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Nobody knew where the hell Jimmy Hopper was.

Usually, nobody would care. Jimmy skipped school plenty, and I saw him in class about as often as I didn't. The reason people were wondering was because his absence the Monday following the incident was incredibly conspicuous. Most people assumed he was serving in-school detention or had been suspended, but as the speculation swirled before the bell rang, I noticed Two-Bit shifting uncomfortably in his seat. We locked eyes for a moment, and he cocked an eyebrow.

"What're you lookin' at?" He asked.

"Nothing," I whispered, feeling awkward. Used to be he was just a pain in the neck; now he was the guy who everyone knew – or thought – hated me. Including myself.

"I heard someone sayin' they saw him over the weekend lookin' pretty busted-up," Two-Bit told Missy. She and I had been casually speculating about the situation, her more than me. I just wanted to forget Jimmy even existed. She and Two-Bit, though, were a pair of little gossips.

Missy leaned on her elbow and stared at him. "No kidding?" He shook his head. "Huh. Well, I dunno if that's got anything to do with why he ain't here, but it's sure interesting to know."

"Well, you know me – always happy to help," Two-Bit said, smirking and flexing his hand, which I noticed was a bit scraped-up. Looked like he had found a fight that weekend, too.

xXx

It was another Saturday afternoon in my so-called glamorous life, a life where everybody suddenly liked me just because I sat next to Missy Redar.

I owe a lot to small coincidences.

I was sitting shotgun in Cherry's little Stingray convertible when she pulled into the DX Station, the same one I recognized from that first drive through town back in August. I knew right away that it meant Sodapop Curtis. It didn't matter that he was a greaser; every damn girl in Tulsa was in love with that boy – even though we all knew he had a steady – and Cherry was no exception. So, sure, we stopped at the DX to get gas, but there was no way we weren't going to go inside. Cherry wouldn't have allowed for me to just sit there when I could be inside getting an eyeful of the man candy.

"I just wanna get a magazine, Bridget," Cherry insisted, even though we both knew that was bullshit – she could have easily done that at a fill-up station on our side of town. "That's all. And maybe we could grab some Cokes?"

Truth be told, I really didn't want to go in. I didn't want to see Sodapop Curtis and have him recognize me. I didn't want him to see me and smile and ask me how I was doing and if we had seen each other somewhere before. I barely knew him, but I was terrified of what he would see. His judgment of me would just prove to be true, and as proud as I was of my shiny-new high-brow reputation, I had a feeling that Sodapop would take one look at me and say to himself, Look at her. You were right all along. She isn't any different than the rest of them. And something about him, from just that one meeting, made me believe that wasn't something I wanted him to think.

(Okay, so maybe I thought he was cute, too.)

We didn't have DX stations back home, and because we were right on the edge of the East side, I had been expecting the inside to have incredibly sticky floors and for everything to be in total disarray because that was what I had been led to believe – that everything on the East side got trashed. But when we stepped inside the station, it was perfectly clean and orderly, and I mentally scolded myself for assuming it would not have been.

I shook my head to clear it; I was starting to worry I was already losing the ability to think for myself.

What I was surprised to see was that there wasn't exactly a swarm of girls waiting to see Sodapop Curtis. I don't think it's out of place for me to say that not every guy gets girls fawning over him like this one did. I didn't recognize any of the few girls there that day, which isn't surprising; I didn't know everybody yet, though Marcia and Missy were always introducing me to people like I was too socially inept to do it myself. Please – I may be quiet, but I am polite. I can smile and shake hands and remember names. Including my own!

I was relieved to see that it wasn't Sodapop working the counter; it was another boy, with black hair and a scowl that occupied his face like it lived there permanently. Maybe he was the reason the number of girls in the station was at what looked to be an all-time low. Not that I exactly thought he was ugly, just that if you wanted to find him handsome, you would have to peel back a lot of layers, starting with that scowl.

I must have been staring that day because the guy directed that scowl in my direction. His face expressed even more annoyance if that was possible. "May I help you?" He snapped, and I thought that his customer service skills left something to be desired.

