Author's Note: Happy Easter, y'all! Here's a gift from the bunny – an update!
XXXXX
"Oh to be a pear tree – any tree in bloom! With kissing bees singing of the beginning of the world! She was sixteen. She had glossy leaves and bursting buds and she wanted to struggle with life but it seemed to elude her. Where were the singing bees for her?" – Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God
It was so fucking cold.
It was so fucking cold, and the breeze was blowing up her cheer skirt like it had indecent intentions. As Bridget made her way back to the school after cheer practice, she got a sick feeling in her stomach. She'd asked Ella to meet her after school during English so they could finish their discussion from the other day that Vickie had interrupted. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that she was making her way to Mrs. Girdle's art room to meet her, not so much.
She had no idea what it was Ella wanted to talk about. That's probably what scared her the most.
The girl felt a bit silly walking through the halls in her cheer uniform. Her white tennis shoes slapped against the tile and her sweater felt like it was hugging her too tightly today. God, had the art rooms always been this far away? And as soon as she got to the classroom, the door opened just an inch from her nose, nearly hitting her, and out came Two-Bit and Dallas Winston (and some other boy, but he wasn't important), carrying art supplies and a large box. Bridget froze in her spot.
"Howdy, Miz Stevens," Two-Bit greeted.
"Howdy," she garbled back, feeling confused. What the hell were they doing here? Two-Bit snorted with laughter, and Dallas's lip curled just slightly, his cold eyes seeming as if they were commencing to pierce into her soul.
And Howdy? What was she now, some mild-mannered farmer's daughter who'd stuck close to home her whole life but had plans to see the big city someday but not today and –
"You mind?" Dallas spat. "We got places to be."
"Now, Dallas," Two-Bit playfully reprimanded. "But seriously, Stevens, yer not makin' a very good door right now, honey."
Bridget side-stepped them and let them by, and then headed into the classroom where Ella was waiting for her. "Hi," Ella said, her voice a bit hollow.
"Hi," Bridget breathed. She raised an eyebrow. "Everything okay?"
Ella quickly nodded. "Yeah, yeah. Everything's…fine." She paused a moment. "I tutor him."
"Who?"
"Dallas Winston," she said quietly. Now both of Bridget's brows were raised in surprise.
"Oh. Sorry to hear that," she said, cringing a little. Bridget took a seat opposite Ella and set her books on the table beside her. "I guess the two of them are the thorns in our sides, huh?" She tried to joke, but the truth of the matter was that Bridget had multiple thorns, and Two-Bit Mathews was the least of her worries now. Vickie had taken over that coveted spot.
"I guess," Ella sighed. "Anyways, what I was going to ask you earlier…I was wondering if you could help me with something."
Bridget nodded. Was it just her, or was this room kinda fumy? "Right. What do you need help with?"
Ella squirmed on her stool, making it squeak. "You might not like it."
"Ella," Bridget sighed, shutting her eyes, "please just tell me what it is." She knew she sounded tart, but she just wanted to go home. And Bridget liked Ella, she did – at least, from the little time she'd spent with her. But for as wishy-washy as Bridget herself was, she wasn't in the mood to take it from anybody else.
"Right," Ella said, trying to sound confident. "Well, Evie Martin, she's my partner for the assignment in English, she…well, she offered to do my hair for homecoming, ya know? Cuz mine's a mess and I don't know what to do with it and she really wanted the experience and all. And then I told Cathy Carlson about it – "
"Wait," Bridget cut in, "Cathy Carlson? You mean Catherine Carlson?"
"I think she goes by Cathy, but yeah…"
"You know her?"
"Yeah," Ella said, looking at Bridget oddly. "We're partners for an art project. Anyways, suddenly she was interested in the whole thing – "
"I'm supposed to be getting her a date," Bridget mumbled. "I need to work on that." God, everything was in a fuzz. "Okay, sorry, sorry. You were saying?"
Well, Ella hadn't known that. And now she was curious as to how Bridget knew Cathy, but she'd save that question for another time. "Well, in short, the word got out. Now Angela Shepard and Jenny Arsele are interested, and so are a bunch of their friends. They all think Evie's just gonna do everything for them for homecoming, and she's really stressed about it. So I told her what she should do is make five spots for everything – hair, nails, makeup – so that it's more manageable. And now I'm taking bookings for her, and Cathy might wash hair, but then there's the whole problem of paying for all the equipment she's gonna need, and I was wondering – "
"You were wondering if I could help you pay," Bridget deadpanned. She should have seen this coming. Bridget was, if nothing else, useful, if only for her money. Ella's expression softened.
