Last Day of School
May 28, 1976
1:05 P.M.
Randall Floyd, "Randy" to his friends and "Pink" to his very good friends, watched Kevin Pickford's orange 1970 Pontiac GTO Judge cruise into the parking lot of Lee High School. The car's windows were rolled down and the volume turned up so Pink and everyone else in the lot could hear every righteous note of Aerosmith's "Sweet Emotion." This was fortuitous, as Pink had just told his girlfriend Simone Kerr about David Wooderson's plan to drive into Houston tomorrow morning to pick up tickets for the band's summer concert.
Pink could just see Pickford's birdlike face inside the car, searching for an empty space to park. Riding shotgun was Pickford's girlfriend Michelle Burroughs, a year younger than him but a senior for all intents and purposes because they were never seen apart. She was in the process of rolling a fresh joint. The two of them skipped out on lunch in favor of beginning work on a little surprise for Pickford's party tonight, one that Pink had had a major hand in.
Last night—or this morning, if one wanted to get technical—Pink and his best friend Don Dawson had stolen two statues from the town courthouse. Both statues were of American soldiers, one a flute player and one a drummer boy. Both were heavy as hell.
"Oh shit, Grandma, c'mon," Pink said as Don nearly lost his grip on the flute player.
"Shut up," Don wheezed, straining to carry the bronze-colored statue.
Many similar insults were thrown haphazardly about as the two boys heaved the statues into the back of Pink's dark gray 1975 Chevy El Camino. The car's headlights were turned off to help avoid detection, but the engine was idling in case a patrol car cruised by and they needed to make a run for it.
Pink's smirk as he recalled the escapade changed into a yawn, the price to be paid for waking up at three in the morning. Hopefully Pickford and Michelle's secret plan for the statues would be worth it. In the meantime, he planned to catch a quick nap during his last two periods of the day.
Pickford spotted him and walked over with his girlfriend on his arm. The boys performed their secret handshake, which was rather ordinary with the exception of the ending, which involved both of them putting an invisible joint up to their lips and taking a generous puff.
Pink stood up to follow his friends inside. He took Simone's hand and helped her out from the bed of his car, where they had been lounging. The brutal heat of a Texas summer was still a few weeks away. It was nice to lay out and look at the clouds with a girl beside him. Simone had even rolled her shirt up to her ribcage so her flat belly could begin working on its beach tan.
"I'm headed this way," she said, gesturing in the opposite direction from where Pink and the others were going.
"Later." Pink gave her a quick kiss.
"So what did we decide?" she asked.
"About what?"
"About tonight."
"Oh." Pink shrugged. "Look, I'll probably get hung up with the guys, so why don't we just meet at the party? I wouldn't want you waiting around for me or anything."
"Okay." Simone nodded and smiled. "Whatever. Bye."
"Bye." Pink let her turn and walk away first, then he followed suit. Pickford and Michelle waited impatiently for him, the former bending forward with his hands on his knees so the latter could rest her arms and chin on his back.
Pink thought about Simone on the way inside Lee High's main building. She was a relatively new girlfriend; their first date was back in the fall but he hadn't asked her to go steady until the middle of January. This was because he didn't think he really liked her. He liked that she was blonde and fit and was open to giving him blowjobs at the drive-in theater, but he wasn't sure he liked her beyond those obvious reasons. Her voice had an annoying nasally quality to it. She drank gallons of Dr. Pepper and was always stopping by the restroom as a result. Maybe what he liked least was the fact she was smarter than she looked. She began to sense his disinterest in their relationship around spring break. No one specific thing she said or did gave this away, but it was there in her general attitude toward him. She gave him long looks, like she was trying to read him, and asked him a lot more questions than she used to. What did he do last night? Who was he with? Enough to reveal she would be a frighteningly good disciplinarian when it came time for her to be a mother.
Pink hated this about her—hated the staring and especially the questions—because the whole reason he started dating her was to avoid questions. Questions like, "Why doesn't the star quarterback have a girlfriend?" This would be an embarrassing question to answer if Pink had ever trusted someone enough to tell them the truth instead of shrug it off. The truth was, a different girl on the cheer team turned him down; a kinder, prettier, more fun one. And Pink had thought about this girl for years past and years since. It hurt, and it hurt bad. Finally, he had wondered if the only way to get over this girl was to spend his time with someone else. Simone was okay-looking and willing to suck his cock even if she didn't share his sense of humor, so he bought her a shark's tooth for her charm bracelet and asked her would she like to go out sometime.