Looking around, I hoped he was talking to someone besides me, maybe to Cherry, but she had wandered off and was somewhere in the convenience part of the station, looking for her magazines and Cokes. I turned back and smiled a bit nervously. "Who, me?" I asked, inwardly groaning. Of course he was talking to me.

The boy rolled his eyes. "Who else? Is there somethin' you're lookin' for?"

"Oh – no."

He sighed. "Is your car havin' trouble?"

I shook my head. "I don't have a car," I said dumbly. "My friend was filling hers up and is looking for something now."

The guy looked over towards the convenience part of the station, then he looked back at me, studying my face with his arms crossed over his chest. "Have I seen you before?"

I was getting really sick of questions like that. "Probably not. I'm new."

Something flashed behind his eyes, something like recognition, though we had never met before. "You Bee Stevens?"

My eyes went wide. Was I somehow the only new kid at school this year? "How'd you know?" I asked.

I'll admit, I was kind of pissed that he knew who I was, and that he knew me as Bee Stevens, too. What was with that? It seemed as though everyone was calling me that. I heard it in the halls at school all the time. That's what Two-Bit called me, and I hated it because he hated me. Why couldn't he have just kept it to himself?

"Name's Steve Randle. I've never seen you before," he said as he wiped down the counter, ignoring my question. "I mean, I have. At school. But I don't know ya, and I wouldn't've expected to see you here. I think my girlfriend has a class with you – Evie Martin?"

There was a catch in my throat. Oh, man. He must have known about the Holden Caulfield comment, then. It got quiet between the two of us, and I could hear The Supremes singing about not hurrying love pretty clearly on the small radio behind the counter. What was I supposed to do?

I stood up straight and gave him a tight smile. "I know her," I said, keeping my voice smooth and unwavering.

Steve's frown became even more deep-set as he stared daggers at me. He knew what I was doing. "That it? Cuz I heard – "

"Steve. What have I told you about hasslin' customers? Hm?"

I was afraid that day that Sodapop Curtis would be my burden, but he was my savior. He saved me from the wrath of Steve Randle. "Whatever, Soda," Steve sighed. "Thought you was workin' on that GTO?"

"I can't find what's wrong with it," Sodapop shrugged. "How about you go take a look for yourself, huh? I'll take care of things up here."

I watched as Steve looked between me and Sodapop – rather angrily at me, of course, but he clapped Sodapop on the shoulder and headed towards the garage, mumbling something under his breath. Sodapop looked at me and smiled. I could see why everyone fawned over him. Really see, I mean. He wasn't just beautiful – he was stunning, and he radiated kindness.

"Sorry 'bout him. We usually don't let him outta his cage," he grinned, and I felt a laugh bubble up. "Can I help you with something?"

I shook my head. "Just waiting on somebody."

He nodded, pursing his lips, and he started searching my face in the same way Steve Randle had, and I shifted uncomfortably, wondering when I would stop feeling like an exhibit at the zoo. Come see the new girl! She's five-foot-four and is too polite to ask you to stop staring! "I've seen you before," he mused. "Ain't you the gal...? Nah, that ain't you." He shook a finger at me. "You're somebody, though."

I laughed again, letting myself get reeled in by his charm. "I am somebody," I said. "I'm Bridget Stevens. You filled up my car, we talked..."

"I do that with just about everybody that comes through here. What'd we talk about?" I was overly touched by the fact that he was trying to remember me at all.

"Oh, I just asked what there was to do around here, since I'm new and everything," I said. "Stuff like that."

Sodapop shook his head. I clearly wasn't ringing any bells. "What kind of car do you have?" He tried.

"It's not my car," I said quickly. "It's my dad's. It's a 1963 T-Bird. White. Convertible top. I could give you the plate number if that would be any help."

Soda laughed, shaking his head. "You're a funny girl, Bridget Stevens. That's a hell of a nice car your dad has. Surprised he doesn't just give you your own – nice gals like you usually come with nice cars."

What was that supposed to mean? I didn't get a chance to ask, though, because Cherry came up to the counter with her magazine and two Cokes, smiling like her life depended on it. She was under his spell, too. Sodapop rang her up and handed her the change. "Y'all have a nice day now," Sodapop said. "And it was real nice talkin' to you, Bridget."