"It's not like that."
Bridget wanted to say that it was exactly like that, but she didn't. Because she realized this was her chance. To tell Evie she was sorry. And her soul needed that more than anything. Bridget knew that she was too weak to go on carrying this guilt forever. "I'll do it."
"Wait – what?"
Bridget took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Oh, if Vickie were to ever find out about this…Bridget would pay with her head. "I'll pay for all the equipment. However much you need. Just give me a spot to get my hair done in return. Where is this happening?"
Ella shrugged, still a bit shocked. "Um. Uh…I don't know yet. I mean, it probably wouldn't be best for it to happen at Evie's mother's salon -"
"Well, you tell Evie what I said, and tell her that if she needs to, she can do it at my house."
If Ella wasn't shocked before, she was sure as shit shocked now. "Wait – really?"
Bridget rolled her eyes. She felt bad about it, but this whole conversation was making her feel nervous and impatient. "Yes, really. My father works a lot, and we'll have enough space. It's really not a problem."
Ella was still dumbfounded. So…this could happen. This could actually, really happen! Evie would flip when she heard this – probably in a bad way, but still, this was their only option so far. "So you're really gonna pay for it and offer up your house?"
"Yes, Ella."
"Wow," she breathed.
"How much money do you need?"
"Um. Maybe a hundred dollars?"
Bridget gave her a short nod. "Fine. That's fine. I'll get it to you whenever. Just give me a heads-up about it, okay?"
Ella nodded. The girl never imagined the day where she'd see someone as put-together as Bridget Stevens like this. For starters, it was practically a miracle that she was offering to help at all. Second, Ella realized that this meant she'd get to see the inside of one of those west-side homes. Third, she was also slowly realizing that even though she was offering her help, Bridget looked smaller and paler than usual, like the whole thing was making her nervous. But Ella couldn't really blame her – if she were in Bridget's position, she'd be nervous, too. (Hell, she was nervous.) After all, Ella didn't have Vickie Harper riding her ass.
"We will. Promise. Just…thank you so much for doing this."
Bridget waved her off, swallowing roughly. "It's no problem."
Ella didn't quite buy that. "Are you alright?" she asked. Bridget gave her a weak smile.
"Fine," she lied.
She was really in it deep, now.
XXXXX
"…and if we're to truly understand the Gilded Age, we must first understand what the word 'gilded' means. On top, there is a golden veneer, giving us the perception that everything in this time period was – on the surface level – perfect. However, we find on closer inspection that what we believed to be something deeper is in fact superficial. The opulence and philanthropy of America's upper class was a convenient cover-up of a nation recovering from civil war…"
Bridget was fighting to stay awake. Vickie had been working her like a cruel taskmaster, even if she did smile all the way through it and thanked her for her work. But Bridget could hardly think of such things, what with Ella's proposal. She knew that Evie didn't like her, probably hated her, but there was a part of Bridget that wanted so badly to be forgiven that she'd do anything. Anything! It was a cruel world she lived in where she could not have both Evie's forgiveness and Vickie's friendship. A cruel world indeed.
Then there was the matter of actually getting the money to Evie. Or, rather, getting the money for her. Bridget's father would certainly notice that the money was missing, and if Dr. Stevens' daughter were to tell him she'd spent that much money just getting her hair done, he'd likely blow a gasket. And now that she'd offered their home, she'd have to find a time when her father was out of the house. Or, would he just accept the fact that all these girls were going to be hanging around? And would they do it in the kitchen? Couldn't hairstyling get messy? Bridget didn't want any hair product getting on her new sheets.
The kitchen, then. Or, if the weather was nice, the porch. Not her bedroom. She wouldn't put it past any of those girls to go snooping around her things.
Oh, what had she gotten herself into!
XXXXX
Ella didn't know if she could consider what she and Evie were doing as "hanging out" in the normal sense, but they were together, and they weren't at school or each other's houses (well – Evie's house), and they weren't working on their project. They were at a diner, sitting together in a booth, to talk about this little business project of theirs. Or, of Evie's. Ella didn't know if it was "theirs."
"So, I think I found a way that we could get the money," Ella began, feeling a bit nervous. She'd pursued this plan all on her own, and she could only hope Evie wouldn't hit the roof. Her new friend raised a perfect eyebrow.
"Oh, yeah? What'd ya learn?"