I could break up with her over the summer, he thought. Maybe by the time we all came back to school she wouldn't be too pissed about it. He clicked his tongue. Yeah, right.
The voice of the school secretary crackled over the PA system as Pink, Pickford, and Michelle walked down the hall. Deep in thought, Pink missed whatever important announcement she made.
The trio rounded a corner and found Ron Slater at the water fountain. As he drank, his squinty eyes studied the image of Uncle Sam painted on the wall behind the fountain. Someone had added bleary red eyes and a large green joint to Sam's face.
"Slater-son!" Pickford said.
Slater stood up and performed a secret handshake with Pickford, different and featuring less moves than the one Pickford and Pink always did. Slater could not be expected to remember a complicated handshake because, no two ways about it, he was always stoned. Pink had never known him to not be stoned, not since freshman year. The way Slater told it, the summer before high school he told his parents he was going on a day-long arrowhead hunt with his friends. Instead, he went to a ZZ Top and Santana concert at the state university's football stadium. At some point, a buxom woman in cutoffs and "a T-shirt showin Tricky-Dick feelin up the Statue of Liberty, man, no kiddin" approached young Slater and said, "You're cute. Wanna shotgun?" Slater had no idea what that meant. When he asked, the buxom woman took a long hit from her joint, grabbed Slater's face in her hands and kissed him, forcing his lips open with her tongue and blowing smoke right down his throat and into his lungs. "Haven't come back down to earth since, man," Slater always said with a fond smile.
"How's it going?" Pink asked.
Slater tucked some of his long hair behind his ears. "Fixin to be a lot better, man." To Pickford, he said, "What time's your party tonight, man?"
Pickford smacked him on the shoulder. "Nine-thirty, man!"
"Nine-thirty, man? Hm." Slater paused. His gaze lowered to the floor, apparently conducting a thorough mental examination of his schedule. "Okay! I'll be there, man!"
Pink and the others started to walk left, toward Pink's next class. Pickford called, "See ya later, alligator!"
Slater nodded and began to walk down the hall in the opposite direction. A single step in, he snapped his fingers and spun on his heels. "Wait, wait! I gotta cruise by this afternoon, on a little business if you know what I'm talkin about?"
Pickford fired a finger gun. "That's what I'm talkin about, man."
"That's what I'm talkin about, man!" Slater laughed. This settled, he once again began to walk down the hall. Pink heard him mutter to himself, "Oh man, I'm fuckin wasted." And he was.
Sixth period for Pink was Journalism, an elective he took because Tony Olson had assured him it was little more than a study hall to relax in. That, and Jodi Kramer was in it. But Pink was trying to get over her.
They stopped by Pickford's locker on the way. Inside were two photos of Michelle in her favorite red suede buckskin halter top, a paper bag craftily labeled "sandwich fixins," an Uncle Henry Buck knife, a Slinky, a small handheld mirror, and a couple bags of Pop Rocks. Pickford pocketed all these items. In two short hours, he would no longer have a use for this locker. Pink listened to him sing as they walked to the Journalism classroom.
Walkin down the hall, by myself / Smokin a J with fifty elves
This made Michelle laugh, and in turn, Pickford laughed.
"Later," Pink said to them as the Journalism classroom came into view. Standing outside it were Tony, Mike Newhouse, and Cynthia Dunn.
Pickford acknowledged Tony and Mike without breaking stride. "Woodward! Bernstein!"
"Guess that makes you Deep Throat!" Mike called after him. To Pink, he said, "So, was this a smoked or a liquid lunch?"
"Hey," Pink said, a little strictly. He preferred not to talk openly in the halls about what he made a habit of doing during his lunch hour.
Tony either did not pick up on this or didn't care. "Smoked, right?"
Pink tossed his shoulders.
"So, guys." Cynthia looked around at all three boys. "Are we gonna play poker tonight?"
"Sure—" Tony began.
"Hm, count me out." Pink shook his head. "I'll probably be going to Pickford's party later." He walked into the classroom.
Tony and Cynthia's faces fell. It was never much fun playing cards with less than four people. Mike's face, however, lit up. "No, we should do something like that," he said. "Goodwin's off on the senior trip, we can play poker anytime."
"Go to a party?" Tony frowned.
"Go to a party?" Mike mocked. "Come on. Don't worry about it."
