Ok this is my first story so be gentle with me!
p.s., I am dedicating this story to people who's lives have been affected by drunk drivers, you will see why at the end of the story.
I only own Maggie and her family, I do NOT own The Outsiders, S.E. Hinton does.
Two weeks previous, Sunday, June 27, 2010-Wisconsin:
When I stepped out of my house into the crisp summer-night air I had only two things on my mind: the party at Sander's house and the stain on my new skirt. I was waiting for my friend Becky to pick me up in her mom's pink bug. She had just gotten her official driver's license last week and this is the first time she got to use it. I'll have to remember to confess my sins before getting in the car, I thought. Too bad I didn't know how true that would be.
Five minutes later I saw that little pink bug chug around the corner. I looked down at my outfit trying to convince myself that it was better than the original – I had just bought a frayed black jean skirt last weekend and a blue lacy cami, but Hanna (my baby sis) got BBQ sauce on it. Serves me right for wearing it around the house, I can't really blame her anyway, she's only five. So now I had chosen my tight blue jeans with a tiny hole in the knee and my long black "Bullet For My Valentine" T-shirt. It makes me look slimmer anyways.
"Get in here girly!" Becky called at me. I jammed my cell phone in my pocket (no purse for me, thank you very much) and hopped in the front seat. "Are you ready to par-tay?"
I rolled my eyes at her 90's lingo. "Yeah, let's just get going." I waited but the car didn't move. "What? What are you waiting for?" I asked.
"I refuse to move this vehicle until you stop marshing my mellow and start acting excited."
"It's harshing my mellow, smarty," I said. But I smiled my most fun-tastic smile just to please her.
"Whatever," she said, but clearly pleased that I looked happier. "Besides, I said it like that on purpose, get it? Like marsh-mellow? Ha ha ha?" She pulled out of my driveway.
I did one of those smiles where you just can't help yourself and it ends up spreading across your face anyway, which made me mad at myself 'cause now she would know I wasn't really in a bad mood. I'd been pretending that I wasn't looking forward to this party for weeks…but really I was just as excited as Becky. Don't ask me why I did it, I don't know. Sometimes I just can't help being stubborn.
I turned on the radio-Joyride; the cover by Verona Grove was on. I love this song, I thought. Becky talked over the radio all the way there. It can be scary, the thoughts that float around in her head sometimes. But I bear the burden because we are best friend and I love her. (Insert smiley face here). I'm really the mellow one, and she's a ball of freakin' energy, which, I guess, is further proof that opposites attract. We met on the first day of seventh grade; we were all lounging outside eating popsicles and I went up to her and said "Hey I like your shir."
She said "Thanks I like yours too." And we just started hanging out from there. True story, I swear, but we aren't superficial brats…usually. No, really I'm a semi-hippie, minus the drugs. World peace and a clean environment for me, baby! Clean the oceans! Stop military experiments on animals! And most importantly, cookies for all! That's my heart-felt philosophy.
So anyway, fifteen minutes later we pulled up to the curb outside Eric Sander's house. He lived in one of those huge, old Victorian houses down-town that I always dreamed of living in. They were like mini-castles. I don't really remember much of the party. Guys were drinking beer, girls were "dancing", and sucky pop music was playing. It was everything I thought it would be.
But it was what happened after the party that I remembered the most. Becky and I were trotting down the porch steps and I was pissed that someone had tried to spike my soda. We were talking and I must have wondered into the street or something because here's what happened next: bright headlights, blaring horn, tires squealed…and a big thud. "Maggie!" I heard Becky shriek….Blackness.