Ella trailed some of the condensation on her glass with her finger. "I talked to Bridget Stevens," she said gently, and Evie's eyes went wide.
"You what?"
"Just hear me out," Ella said, putting her hand up and trying to stay calm because truth be told, this scared her, too. Though, Evie was probably scared and pissed. A volatile mix. "She said she'd pay for everything, all the equipment, if you give her a spot to get her hair done."
"Is that all?" Evie spit.
"And," Ella added, "she offered for us to use her house so we don't have to use yours or your mom's salon."
Evie sat back against the booth with her arms crossed over her chest. Perfect. The solution to her problem literally falls right into her lap, but it's the last solution in the world that she wanted. If she weren't so desperate, she'd have told Ella to tell Bridget that she could shove that offer right up her lily-white asshole.
But she was desperate.
Because of course she was desperate.
It was a cruel, cruel universe indeed.
"She's really serious?" Evie asked, trying to keep the bite out of her tone, though it was hard. Ella nodded.
"She is."
Evie bit her lip. "And Cathy, can she wash hair for us? Or…do anything?"
"I think she could. She said she'd think about it, but I'll bet she does it, especially if you're gonna do her hair, too."
Well. Alright then.
XXXXX
Evie thought to herself that she must be crazy to let Sylvia spend the night at her place – on a school night, no less – after the stunt she'd pulled, but after Sandy, Evie hadn't been doing so well in the friend department these days, so she was sticking with Sylvia. Beth and Evie were both used to their sister having friends over, and the sister without a friend for the night would kick the other out of their bedroom, so Evie and Sylvia were curled up on the couch, Evie's head at one end and Sylvia's at the other, their feet touching through blankets. Everyone else in the house was already asleep, but the two girls were flipping through magazines.
"So are you actually going to do it?"
Evie set folded her magazine so her eyes were peeking over. Sylvia was still looking through hers. "Do what?"
"You know," Sylvia shrugged. "Do all them girls' hair for homecoming."
Evie sighed and went back to her magazine. "Yeah, I s'pose so. I mean, I'm getting paid for it. We found a way to pay for all the supplies, and we got a place to do it. So…yeah. Guess I am." Evie was trying to make it sound like it was no big deal, like it was boring or something, but the truth was that even though she was going to have to put up with plenty of people she didn't exactly like, this was her chance to test her skills. To make some dough. It was really sorta exciting. "Why?"
"I dunno. Just curious."
"Curious enough to ask around about it?"
It was silent for a moment. "You know I ain't no good at keepin' secrets," Sylvia said, her tone mischievous. "I was just tryin' to make conversation, anyways."
"Yeah, well," Evie drawled, "now I gotta do up Jenny Arsele and Angela Shepard, so thanks a lot."
"Whaddya got against them? They ain't so bad."
Ain't so bad, yeah right. Evie knew people said shit about her, and say what they want, but she was no Angela Shepard. Even as a freshman, with her connection to her hoodlum older brothers, she had a reputation. Evie didn't know much about Jenny Arsele, but if she was hanging around Angela, then she was probably a bitch, too. And now she was giving 'em makeovers. Jesus H. Christ.
"Steve's buddies with her brothers' gang," Sylvia continued.
"They ain't buddies," Evie grumbled. Because they weren't. Being allies and being friends were two very different states of being. Evie would know.
"Whatever," Sylvia sighed. She set her magazine on the coffee table and shut off the light. "Good night."
Evie wasn't finished with her article, but she just threw her magazine aside. She knew you had to know when to pick your battles.
XXXXX
"Bridget, I don't know what I make of this Catherine Carlson. She's…she's snarky."
"Snarky?" Bridget repeated around a yawn. "She doesn't seem snarky to me."
Vickie lifted her chin up, her nose pointed in the air. "Well, then I guess she hasn't shown you that side of herself."
Bridget raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Sometimes, it was best to just let Vickie have her opinions and leave it at that. Though, with this, Bridget felt a bit hurt. Bridget liked Cathy, she did, but it seemed as if Vickie had almost become obsessed with the poor girl ever since their run-in. Bridget had been over at Vickie's just last night, and it was about all she could talk about. While the two of them worked on campaign stuff and Bridget helped with some of Vickie's homecoming committee duties, she found plenty to say about the new-new girl.
"She dresses like she's still in elementary school," Vickie sneered as she glued. "Did you see what she was wearing the other day? She looked like Little Miss Sunshine in that get-up."