"I don't generally feel comfortable at those kind of things—"
Mike placed a hand on Tony's shoulder to cut him off. "Yeah, okay." He looked at Cynthia. "Pick us up at eight."
"Okay," she agreed.
"It's gonna be alright."
"I guess we're going to the party, then." Tony's eyes were wide and unsure behind his big glasses. He began to walk away from the classroom. Mike, ever the loyal shadow, followed. After a moment, Tony forgot about the party in favor of something apparently more intriguing. "Oh Mike, I gotta tell you about this dream I had last night."
Dream analysis was one of their favorite hobbies. Mike gave Tony his full attention. "Oh yeah, why's that?"
Tony looked nervously around to make sure no one was in eavesdropping distance. "But you gotta promise not to tell anyone."
"Yeah, sure."
"No, say 'I promise.'"
Mike scoffed. "Oh, geez. I promise not to tell anyone."
"Okay, thank you." As Tony explained, his hands made meaningless motions in the air. "So, there I am, and…I'm getting it on—" An amused sound came from the back of Mike's throat. "—with this perfect female body. But…" Tony trailed off.
"But what?"
"I can't say."
Mike rolled his eyes. "C'mon, man. You can't give a buildup like that and not deliver. I mean, c'mon, a perfect female body, that's not a bad start."
Tony glanced around one more time to be sure the coast was clear. "But…the head of Abraham Lincoln."
"Ahhh." Mike raised his brow, at once understanding of Tony's reluctance and less interested now that Tony wasn't about to reveal a new secret crush on anyone.
"I mean, the hat and the beard…" Tony sighed. "Oh well. Best not think too deeply on this one, right?"
Mike clapped him on the shoulder. "Best not."
Tony gestured down the hall. "I gotta get some stuff from Mr. Birchfield. See you in a few minutes."
"Right." Mike headed back toward the Journalism classroom. At the last second, he added a weak, "Sorry," not knowing how else to respond to an Abraham Lincoln sex dream.
Inside the Journalism classroom, Pink had found a seat next to Jodi. If Mike were adept at picking up social cues, he would have sensed the frustrated, intoxicating tension between his two classmates. As it was, he did not, and sat behind Pink, next to Cynthia.
"See what you think of this…" he began.
Up at the chalkboard, Shavonne Wright was in the middle of trying to list out every episode of the old Gilligan's Island show. With Ms. Wilks out of the room, and this being the last day of school anyway, this was the sort of thing she found fun to do. Pink, Jodi, and Kaye Faulkner were helping her along. So far, they had twenty-seven: Lagoon Mine Story, Invisible Lightning Rod, Red Menace Gilligan, Radioactive Harvest, Gill-cula, Unholy Matrimony, Bank Robbers, Minnow Glue Boat, Astro Castaway, Witch Doctor Voodoo Dolls, Hurricane Hut, President Gilligan, Ginger Broadway Island, Exploding Nails, Gilligan Bug Death, Castaway Films, Penniless Howells, Aliens on the Moon, Long Distance Wrong Number, Mind Reading Berries, Hawaiian Robot Walk, Gorilla Warfare, Mary Ann Boyfriend Eloper Fatality, Gilligan and the Beanstalk, Gilligan's Hungry Pet Lion, Two Mr. Howells, and Gilligan Totem Pole Head. Jodi had just volunteered a twenty-eighth episode.
"Gilligan's transistor radio mouth," Shavonne said aloud as she wrote it. "Yeah, that was a good one. Hey!" She whirled about to face the others. "What about the one where that sexy surfer guy catches a wave and lands on the island? Do you remember that?"
"Oh, yeah!" Jodi smiled and nodded.
Pink was about to confirm he too remembered it when he heard his name come from the hallway. He turned to see his best friend Don peering in conspiratorially.
"Pink! Let's go! C'mon!"
Pink stood up and hurried over to the door. "Hey man, I can't go until Ms. Wilks gets here." He needed her to mark him present, just in case one of the coaches found themselves in a bad mood and wanted to check up on the quarterback's academic status. "Why don't you go get Benny and check me out on the way back?"
"Alright." Don was about to leave when he seemed to remember something. He reached into the front pocket of his overalls and produced a folded piece of paper. "Coach gave me something to give to you."
Pink had a sinking feeling he knew what the paper would say. This feeling sunk all the way down when he opened up the paper and saw the top read STUDENT ATHLETE SUMMER PLEDGE. He groaned, scanning the paragraphs typed neatly out on the page to get a gist of the information. "They're really doing this?"
