"You want to do me a favor, right?"

I look up from my research paper on Catherine the Great. It's first period European history on Wednesday and our teacher's just passed back our first drafts. I've been rereading mine, absorbing all his comments with a critical eye. Lindsey must not care about her paper because she's turned around in her seat, elbows propped on my desk, chin resting in her hands. My eyes flick to Lindsey's research paper, laying forgotten on her binder. Lindsey wrote her paper on Lady Jane Grey, the Nine Days Queen. We both received the same grade, an A-minus. I'm dying to read Lindsey's paper.

"What kind of favor?" I reply, craning my neck to read her introductory paragraph.

Lindsey smiles, sweetly. "Well, you know how I haven't told anyone about your secret boyfriend?"

I stop trying to read her paper and look at Lindsey, frowning. So, it's that kind of favor.

Lindsey continues, "Well, Sadie and George are being absolutely impossible these days, as you know. Ross has been over for dinner twice and they still won't let me go out alone with him. They say I've been a little too...uh, unpredictable lately. And Meg wants to go out with that Price Irving, but Mrs. Jardin insists on accompanying her on first dates. However, Price isn't fond of that idea. So, Meg and I decided to double date on Friday night, but..." Lindsey pauses and gives me another sweet smile. "Mrs. Jardin doesn't trust me and Sadie doesn't trust Meg, so Meg and I need someone proven to be responsible and smart to come on the date with us."

I give her a doubtful look. "You want me to chaperone your date?" I ask in disbelief.

"Sort of. It will be more like triple dating. You can bring your new boyfriend!"

Oh, certainly. Wes would love to triple date with a bunch of high schoolers. Then I could explain to him why all my friends are in high school and then explain to my friends why I'm pretending to not be in high school. "I don't think so, Lindsey," I reply.

Lindsey sticks out her bottom lip. "Pleeeease?" she whines. "You don't want Meg and me to have to triple date with Sadie and George, do you? Or worse, with Mrs. Jardin!"

"I just don't think my new boyfriend would have much fun. No offense. But he's...um, older."

Lindsey's eyes widen. "College?"

I hesitate. "No, out of college," I admit.

If possible, Lindsey's eyes grow even wider. "Shannon!" she gasps.

"Don't tell!"

"Of course I won't!"

"So, you see, I can't bring him," I tell her. Besides, Friday is Wes' and my four week anniversary. I want to do something special to celebrate, although we haven't made any definite plans.

Lindsey drums her fingers against her cheeks, thinking. "Well...Ross has lots of friends," she says, slowly. She gives me a pleading look. "It wouldn't be cheating. Surely, Mr. Out Of College won't mind." She sticks out her bottom lip again.

I stare at her, stonily, although inside she's wearing me down. A little bit. I suppose Wes and I could go out Saturday night instead. Lindsey and Meg are two of my best friends. And Lindsey hasn't spilled to anyone that I have a secret boyfriend. I sigh. "I suppose I could talk to him," I relent.

"So, it's a yes?"

"It's a maybe."

Lindsey smiles. "It's a yes."

Dr. Clark has the flu, so there's a substitute in microbiology. Since it's such a specialized class, there's no lesson. Instead we have a free study period. Kristy and I spend the period working on a new presentation for the Smart and Sober club. We want to have it ready for today's meeting. Sally White spends the period painting her toenails. She's sitting in her regular seat with her bare feet on the chair between herself and Kristy. She's stuffed crumpled pieces of binder paper between each of her toes.

"Maybe I'll join the Smart and Sober club," she says suddenly.

Kristy and I glance up from our outline and look at her, suspiciously. "I don't think so," Kristy says, tightly.

"Why not? I'm smart and I'm sober."

"You're also obnoxious and odiferous."

"There you go stinging with those words again, Kat."

I peer around Kristy at Sally. She has her head down, carefully swiping emerald-green polish onto her big toe. "I think you'd be more comfortable hanging out with Greer and her friends," I tell her with false sincerity.

Sally scoffs. "Greer Carson thinks she's badass because she steals her mother's cigarettes and screws anything that pauses long enough to screw her back."

I admit it. I laugh.

