[Wednesday, December 30, 1987]

Tami unclasped the gold chain from around her neck, at the end of which dangled the state championship ring Mo McArnold had earned their junior year. He'd given it to her last Valentine's Day as a token of his commitment to their steady relationship. Seventeen months they had been dating now.

Seventeen months.

That was a lifetime in high school.

She threw it at his chest, hard.

Mo caught the ring in his hand, the chain dangling over his palm.

"What the hell?" he asked. He was standing outside the front door of his five-bedroom house, where she'd stopped when she got off her shift from Chili's. A light dusting of snow coated the porch light, dampening the glow.

"I know you're cheating with your rally girl from last season!" she shouted "I know! We're over!"

"You're breaking up with me now? With senior prom less than four months away?"

"You're cheating!"

He didn't deny it. "How did you find out?"

"I have my sources." Tami had learned from the other girl, who hoped that by telling Tami, she'd have Mo all to herself. Well she was right. Let that bitch have Mo. He was nothing but a cheater anyway.

"Was it someone on the team?" Mo asked. "They all want you, you know. All the guys."

"All the guys but you."

"I still want you. You're the one who's breaking up with me."

Tami shook her head.

"Who was it? I need to know. I need to know who's not a team player."

"Oh, that's what you're worried about?" Tami spat. "Not about losing" – she waved hand over herself – "the best thing you ever had?"

"Who was it, Tami?"

"No one on the team told me. Believe it or don't. I don't care."

She didn't know why it mattered to Mo anyway. Football season was over. Mo was graduating at the end of May, as was half of the varsity team. But probably not Tami. She was set to flunk Algebra II, which was a requirement for graduation. She'd earned an F the first quarter and a D- the second.

Tami Hayes was not stupid by any means, but she'd been busy – busy with Mo, and busy with work. She'd worked twenty hours a week since she was fourteen, and as soon as she turned seventeen and was legally permitted to work more during the school year, she bumped it up to thirty. Her dad had died six years ago in a refinery explosion that killed five workers. The life insurance covered his funeral costs and a portion of the outstanding mortgage, but it wasn't enough, not when her mother was a high school dropout who couldn't earn much above minimum wage.

"Either way," Tami told Mo. "We're over."

She strutted to her two-door sedan, which had a scratch along the side she was never going to pay to repair, got in, and cranked the engine. She slammed down on the accelerator, wanting to peel off in a dramatic fashion, but of course the old car only lurched, groaned, and began its journey slowly down the street.