"Yeah. He wants 'em all back by the end of the day, can you believe that one?"
"And everybody's signing?"
"Just to get him off our backs." Don smirked and lowered his voice. "The coach is just a big fuckin asshole, know what I'm saying? I mean, you sign it, you never think about it again, just let it go!"
Pink shook his head, crumpling up the paper and shoving it into his T-shirt pocket. Don looked into his longtime teammate's eyes and saw a familiar, stubborn twinkle that never ceased to amaze him. "You're gonna make a big deal outta this, aren't you?"
Pink figured he probably would. "Just go get Benny, man."
Don sighed and headed off down the hall toward the shop classroom.
Pink returned to his seat and put his feet up on the desk. "Did we already say the one where that big game hunter arrives on the island and decides to hunt Gilligan?"
"No." Shavonne wrote it down. "That's twenty-nine."
"And the Mosquitoes!" Jodi said with sudden enthusiasm. "Do you remember that? They were a rock group. Ginger and Mary-Ann formed their own group—"
"That's thirty."
Kaye studied the messy scribbles on the chalkboard with only passing interest. "That's got to be about all of them. Didn't they only make two seasons' worth of that show?"
"Mrs. Howell was also in that group," Cynthia said to Jodi.
Just then, Tony reentered the classroom.
"Oh, Abe!" Shavonne called. "Honest Abe! Read us a Gettysburg address, Mr. Lincoln!"
"Or is it Mrs. Lincoln!" Cynthia added. Both girls laughed.
Tony's cheeks turned pink. "It's Mr. Editor to all of you for the next year, you bunch of mundane feeble wits." He cast a glare at Mike.
Mike threw up his hands defensively. "I was very specific. I promised not to tell anyone. I told everyone."
"You're an asshole." Tony sat down next to him.
Kaye tapped Jodi's shoulder. A knowing look was exchanged between the two of them and then Shavonne. Jodi and Kaye stood up, the latter shouldering her purse. Jodi's hand brushed Pink's shoulder. "We're gonna go to the bathroom. Could you guys let Ms. Wilks know?"
Pink nodded his affirmation. His shoulder tingled where Jodi touched it. His eyes darted to her backside as the girls left the classroom, particularly the spot where her long brown hair hung just above her belt. "Speaking of assholes." He reached into his pocket and presented the pledge sheet. "Take a look at this shit."
Tony, Mike, and Cynthia all reached for it at once. Mike was quickest and began to read it aloud. "I voluntarily agree to not indulge in any alcohol, drugs, or any other illegal activity that may in any way jeopardize the years of hard work we as a team have committed to our goal of a championship season in Seventy-Six!" He scoffed and placed the sheet on the desk in front of Pink.
"What bullshit," Pink grumbled.
"You guys are actually signing this crap?" Tony asked.
"Apparently."
"What are they gonna do next?" Cynthia chimed in. "Give you guys urine tests or something?"
"I just didn't know that drugs and alcohol were such a big problem that they had to resort to neo-McCarthyism," said Mike. Pink was sure he would agree if he remembered what neo-McCarthyism was.
"No, I think they're just afraid some of us might be having too good a time." That may have made him sound like a whiny teenager trying to get his kicks by rebelling, but a part of him truly believed it. He found his coaches to be miserable individuals and reasoned they must want to make other people—Pink included—as miserable as they, even if this was only a subconscious desire on their part.
"It's the old age-suppressing-youth thing." Mike shook his head again.
"Neo-McCarthyism," Tony mused. "I like that."
Mr. Rix, the shop teacher, was asleep. His head lulled back against his uncomfortable chair. Low snores emanated from his nose and mouth. All around the room, guys from Slater's grade—juniors, soon to be seniors—carefully carved and painted large wooden paddles to use in the summer's hazing rituals against the incoming freshmen. Slater liked to consider himself above such simple-minded activities and chose instead to oversee a friend's project. This friend, Kyle Eschenbrenner, was making the finishing touches to his first homemade bong. That is, what was supposed to be the finishing touches. Slater took a mock hit from the bong and instantly noted a crucial problem.
"You're gettin air from there, man, it's not good. You see this?" He pointed at the base of the bong. A gap where the straight tube met the base glared at its would-be user. "It's gotta be airtight, man. You're gonna have to put some gum around the base of that to get a good hit, man."