Kristy looks torn. I know she wants to laugh and agree wholeheartedly, but she'd rather lick the classroom floor than laugh at anything Sally White says. Finally, she reaches a compromise and simply looks disapproving. "I don't approve of Greer's extracurricular activities either," she says.

Sally chuckles. It sounds strange, coming from deep in her throat. "Maybe Greer could start a club. She could put it on her college applications."

"The Sex and STD club," Kristy suggests.

I laugh again. I'm glad we're at the back of the room where no one can hear us.

"Boy-craziness is so middle school," says Sally, still bent over her toes. "It's good that boys aren't exactly interested in either of you. You won't be ditching me in Grand Central for a hot piece of ass anytime soon."

Of course, Sally would have to go and stomp on any almost positive feelings I have toward her. I roll my eyes, even though she's not looking at me. If she knew about Wes, if she saw Wes, she'd be singing a different tune. I smile smugly to myself, pleased in my knowledge.

Kristy isn't as satisfied with her own self-knowledge. "Hey!" she protests, whipping around to face Sally. "Shannon and I happen to be very appealing to some boys."

"Who?" Sally asks, raising her eyes.

"Well, Shannon's boyfriend dumped her," Kristy says and I narrow my eyes at her, "but I dated Bart Taylor and Karl Schmauder. And I broke up with them." Kristy doesn't add that she broke up with Bart Taylor in eighth grade. Or that, while she and Karl dated for less than a month in tenth grade, they never actually broke up. Kristy started softball season and Karl started the Spring musical and eventually, they just stopped dating.

Sally's still hunched over with her eyes raised toward us. "Bart Taylor, the guy who smokes pot in the girls' bathroom because he's banned from the boys'?"

Kristy's cheeks turn slightly pink. "That's the one," she confirms. She quickly shakes her embarrassment though. "I guess we're not all cool enough to be deflowered on the Italian Riviera," she says, haughtily.

"I didn't know anyone still used the word 'deflowered'," Sally replies.

Kristy turns to me and rolls her eyes.

I lean around Kristy again. A thought has just occurred to me. Sally White, as detestable as she may be, could be a wealth of untapped knowledge. She's been everywhere and she's done everything. She's had sex on the Italian Riviera. Finally, her annoying presence could prove valuable. "You've never told us about Mr. Italian Riviera," I comment, casually.

"There's nothing to tell."

I pause, thinking. Sally isn't like Greer, who willingly spills any and all details of her love life, whether real or exaggerated. For being such a braggadocio, Sally White certainly remains tight-lipped a lot.

"Why did your piece at the Creative Arts Faire sound like a funeral march?" I ask her, deciding on a different tactic. Honestly, I've been dying to know anyway. I haven't asked yet because I don't want Sally thinking it's acceptable to speak to me.

"Because a part of me died that day," Sally answers, not looking up, still speaking in that bored voice of hers.

In mourning for her virginity. How pretentious.

Kristy nods. "I don't know why any girl our age would put herself in that position. We aren't emotionally ready. It's too costly."

"It was costly," Sally agrees. "It cost me twenty euros for the penicillin shot."

Kristy scoots her chair closer to mine.

I call Wes when I get home from my French Club meeting. I've made a decision, a couple of decisions, but I can still change my mind. The phone rings three times, then his machine clicks on. I check my watch. He should be home from school by now.

"Hello, Wes? This is Shannon," I say when his message finishes. "Could you - "

"Hello?" Wes answers.

"Wes? Are you there?" I reply, then feel like an idiot for asking. Of course he's there. I'm not having a conversation with the machine.

"I thought you were my mother," he tells me.

"I'm not."

"I'm glad."

I laugh and roll over onto my side. "Wes, I've been thinking about Friday night. I know we haven't made any solid plans, but I'd like to do something kind of special. I mean, it'll be one month on Friday," I remind him, in case he isn't keeping track.

"Yeah, I know," Wes says and I'm pleased he remembers. "I was thinking, maybe we could go into the city."

"New York?" I reply, sitting up. Of course he means New York. He certainly doesn't mean Stamford. I twist the phone cord around my wrist. I've never gone out of town with a guy. It seems like a big deal. But I wanted special. "I'd love to go into the city," I tell him. "But..."