Bridget suddenly felt very embarrassed in her all-pink outfit. "I guess," she mumbled, even though she really didn't agree.
Today, though, Bridget was wearing a plaid dress and pantyhose – not knee socks – and had her hair clipped back in an attempt to make herself look less wild and more grown-up. Just in case Vickie thought she dressed like a baby, too.
"You don't really know her that well, do you?" Bridget asked as they made their way to the cafeteria for lunch. No poster hanging today, though Bridget wouldn't have minded. She wasn't exactly hungry – too much on her mind.
"I know her well enough," Vickie said. Then, "Speak of the devil…Watch this. Catherine! Over here, Catherine!" Vickie waved.
Cathy was a few paces ahead of them, and she stopped in the lunch rush and turned around. Bridget wanted to hide. Did Vickie do things like this on purpose just to prove a point? To embarrass her? If so, then what kind of friend was she? But at the same time, Vickie and Bridget liked all the same bands, the same stores, had silly inside jokes, rolled their eyes at a lot of the same things. What Bridget had with these girls was something she'd never had before. She wasn't about to let that go.
But she also didn't want Cathy to think she was like Vickie.
"Cathy, you should sit with us today," Vickie offered as they caught up to the younger girl. Cathy raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"I should?"
"Of course you should. I'd love to get a chance to introduce you to everybody." Vickie smiled benignly. "What have you been doing during your lunch hour, anyways?"
Cathy shrugged. "Sometimes I go to the library."
Vickie shook her head like Cathy was the most naïve, poor, helpless soul she'd ever come across. "A girl like you shouldn't be spending her lunch period in the library. Come on."
Bridget felt an odd protective urge when the three of them sat down with the rest of the group. She had no idea what Vickie's motives were, but she didn't want Cathy to feel uncomfortable, or worse – form a new, more negative opinion of Bridget and her friends. God, she didn't think she could take that.
Bridget stayed back with Cathy when the rest of the girls went to go get their lunches – Cathy had brought her lunch, and Bridget figured the Coke she had was enough. Cathy pulled a sandwich wrapped in wax paper out of her brown bag while she looked around the cafeteria.
"Sorry about Vickie," the older girl blurted out. "She can be…demanding."
Cathy rolled her eyes. "I've noticed. I don't get her. Sometimes she's nice, and sometimes she's a real jerk."
"She's just intense," Bridget tried to explain. She sighed. "Anyways, she's right – you're welcome to sit with us whenever you want."
Cathy gave her a weak smile. "Yeah, I might. So, uh, I heard you talked to Ella about what Evie's doing."
Bridget swallowed. "I did," she said easily, shrugging a little. "She said you might wash hair."
"I might."
"I wouldn't mind if you did. It might be nice to have you around helping even after she's done your hair because I offered up my place for her to do it all at."
Cathy raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Seriously?" Bridget nodded. "Oh. That's…that's nice of you."
Cathy couldn't reconcile it – Bridget was a nice girl. What the hell was she doing hanging around Vickie?
XXXXX
"Stevens!"
There was only one person who ever called her by just her last name, and that was Two-Bit. But this was a girl's voice. Bridget stopped on the sidewalk and saw Evie walking up to her, looking mad. God, what had she done now? And whatever it was, could she at least make it quick? It was freezing. The wind felt like pinpricks against her skin.
"Hi, Evie," Bridget greeted, trying to sound friendly. "What's up?"
Evie raised her eyebrows. "What's up?" She repeated. What was so wrong with that? Bridget said what's up all the time! Evie shook her head. "Whatever. I talked to Ella Mitchell yesterday about your offer."
Bridget felt all the blood rush from her face. "Oh?" She was trying to sound nonchalant. "She told you…everything?"
Evie looked like she wanted to scream, she was so impatient. "Of course she did," she said testily. "Are you serious about what you said?"
"Of course I am," Bridget said back smartly. "I'll offer my house, I'll give you my money, but you have to give me a spot, or no deal."
This was such a foreign feeling, such an odd position for Bridget to be in. Her? Negotiating? Trying to command as large a presence as Vickie's? Wasn't exactly her usual play. And she wasn't really comfortable with it, either. However, Bridget had motives of her own. Not cruel ones, but she wanted to let Evie know she was sorry about what she said. It was just…hard to actually say it. This was somehow easier. Continuing to be a jerk. Yes, perfect.