Kyle took the bong back, his head hung in shame. Slater was about to assure him it was okay, everyone messed up their first homemade bong, when he heard his name.
"Slate!"
Slater's head perked up. He saw Don at the classroom door, giving him a rock 'n' roll salute with his tongue stuck out akin to Gene Simmons. Slater returned the salute. Don then pointed at Benny O'Donnell, a big guy in a baseball cap drilling holes into his paddle.
Slater hissed, "Benny!"
Benny looked up and saw Don at the door. He put up two fingers, meaning Gimme two minutes. Don nodded and lingered conspicuously.
The interaction between the three of them already forgotten, Slater turned his attention back to Kyle, who now chewed vigorously at a wad of gum. "Man, I ain't believin that shit about Bonham's one-hour drum solo, man. I mean, a whole hour on drums? You couldn't handle that shit on strong acid, man."
Benny drilled the last hole into his paddle and blew ferociously to get rid of the tiny wood shavings stuck inside the rim. He breezed past the sleeping Mr. Rix and met Don in the hall.
"Let's see what you got." Don pointed at the paddle.
Benny displayed it proudly. "Piece of art, that's what." He explained how the series of small holes in the paddle would cut down on wind resistance and create more of a sting on impact. Don had already lost interest, as a sexy girl a grade or two below them was passing by.
"Hey!" he called after her. "LeAnn, you're looking good."
There was a tense moment where she gave no response, but then, just for a brief moment, she glanced over her shoulder at him. Don's hands instantly clenched into fists, which he pumped triumphantly. "Oh, I got her! She wants my dick so bad! I love this!"
"She wants your dick?" Benny playfully twirled his paddle. "She was looking at me!"
Don brushed him off. "Man, I get so much pussy around here I should be banned from this school."
Ms. Wilks had finally returned and taken attendance. Pink made sure his name and the girls' names were both checked off. With that done, his already low interest in sticking around the Journalism classroom dropped to zero. Don and Benny appeared at the door right on time.
"Pink!" Don called. "C'mon, man!"
"We're off to raise some hell! Look at that!" Benny held his paddle up high with both hands. "Look at that!"
Pink hurried out of the classroom without so much as a glance behind to see if anyone noticed. The three boys would be seniors in an hour and marched down the hall as if they already were.
"Man, this place is vacant." Pink noted entire classrooms sat empty. "All the seniors gone on their senior trip."
"I'm glad those losers are gone." Benny spoke with a confidence he likely wouldn't have possessed if said losers were still around. "This is what it's going to be like all next year. Us running this place."
"Really," Don agreed.
They passed by the girls' bathroom. Jodi, Shavonne, and Kaye were still inside. The three of them went to the bathroom every couple periods or so each day. They rarely needed to use any its primary functions, and mostly loitered at the sinks. Shavonne lit a cigarette. Kaye leaned against a stall and Jodi against the wall opposite. Graffiti covered the walls, ranging from supportive (Girl Power!) to school spirit (Fight, Rebels, Fight!) to plain mean (Jodi Kramer Is Stuck Up!). This last one was written right next to where Jodi currently stood, only she didn't see it. Shavonne did, but made no move to point it out because she had a pretty good idea of who wrote it and why. There wasn't anything to be done about it, and bringing it up would only make Jodi feel bad.
"You know, this is really pathetic," Kaye was saying. "All you guys ever talk about is guys. We either go and watch guys do whatever it is they're doing at the time, or you get all dressed up so maybe some guy will notice you. Guys don't spend one-tenth of that time thinking about us. They're too busy doing things."
"Yeah, but look at the shit they do," Shavonne said. "Fixing up their cars, playing sports, it's all bullshit anyway. Who can take that serious?"
"We have no choice but to take what they do seriously." Jodi tapped her finger to her head. "Think about it, guys. Think about football season." Shavonne made a noise of approval. "Everything shuts down. Everything shuts down to the fact that our guys are gonna beat the shit out of some other guys."
"And there you guys were in class trying to list all of the Gilligan's Island episodes without even a hint of irony," Kaye said.
Jodi and Shavonne both paused, suddenly lost. Shavonne folded her arms over her chest. "What in the hell are you talkin about, girl?"
Kaye fixed her friends with deadly serious eyes. "You weren't thinking about it, were you?"
"Gilligan's Island?"
"It's what's called a male pornographic fantasy."
"Oh my—" Shavonne cut herself off.