I told him it was nice talking to him too, and then walked back out to Cherry's car.

"He sure liked you!" Cherry grinned as we drove.

The wind kept whipping my hair in my face, but it felt good. It had been a hot day, and I was pretty much grateful for any relief, even if I had to sacrifice my hair. Not that it was much of a sacrifice; my hair is too curly to look good. "I guess," I sighed. "We just talked, you know. Nothing interesting. He sure remembers my father's car, though."

"What kind of car does your dad have?" Cherry asked.

"T-Bird."

"Ah."

That was about all there was to say. It was a nice car, drove well. I liked to drive it, but frankly, I picture myself as more of a VW Beetle kind of gal, so I could listen to The Beatles in my Beetle. Get it? Alright, that was a bad joke. But I'm not really suited to T-Birds and Stingrays. Cherry is. It just depends on the person, I suppose.

"Did you see the one guy's teeth? Those were awful. I didn't know teeth could be so crooked." I laughed along with her, definitely able to picture the crooked teeth that jutted out in Steve Randle's mouth. "Anyway," she continued, "he was just bein' awful friendly with you. You've never talked with him like that before?"

I shook my head. "I barely know the guy," I stressed. "He's just friendly, is all."

"Yeah, well, not all of them are so friendly," Cherry mumbled, but I was barely able to hear her over the wind. "You heard about Tim Shepard, or Dallas Winston?" I shook my head again. "Those are a couple of the dangerous ones. Bob has run into them before. They ain't nice to anybody, ever."

I twisted in my seat so I could face her fully. I chewed hard on the gum in my mouth, thinking. "Do they go to school with us?" I asked.

"God, no. I don't know the last time either of them was in school. Anyways, enough about them. I say we go to the country club and play some tennis."

"Really?" I asked. Dad and I had joined the club soon after we had moved to town – I think Dad was hoping it would get me out of the house in the beginning there, but that obviously hadn't worked – but I had only been once to get the lay of the land. "I don't have my tennis set with me."

Cherry turned her head to look at me briefly, then back at the road. It was one of many moments where I realized she wanted to say something, something that would make the ground beneath my feet crumble and make the sky fall down in shards that resembled broken glass. She wanted to say something that would shatter my world, but why she chose to think of those things at moments like this was beyond me.

"That's fine," is what she said. "We're the same size, you can borrow one of mine."

xXx

The country club was an incredibly posh oasis in the middle of this city of cowboys. When I stepped inside in my borrowed tennis skirt set, Cherry beside me in her whites and visor, I felt for the first time since I had moved that I was somewhere familiar. All these clubs are the same, no matter where you go, and I'm pretty sure that's the point. Both sets of my grandparents belonged to different clubs and spas, and I had grown up going to club events and playing tennis and having pool boys bring me sandwiches and lemonade.

The club in Tulsa may have been a bit more southwestern in its décor, but the rules and the expectations felt wonderfully familiar. This…this I could do.

"I called Bob while we were at my house," Cherry said over her shoulder as we wound our way through the dark and opulent lobby, past businessmen making deals over Old Fashioneds and women laughing over light midday cocktails, gingerly holding their glasses with freshly done nails. "He's going to play with us for a bit, and he's bringing one of his friends with him."

"You did?" I asked, wrinkling my nose. "I thought we were going to be playing together."

I hardly knew Bob Sheldon. He was Cherry's boyfriend, he was a senior, he played football, and he was tall, dark, and handsome. He oozed charisma. And he barely spoke to me the few times we had met in the lunchroom and the school parking lot. That's all I knew about him, and none of what I knew made me want to play tennis with him.

"We are," Cherry shrugged. She threw open the metal gate to the courts, where Bob and another boy were already waiting. "And we'll still be playing against each other – just, ya know, in mixed doubles." She waved a hand. "Bobby, hey!"

Both boys turned, and there was Bob and another boy I had never seen before. He was just as tall as Bob, maybe even a little taller, with dark honey hair and suntanned skin. I couldn't see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but I had a feeling they were – "Beautiful."

The word fell from my lips as a breathy sigh, loud enough to be heard but quiet enough to be unintelligible. The three of them looked at me. "Did you say something, Bridget?" Cherry asked.