Evie narrowed her eyes. This was really only the second conversation she'd ever had with Bridget, but it was exactly what she had been expecting from it. Give it some time, and Bridget would probably be no better than Vickie – maybe even worse. "Fine," she bit out. Bridget had the decency to, at the very least, not look too smug.
"Fine," she said back, more softly than Evie had.
Evie shifted her books in her arms and cleared her throat daintily. "I'll let you know more when I do. Fair?"
"Fair." Bridget bit her lip. "Are you even going to homecoming?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
Bridget shrugged. "I just didn't know," she mumbled, scuffing her shoes against the cement.
"Well, it's not just for girls like you, ya know. Anybody's allowed to go."
"I know that."
"Oh, yeah? Well, know this, too – I don't like this, Bridget Stevens. I don't like any of this. I don't like that I'm gonna feel like I owe you for the rest of my life. I don't like that I'm gonna hafta be the person to try and tame that mane of yours. But at least my man ain't got no limp dick." Evie smirked. "See ya soon."
Bridget was appalled. Her mouth hung open in shock as Evie walked away. Limp dick?! Bridget hadn't even seen Jerry in that way, much less have done it with him! Where did Evie get off? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. This was all giving the poor girl a complex. Bridget swallowed the lump in her throat, wincing at the sick taste in her mouth and telling herself that her teary eyes were from the stinging winds. Between Vickie and Evie riding her, she didn't know how long she'd be able to take it, if the sick feeling in her stomach and the weary shuffle of her steps were anything to go by.
She really needed to learn how to say no to people.
XXXXX
Bridget hated being alone. Really and truly hated it.
When she got home after school, there was a note from her father saying he'd be working late, and wasn't that just perfect. One of the few times she not just needed him to be here, but wanted him here, too, and he was gone. It was one of the pains of growing up with only one parent: when they had to be gone, they had to be gone. Perfect, perfect, perfect.
Limp dick. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Bridget had never even thought about that…that part of Jerry before, and now it was all she could think about. Damn that Evie Martin! If this were her old school back in New York, she wouldn't be in this situation. Ooh, sometimes she could just go off on her father for hours if she had the chance.
But she didn't have but a couple friends in New York. And who knew how real that was?
So the girl spent her evening alone. She thought about how she was going to have Evie do her hair while she did her homework. She thought about what else she and Vickie needed to get down for her campaign while she made dinner. And she thought about limp dicks while she ate, bending a buttered noodle and cringing at the dirty comparison.
Limp dick. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
Made her wonder if Evie actually knew that was true.
No. That was ridiculous.
But it did make her wonder. About…about that trait in men. Boys. Men. Were they boys, or were they men? Was she a woman, or was she a girl? She must be a girl. She couldn't possibly be a woman. But did girls think about the penises of boys they liked? Probably not. Probably.
Bridget lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. The fan whirled lazily, creaking back and forth a bit, and a slight breeze came in through her window, shocking her skin under her thin white nightgown. She lay still, her covers thrown off her body, letting the cool air envelope her instead. She should have been falling asleep, but she was wide awake with her eyes shut.
The first person I think of she thought the first boy that comes to mind. He must mean something. He has to mean something. And he has to mean something to me. He can't mean something to Vickie or to Missy or to Cherry or to any of the rest of them. I may not mean anything to him, though. But don't they say that if you dream of somebody particular, that's the universe telling you they're thinking of you? Isn't that what they say? Oh, God she maybe prayed again please let me be important to someone.
Jerry Thompson, she figured. She figured it must be Jerry Thompson who she'd see. (He's the one who had asked her to homecoming, after all. And even though he might have…yes. That.) And she was confident that she would see somebody, like he was coming to her to tell her in person almost. That he cared about her. But Bridget woke up in the middle of the night chilled and, to her dismay, slightly dewy. My, that was embarrassing. Even all alone like she was. Whatever – whoever – it was she had seen, they had certainly…well. Yes.
Maybe it was just her period.
(It was not her period.)
As she stood underneath the spray of the shower to wash off this dirty feeling, it was the heat, the growing warmth through her body that shocked her awake. She would assume she was blushing from embarrassment if it weren't for the hot water. Damn her mother, leaving them like this. Bridget couldn't go to her father about things like this! About boys and love and…and fucking dewy underwear! Ugh. Boys! They weren't good for anything. Even Jerry. Because Jerry was pleasant and well-behaved and kind. He didn't drive her up a wall every time she spoke to him. He was easy. He was too easy. It was the boys like Two-Bit Mathews that drove her crazy. Boys like him that would probably be cute if he'd trim those sideburns and wasn't so annoying and didn't look at her that way every time she so much as glanced at him.