"Think about it!" Kaye insisted. "You're basically alone on a deserted island with two readily available women. One, a seductive sex goddess type…" This she unconsciously aimed at Shavonne. "…the other, a healthy girl-next-door type with a nice butt." Here she redirected her gaze to Jodi. "So guys have it all. The Madonna and the whore. Women get nothing. We get a geek, an overweight middle-aged guy, some nerdy scientific type, I mean—"
Jodi held up a finger. "The professor is sexy."
Kaye huffed. "Fine, he's sexy. All I'm saying, man, is these are all types your typical male feels least threatened by. So, in a man's mind, he puts himself on the island, he can have it all. Woman puts herself on the island, she's bored shitless. Am I right?"
"No." Shavonne usually didn't bother to argue with Kaye whenever she went all I-Am-Woman on someone, but here in the bathroom, just the three of them, she decided to go ahead and try. "First of all, you forgot about Mr. and Mrs. Howell. Second, Gilligan's Island comes on at three o'clock in the afternoon. The audience is probably half women anyway."
"That's my point exactly," Kaye said, and Shavonne thought: Well, fuck me. "Women are taught not to mind being bored so long as they're occasionally acknowledged. And being stranded on a deserted island awaiting rescue is a total metaphor for the position in which most women are put in this society today."
Shavonne groaned. "You know what? Ever since you spent spring break with your sister at college, you've had this fuckin attitude."
"Well, excuse me for thinking about things a little, Shavonne."
Jodi, who until this point had been content to let the two debate, said, "That's just it. You're thinkin too much."
"You know what you need?" asked Shavonne. She eyed Jodi with a smirk.
Jodi smirked back. "I know what you need."
Kaye groaned.
Jodi's voice became sing-song-y. "You kno-ow what you nee-eed!"
Kaye lowered her gaze to the floor and performed a mocking little dance. "I need to get laid."
"Thank you very much," Jodi said proudly.
"You guys." Kaye sighed. "You're boring me."
"If you think getting laid is boring, honey, you're missing out."
Shavonne frowned at Jodi. "Oh, like you know. Get out!"
From outside, in the hall, came the voices of a few boys. All of them Jodi recognized. One in particular she was set on. "This just may be my chance." She tossed her friends a wave. "Wish me luck!"
The bathroom door squeaked as it opened. Jodi hurried to catch up with the boys. "Hey, you guys! You guys, wait up."
Pink, Don, and Benny all stopped obediently. It was a girl asking them to, after all, and a pretty one at that.
Jodi aimed her request specifically at Benny, knowing him to be the meanest of the bunch. "I have a favor to ask you."
"Whaddaya need?"
"Take it easy on my brother this summer, okay?" She looked sternly at Don and Pink in turn, managing not to linger too long on the latter. "All of you."
Benny chuckled. "What, Mitch Kramer?"
"Yeah, Mitch Kramer."
"Yeah." Benny smacked his paddle with his open palm, resulting in a loud pop that echoed through the hall. "I'm gonna give him a beating he'll never forget!"
Jodi sighed. "Well, just don't get him more than the other guys. Any of you. Cut a little, alright?"
Pink puffed out his chest heroically. "You got our word, sis. Little brother'll be okay." While he said this in a sardonic manner, he was the only one who actually meant it. Unbeknownst to Jodi, in the minds of the other two, she had just painted an even bigger target on her poor brother's back than there already was. Mitch was the only incoming freshman who had a sibling in the incoming senior class. Now, Benny had been specifically told to leave him alone. And unless the command came from his dad or his coach, Benny never did what he was told.
"Thanks," Jodi said, believing her good work to be done. "See ya guys." She turned to walk back toward Journalism. Benny leaned forward and tapped her ass with his paddle. She said, "Ow, Benny!" even though it didn't really hurt.
Pink watched her go. Shavonne and Kaye exited the bathroom and the three of them walked shoulder-to-shoulder back to class. He kind of wished he had a paddle to tap her on the ass with, if only because her ass looked too damn good in the tight bell-bottom jeans she wore. But they didn't have that kind of relationship, anyway. Somehow, everybody would just know Pink tapping Jodi's ass meant something it didn't mean in Benny's case.
Don turned to Benny once Jodi was out of earshot and pinched his fingers in the air. "Oh, there's just a little bit of bullshit in all that, right?"
"Major bullshit." Benny's grin was pure evil. "He's a dead man. He's fuckin dead."
"Shotgun!" Pink and Don said together. They raced for it.
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