I cleared my throat. "Huh? No. Bob, hello."

Bob nodded at me, but when Cherry nudged him in the side, he seemed to remember his manners. "Oh, right. Bridget, this is Jerry Thompson, our quarterback. Jerry, this is Bridget Stevens. She's one of Cherry's friends." I wasn't totally sure, but his tone sounded a tad dismissive. The introduction seemed to satisfy Cherry, though.

Jerry smiled at me and stuck out his hand. "Nice to meet ya, Bridget."

I froze for just a split second before shoving my hand out to shake, and he pumped it up and down a few times real hard. The guy had quite the grip. "Nice to meet you, too," I said, my voice practically shaking with how hard he was pumping my arm.

Bob bounced his ball against the court with a loud thwack. "Y'all ready for some tennis or what?"

xXx

Cherry dropped me off at home after tennis. It was a warm afternoon, and I dragged myself back into the house, wanting nothing more than to take a shower and rinse off all the sweat and grime. I also tried to not think too much about Jerry Thompson; he had been my partner against Cherry and Bob, and we had split the matches. Both Cherry and I were pretty good tennis players, so we were able to make up for the more awkward, football-influenced play style of the boys. But Jerry was still a pretty good partner, and a nice guy. Hell, Jerry Thompson was probably the nicest guy besides Sodapop Curtis I had met since coming to Oklahoma, and that bar was low.

It had been nice to play again – it had been a while. If Will Rogers had any women's sports besides cheerleading, I would like to think I would go out for tennis. My father wasn't much of a player, but he was a big baseball fan. He used to take me to Yankees games, and I would sit there never quite knowing what was going on, but knowing I liked how the players' butts looked in those pants.

I trudged past my father's study, and when I saw he was inside grading some papers, I decided I could interrupt him for a minute so we could talk. "I'm home, Daddy," I called into his study, trying to get his attention. He looked up at me and smiled.

"I see that. Did you have a good time with your friend?" He asked.

"Yeah. We went to the club and played tennis for a while." I left out the part about the boys. Not that he would care, but the thought of talking about boys with my father made embarrassment pool in my stomach.

Dad looked back down at his papers. "And, uh, who won the match?" He asked, his tone lilting.

"We split. Cherry's good competition."

My father shuffled some papers around and moved on to the next paper. "Well, next time, be sure to wipe to floor with her." He winked at me, and I couldn't help but smile back.

xXx

Meeting Dallas Winston was a mistake.

I didn't mean to bump into him; we were just at the same drugstore at the same time. I didn't even know it was him. All I wanted was to get the next issue of 16, and there he was. Shoving a stolen pack of cigarettes into his pocket and whipping right around and straight into me.

"Fuckin' watch where you're going, huh?" He spat.

My breath hitched, getting caught in my throat. That was an eastern accent if I'd ever heard one. It was blended with a southern flair, but it was New York, alright. Like me.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, feeling embarrassed as I looked down at the magazine in my hand. A strange thought struck me, then, and I held my magazine to my chest. "Um. I could…I could pay for those if you'd like."

Looking back on it, I don't know why I said it. It was a really stupid idea, because saying it gave Dallas Winston a reason to remember me. If there's anybody out there that you wanted to be a nobody around, it was him. But now, I was the girl at the convenience store who offered to pay for his cigarettes. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

"Jesus Christ – who the hell do you think you are, girl, huh?"

Yep. Stupid idea. It was stupid! I felt stupid, too. I felt stupid in my blue dress, standing next to him while he swore at me and shook his head.

"I'm sorry," I said again. "I was just – offering."

"Well, don't," he snarled. "The hell is your name?"

"What?" I asked, startled into looking up so I could see his sharp blue eyes and his horrible face.

"Name. What is it?"

I should not have told. I should not have told him! But I went on and did it anyway because I was an idiot. "Bridget Stevens," I mumbled.

"Well, listen here, Bridget – I can get my own damn cigarettes, got it? Am I coming in loud and clear?" He asked. I nodded, now looking back down at my shoes. "Good," he snapped, and he stalked out of the store.

No one noticed he had snatched those cigarettes. No one except me.


AN: Thanks for reading!