Bridget might just fall in love with a boy like him if he…if he just…if Two-Bit Mathews simply…if he just….
Bridget's mind was spinning. The world seemed to tip on its axis. She placed her hand on the wall just to hold herself up. She suddenly felt sick to her stomach, and ended up spitting up stringy bile and watching it swirl down the drain. Bridget slumped to the floor. Really? Really? Getting sick over a boy. This is what her life had come to. She'd make a quip that of course that ridiculous Two-Bit Mathews made her sick to her stomach, but there was a more serious part of her that knew it was bats – not butterflies – in her stomach that made her feel this way when she thought about him.
Well. Maybe she had puked for a different reason, but it is true that whenever she thought of Two-Bit, there was some weird physical reaction. The flip-flopping stomach, the warmth in her chest, the dizzy feeling, the…the…the, uh, moist feeling she'd gotten this morning was probably his fault, too.
Wait.
Wait.
Did that…did that mean that it was him?
No. No, she was overthinking this. She always did this, she always did this. Why was her mind doing this to her? What had she done to deserve this? See, Jerry was a good, nice, talented young man. He was going places. He was smart and good-looking and kind to her when other boys sometimes weren't (like Bob Sheldon).
But Two-Bit Mathews…she'd seen him. She'd shut her eyes, and he was there, the first person she thought of. Sometimes the only person she thought of. Her heart ached for him. And not because of pity towards him, but an animalistic desire for him that she couldn't ignore. Not anymore. See, he was cute. Hell, he was more than cute. Jerry was handsome, sure. But Two-Bit Mathews made her go weak at the knees. He was tall and well-built and had good features. His eyes were gorgeous and stormy and his grin was wide and genuine. That's what was most attractive about him: how candid and sincere everything about him was, his whole aura. Nevermind the long hair and the old flannels and torn-up jeans. Nevermind the ridiculous scuffed cowboy boots and sideburns.
Nevermind all that.
No, she focused on those eyes of his and that smile. And his drawling, husky country accent. (To think Bridget Marie Stevens, who everyone thought was cosmopolitan and refined, would find his hick drawl attractive!) Oh, god. Thinking about all of it was upsetting her stomach again, and she leaned her head back onto the wall and cried. No messy tears, but a steady drip-drip-drip that made her occasionally shakily suck in air and her nose run. She was a miserable mess.
When she got of the shower, after she'd blown her nose and stopped crying, and even though she was cold and shivering and felt sick and weaker than a kitten, she stood naked in front of her mirror and examined. She was pale, her skin even whiter than her usual fairness. There was that stupid gap in her teeth that Two-Bit had brought up – but it wasn't even that big! (Just a small slit. Hardly anything to point out.) Her eyes were big, but were they too big? And her hair…
Oh, her hair.
(She scowled at herself and decided to just move on from that for now.)
There were some freckles on her nose and shoulders, and the rest of her body for that matter. Like she'd been dusted with cinnamon. Blue veins popped up on her milky white skin. Bridget placed a hand on her stomach, felt how even though it was flat, she still sucked in. She cupped her breasts and shook her head in disappointment. There were girls in middle school with bigger breasts than hers. It was like womanhood was a promised land that had been tantalizingly dangled in front of her all her young life, the promise of a full body and instant sex appeal, but that had been ripped from her as if the universe had been playing a cruel joke on her the whole time and was now laughing at her expense.
What Jerry saw in her was a mystery.
And the possibility that Two-Bit would ever look at her and see anything more than a scared little girl was outside the realm of possible things.
Did she really think Evie could fix any of this?
Bridget sighed. This was getting exhausting. She waltzed out of the bathroom, naked as the day she was born, and slammed her window shut with a bang. A few things on her desk and on the bookshelves rattled, and she was surprised she'd found that much strength. Then she wilted, and crawled back into bed, still naked, the sheets cool and enveloping her shaking, tiny, vulnerable body. But she felt clean, at least. When her father found her later on before he left for work, he simply gave her a sympathetic look and ran a hand through her hair gently, telling her it was alright for her to just stay home that day. Bridget could've cried with relief.
She would get better. She would get stronger.
And she would go to homecoming with Jerry Thompson.
Even though there was someone else.
XXXXX
AN: Thank you to all of you again for reading this. Your continued support is everything :)