"But what?"

"Can we go on Saturday instead? I promised some of my friends that I'd go out with them on Friday," I say and I did promise. I promised Lindsey during French Club. "It's important. They can't change the date." Actually, it never occurred to me to ask them to. It's too late now.

"Saturday's fine. We'll be able to spend more time in the city. Do you have a restaurant preference? I'll call and make a reservation."

I'm not familiar with many New York restaurants. I rarely ever go into the city. "Anywhere is all right with me. Your choice," I tell him. I bite my lip, thinking. I decide if I think too long or hard, I might change my mind. So I plunge on. "Do you want to stay over?" I ask him. "In New York? In a hotel?"

There's a pause on Wes' end. "You want to get a hotel room?" he finally replies.

"Yes."

"Uh...sure. If you're sure," he says, although he doesn't sound very sure. "I'll make a reservation. If you want."

"It's what I want. I'm sure," I answer, more confidently than I feel. I can change my mind. Anytime. I can change my mind. Last year, the Smart and Sober club focused on date rape. One of the things we stressed was that you can always change your mind. Anytime, at any point. And I can.

When Wes and I hang up, I sit awhile with the phone in my lap, staring down at it. I feel slightly uneasy. I want to be close to someone. There's nothing wrong with that.

Tiffany barges into my room without knocking.

"You're supposed to knock!" I shout.

Tiffany shrugs. "Kristy and Abby are in the driveway in Kristy's ugly station wagon. They said to get your coat and purse. You're going to Bellair's."

I don't have a choice? Kristy Thomas is so bossy. I should do my homework, but I suppose it can wait until later. I haven't been shopping in a while and I need something new for Saturday night. Not for Friday night. Anything will do for then, for my "date" with whatever goon Ross Brown finds for me. Quickly, I peel off my uniform and throw on a pair of jeans and Anna's Shetland sweater, then I run down the stairs and out the front door, calling to Tiffany and Maria to do their homework.

"Lindsey's meeting us," Kristy informs me when I hop into the backseat. "She wants to buy a new dress for her date. And I have to buy a birthday present for Nannie."

"I need to buy a new dress, too," I tell them, latching my seatbelt. "What are you buying, Abby?"

"Nothing. I'm just along for the thrill of the shopping experience," she replies. She doesn't say anything about my sweater.

Lindsey's seated on a bench outside Bellair's when we pull up. For some reason, she's still wearing her uniform. She does that sometimes. We park beside her car, then pile out onto the sidewalk.

"See?" I say to Lindsey, cheerfully, when I reach her. "Your grandparents aren't all bad. They're letting you shop unsupervised on a weekday!"

Lindsey rolls her eyes. "George has office hours and Sadie's at her AA meeting. That's the only reason they're not escorting me around town in chains."

"Abby and I are going to go look at real clothes while you two go buy your frou-frou dresses," Kristy announces when we step through the doors to Bellair's. Kristy is the oddest person to shop with. She'd rather split up than move together from department to department or from store to store. She doesn't see the beauty in browsing.

We part ways on the escalator. Lindsey and I get off at the Young Sophisticate section on the second floor while Kristy and Abby continue on to the "old lady section" on the third floor. I'm not really interested in the Young Sophisticate section. I want something sophisticated, but not young. Lindsey refuses to shop in any other section though. She says Profile, the really nice clothes, are too expensive and her grandparents will murder her if she charges too much on her card. Again.

I don't see anything in Young Sophisticates. I browse halfheartedly through the racks while Lindsey fills her arms with skirts and dresses. When she's ready, I go into the dressing room with her. We take the handicapped stall so we have more room. I sit on the stool and patiently watch Lindsey try on outfit after outfit. She doesn't like any of the dresses. She finally decides on a plain white skirt, saying she'll find something at home to wear with it.

We take the escalator to the third floor to the Profile section. I immediately find my dress. The mannequin's wearing it. The dress is gray with tiny clear rhinestones across the bodice. It's spaghetti-strapped and the skirt falls right above the knees. It's perfect. I grab it off the rack and carry it to the register without even trying it on, without even checking the price.

