit in sometimes. Like I’m really more of a pet or a mascot or one mistake away from being declared not tuff enough. Like if I’m not careful, I might disappear into nothing, leaving only traces of cigarette smoke and Aqua Net.
‘I’m gonna go get some popcorn,’ I mutter to no one in particular, turning back to the concession booth.
‘Get me some, will ya, Evie?’ Connie yells to me. ‘I’ll pay you back later, I swear!’
I smile at Connie’s false promise and head off through the crowd. The crisp air hits my lungs and I breathe it in, enjoying the chill against the warmth of the booze. I’m glad that Connie is home at last and everything is back the way it should be. And I’m glad it’s a Saturday night and I’m out at Winkler’s with the tuffest kids in the neighborhood. The smile stays on my face as I walk off to buy my popcorn, the happy shouts of the others fading behind me.
I approach the concession stand, digging into my pocket for the few coins I got babysitting the Rodriguez kids down the street. Mrs Rodriguez is the only mom in the neighborhood who’ll hire me, but that’s only because she can’t afford to be all that choosy. I might have a reputation for running with the wrong crowd, but I’m good to those Rodriguez kids. I even help Nancy with her homework, which is sort of funny considering I don’t really bother with homework of my own.
The thought makes me smile, until I reach the stand, where, of course, a line has formed. The scent of buttery popcorn floats over me, making my mouth water, even though I know Winkler’s popcorn always smells better than it tastes.
‘Isn’t it wild that she would dare to show her face here?’
‘It really is, Vickie. Some people just don’t know when they should stay home.’
The voices startle me out of my popcorn dreams. Girl voices. Judgmental voices. And without even knowing who they belong to, I understand these voices have more than a few coins from a babysitting job in their pockets. Honeyed and smooth, but not too sweet.
Rich voices.
‘She looks like hell if you ask me.’
‘She really does.’
‘Always thought she looked so cute in pink, didn’t she?’
For a second I think they’re talking about me, but I’m not wearing pink, so they can’t be. Then I spot the voices and their target, too. Two girls from the tea-sipper crowd, the River Oaks bunch, are huddled off to the side of the concession stand, sipping sodas and staring down a pale auburn-haired girl in a light pink dress and pink cardigan ahead of me in line. The rich girls spit their poison nice and loud, so everyone hears, but it’s clear from what they’re saying who the words are really meant for.
Auburn-haired girl turns toward them, her mouth set in a firm line. She keeps her eyes fixed on the ground, but from the way her cheeks are flushing to match the color of her hair, I know she can hear them. They know, too, because they smirk in between every nasty line they toss in her direction.
I light a cigarette and watch. Normally, I wouldn’t get involved in some beef between a couple of girls from the right part of town, but then I realize Miss Auburn Hair looks familiar. Her name is Donna or Diane something-or-other, and she started at Eastside High this fall, just a few weeks ago. She doesn’t exactly fit in, that’s for sure, and her fancy clothes and brand-new school supplies mark her as more of a River Oaks girl than anyone from our neighborhood. She carries herself that way, too. Sort of snooty, I guess. Some of our crowd’s even given her a hard time in the cafeteria, bumping into her on purpose, giving her rude looks. That kind of thing. It’s just what they do sometimes to kids who think they’re better than us. I never have the guts to join in, but I sure wouldn’t ever stop them.