Now, watching this girl’s eyes start to glass over with tears, I almost feel guilty about that. This girl is already getting it pretty bad from her own crowd as it is.
‘She should be ashamed to show her face around here,’ the one named Vickie says. ‘After everything she did. Look, here comes Betty. She won’t even believe it.’
At this a short brunette with apple cheeks appears among her fellow tea sippers, and I hear Miss Auburn gasp in surprise at the sight of her. The brunette takes in what’s happening with one quick glance, and I can tell she’s trying to bury her first reaction and quick, too. She opens her mouth to say something to Miss Auburn, then snaps it closed almost as fast.
‘Let’s leave,’ insists the brunette, her eyes never straying from this girl in front of me who’s on the verge of tears. ‘Let’s just leave her alone. Anyway, the boys are waiting for us.’ The brunette’s voice quavers a bit when she says this.
A single tear falls down Miss Auburn’s cheek.
‘Well, anyway,’ says Vickie, turning to go, ‘I’m glad she’s moved out of our neighborhood and into this trashy one.’ She waits a beat, then spits out, ‘Because she’s trash.’
When my lit cigarette hits Vickie in the arm, sending bright red embers flying, she yelps, then turns and stares me down.
‘That was you, wasn’t it?’ she screams, her face scowled tight. ‘You did that on purpose! What is wrong with you?’ Her friends’ mouths are open wide like fish, their eyes full of shock.
‘Why don’t the three of you go bother someone else?’ I say. ‘Or better yet, you can stay put while I get my friends. I’m sure they’d love to meet you.’ My kohl-lined eyes don’t waver from staring them down, and my mouth forms a sneer I’ve been practicing in my bedroom mirror since last summer. But my heart is thumping hard.
Still, I’m enough to send those prissy girls racing, and Donna-maybe-Diane turns around totally to face me, gratitude all over her tearstained face. That’s how I know she definitely isn’t from this neighborhood. The kids I run with would rather die than let anyone see that someone got under their skin that bad.
‘Thank you so much,’ she says. ‘I really appreciate that.’ Her voice sounds rich, too, like summer camps and European vacations. But it’s softer than Vickie’s. Nicer.
‘It’s nothing,’ I say, glancing past her toward the concession stand window, where a man with a pockmarked face is waiting, annoyed, to take an order. ‘You’re next.’ I feel bad for this girl, but she’s not exactly the type I could bring back to my group of friends.
‘I’m not hungry all of a sudden. But thanks again.’ She sniffs, wipes at her face, and slips off into the crowd. Hopefully she’s heading home. A girl like that shouldn’t be at a place like Winkler’s alone if she can’t handle a few nasty tea sippers.
I get my popcorn and Connie’s, too, plus a Dr Pepper, then head back. Connie devours hers while she continues to hold court, retelling her stories from the state school, adding a little extra to them with each telling. By the time the second picture in the double feature starts, Connie has the whole crowd convinced that she started a prisoner rebellion at Gainesville and they locked up the warden in a broom closet. And she hasn’t stopped pulling long swigs off a bottle of Four Roses, either.
‘Where’s my brother, anyway?’ Connie yells. ‘He needs to be hearing about everything I’ve suffered through while he got to stay around here and do whatever he wanted. Boys have it so easy. They never get in trouble as much as girls do.’
‘Boys are lucky that way,’ says Sunny, who’s finally emerged out of the back seat of Ray Swanson’s car along with Ray. Her honey-blond hair is mussed and her lipstick is smeared.
‘I think girls get lucky, too, sometimes,’ says Ray, elbowing Sunny. Sunny rolls her eyes as Dwight Hardaway and Butch Thompson, hanging out nearby, laugh at Ray’s remark. I swear, the two of them seem to exist solely to cheer Ray on when he cracks some dumb line.
‘Why so quiet, Evie?’ Ray says, noticing me. ‘Never gotten lucky?’
My cheeks flush just like that poor girl’s at the concession stand, and I wish I weren’t the center of attention.
‘Leave her alone, Ray,’ Sunny says, giving him a playful push. ‘She’s just fifteen.’
Ray says something about how Sunny shouldn’t get fresh with him and also that he remembers her at fifteen, and there are more screams and laughter. I know I have to come back with something and quick, too. Otherwise they’ll just keep going at me.
‘Jesus, Ray, we get it,’ I say. ‘You’re a real dynamite in the sack.’ And even though it comes out just right and everybody laughs, part of me hopes Grandma doesn’t get telegrams from God alerting her to my using the Lord’s name in vain. They are awfully close.
I drain my Dr Pepper through the red-and-white straw to a satisfying slurp as Connie starts her one-woman act back up. Then I spot Johnny again, appearing from near the concession stand. He doesn’t look any happier than the last time I spotted him skulking near the fence line, but my heart picks up its pace. His big eyes are such a lovely chocolate brown they can only be described as delicious, and he’s so tall that if I ever got the chance to kiss him, I’d have to stand on my tiptoes to do it. Not that I’d ever have the chance, of course.
‘Hey, Connie, there’s that brother of yours,’ I say.
Connie squints and spies Johnny, then stumbles for a minute. Someone needs to cut her off and soon.
‘There’s my brother, all right. He’s been acting like a real candy-ass all night. What’s he got to be so sulky about, anyway – I’m the one who’s been locked up for ages!’ She burps and laughs at herself. ‘Hey, brother!’ she shouts at top volume. ‘Come here!’
Johnny looks up and sees his sister, shoves his hands into his pockets, and heads over. A lock of his greased-up, jet-black hair falls into his face as he moves, and he tosses his head to the side until it flips out of his eyes. He’s so tuff it’s enough to make a girl dizzy.
‘Hey, brother!’ she yells again as he arrives before giving him a gentle push on the chest with both hands. ‘Didja miss me?’ She’s slurring her words.
‘Hey, Connie, maybe you’ve celebrated enough tonight, huh?’ he asks, then glances at me. There are small purple moons underneath his dark eyes, and I wonder why. There’s always been something about Johnny that’s mysterious. Something that reminds me a little of George, my second-favorite Beatle.
‘Hey, Evie, how much did she have to drink anyway?’ Johnny asks.
I’m momentarily mute at the fact that he knows my name, then manage to answer, ‘I’m not sure. But it seems like a lot.’ Not exactly helpful, I realize. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to speak to boys.
‘Yeah, it seems like a lot,’ he echoes, shaking his head. ‘Connie, hey. Maybe we should get you home?’ His voice is soft and tender.
Connie sticks her tongue out at her brother and crosses her arms defiantly in front of her. A few of the kids nearby laugh at the sight. ‘I don’t wanna go home!’ she says, stomping her foot. ‘I wanna stay here. With you and my friends. Even if you don’t want to hang out because you’re so sad and you won’t even let me say why!’ She draws two fists up to her eyes and mimics a little child’s tears, rubbing her hands into her face. Her voice slips into slurry baby talk.