"We're just going to Pietro's, you know," Lindsey tells me, leaning against the counter as the saleslady rings me up.

I look at Lindsey, puzzled, then remember. "Oh, no, it's not for Friday. It's for Saturday. My boyfriend and I are going to New York."

Lindsey looks very impressed.

Carrying the garment bag over my shoulder, I lead Lindsey back to the escalator. We're supposed to meet Kristy and Abby outside accessories. When we step off the escalator, Kristy and Abby are walking our way. Kristy has a Bellair's bag on her arm and even though she's wearing a ponytail, an amber-colored headband on her head.

"The headband's for me, not Nannie," Kristy says when she sees me looking at it. "Here's what I got Nannie." Kristy pulls a hot pink sweatshirt from the bag and holds it up for inspection. The front has a glittery bowling ball rushing toward glittery pins and the words Rock and Bowl! in black glitter. "What do you think?" Kristy asks.

"I think Stacey McGill's mother ought to be fired," I reply.

Kristy sticks out her tongue.

"I thought it was funny," Abby says.

"It's hideous," Lindsey tells them as we step onto the down elevator.

When we're outside again, Kristy turns to us. "Let's go to Thelma's Cafe for pie."

Lindsey and I check our watches. It's almost five o' clock. It's almost dinnertime. What if Maria eats pickles again?

"I can go," Lindsey says. "My grandparents won't be home for another hour. Can we walk over to the pharmacy first? I have to pick up my new prescriptions. I forgot yesterday and Sadie yelled at me."

Reluctantly, I agree, too. We put our purchases in the cars, but decide to walk to the pharmacy. It's not that far down the street. When we reach the pharmacy, Lindsey looks over her shoulder and says, hesitantly, "Uh...you don't have to come in."

"Are you kidding?" Kristy demands. "It's freezing out here!"

"You aren't going to come to the counter with me, are you?"

Kristy, Abby, and I exchange a look.

"No, we don't have to," I reply.

"I need to check out the nasal sprays anyway," Abby adds.

Kristy cocks an eyebrow at me, but I shake my head. She remains silent.

Lindsey pushes open the pharmacy door. A bell rings as we walk in, causing the pharmacist to look up from his book. "Hello, Lindsey," he greets her.

Lindsey walks briskly to the counter, leaving us behind. "Hello, Mr. Bernstein," she says, then leans far over the counter and begins whispering to him.

Abby glances at me. "Bizarre," she says, quietly, then wanders into aisle one to search for the nasal sprays.

Kristy and I follow. Over at the counter, the pharmacist has lined up four prescription bottles, three small orange ones and a single large white one. He's showing Lindsey something in a pamphlet, talking too low for me to hear. I strain to catch a word and am a bit perturbed when I pick up something that sounds alarmingly like "audio delusion". I decide not to attempt to eavesdrop anymore.

Instead I move over from the nasal sprays and discreetly browse the condom display. I wonder if I should buy a box. Not now in front of Kristy and Abby. And not from that male pharmacist. Just the thought makes me embarrassed. But maybe later. Somewhere else.

Kristy comes to stand beside me. "We should buy a box for Greer," she says. "We could tape them to the hood of her Miata."

Abby sidles up on Kristy's other side. "Greer's on the pill. Everyone knows that. She told anyone who would listen when Mrs. Carson took her to the gynecologist."

Kristy plucks a box from the rack and holds it up for Abby to see. "Helps protect against STDs. Read the label, Abby," she says with mock seriousness. She flips the box over. "Ultra-sensitive? What does it matter?"

Honestly, I was wondering myself. Aren't they all the same? Is ultra-sensitive better than regular? Who am I supposed to ask? Certainly not that pharmacist.

"I don't know," replies Abby, "but these are all boring. None of them glow in the dark or are coca-cola flavored. Last summer, at my grandparents' in the Hamptons, a bunch of us blew up glow in the dark condoms and tied them this girl's car. We could do that to Greer. Where are the glow in the dark ones?"

"Why don't you ask the pharmacist?" I suggest.

I'm teasing, but that doesn't matter to Abby. She holds up a box of condoms and shouts, "Hey! Do you have any that taste like sardines or turn into hand puppets?"

Hand puppets? I cover my face and almost die. Kristy snickers.

The pharmacist stares at us. "No. This isn't a joke shop," he replies, flatly, then hands Lindsey a pen to sign her receipt. Her face is beet red.

"You're being really obnoxious," I tell Abby.

I don't think she even hears me. She's in the zone. That weird place her mind goes when she loses all semblance of self-control. She and Kristy are still giggling when Abby takes a box of lubricant off the shelf and holds it out to Kristy. "Here, Kristy," she says, "I lube you."

Kristy and I groan. Abby's mostly given up puns but she still randomly comes up with some truly horrid ones.

Kristy grabs the box from her. "Ew! Green apple-scented. Yuck! Why does it need to be scented? Can you imagine calling in and ordering this?" Kristy puts on a fake deep voice. "Excuse me, I need fifty more tubes of green apple-scented lubricant. It's selling like hotcakes! People can't get enough of it!"

Abby laughs. Despite my better judgment, I laugh, too.

"What are you doing?" Lindsey hisses, rushing into the aisle. She has a white paper bag in her arms. "Why are you hanging out in the contraceptive aisle?"

Kristy and Abby are laughing so hard now their faces are red. Kristy has the lubricant tube out of the box and is unscrewing the cap.

"Put that away, Kristy!" Lindsey hisses. "The pharmacists go to Sadie's synagogue. They'll call her and tell her my friends and I were loitering by the condoms! You're going to get me in trouble!"

"I want to know if it really smells like apples," Kristy laughs. She sticks the tube up her right nostril.

Abby and I are laughing. I shouldn't be. I'm a little ashamed that I am.

"What are you girls doing?" demands a crabby voice over our laughter. Kristy's eyes grow wide and all our laughter halts abruptly. A dark haired woman has appeared behind the counter with her hands on her hips. She does not look amused. "Is that Kristy Thomas?" she barks. "What do you have up your nose? Whatever it is, you're paying for it! Come here!" She starts clapping at us. "The rest of you - out! Shoo!"

Abby tears out of the pharmacy with Lindsey and I at her heels. Before the door swings closed behind us, the woman yells, "Lindsey Dupree, I will call your grandmother!"

Out on the sidewalk, I don't know whether to wish for the street to swallow me in my humiliation or to continue laughing. Abby's clutching her stomach, leaning back against someone's car. "Did you see Kristy's face?" she howls. "With that tube hanging out her nose?"

I decide to laugh.

Kristy flies out the door and behind her, I hear, "Please have a talk with your mother! Lubricant does not go in your nose!"

Kristy falls forward into a lamppost and swings around it, in hysterics. "Who wants this?" she asks, holding up the lubricant.

"I can't believe you, Kristy Thomas!" Lindsey shrieks. Her face has drained of color. I hadn't noticed.

We stop laughing.

"It isn't a big deal, Lindsey," I say, soothingly, suddenly somewhat embarrassed.

Kristy wipes a tear from her eye. "Don't worry, Lindsey. She's always cranky like that. You aren't banned from the pharmacy. That's the third time Mrs. Bernstein's thrown me out for shoving something up my nose. The last time was a tampon in sixth grade."

"She's going to call me grandmother!"

"She won't really," Abby assures her.

"That's an empty threat," Kristy promises. "She never calls anyone's parents. I heard she once sprayed Jessi Ramsey with a garden hose though."

Lindsey clenches her fists tight around the paper bag, crumpling it. "You are such a child!" she shouts and tears begin streaming down her face. "You've ruined my life!" Lindsey turns and races down the street, back toward Bellair's.

"Come back, Lindsey!" I shout.

"It was a joke!" Kristy yells after her, but Lindsey doesn't answer. She doesn't turn around. "It was a joke," Kristy repeats, more quietly. She looks at Abby and I, then sighs and marches back into the pharmacy. The door swings shut behind her.

Abby sits down on the trunk of the car. "What's wrong with Lindsey this time?" she asks me.

I shrug.

"Remember in tenth grade - "

"This isn't like tenth grade."

"She hit Kristy with a bat."

"She didn't hit her with anything this time."

"Yet."