Sabrina eased downstairs. She was in good shape after taking a long shower and selecting a pair of shoes that wouldn't squish with the sound of cold water from the carwash. Her mom sat in the den, still in her pink-and-white maid's outfit. Sabrina paused at the foot of the stairs. Mrs. Davis stared at the television. It was almost eight-thirty and The Merv Griffin Show would be on soon. Sabrina had missed her favorite program, Bewitched, a couple hours earlier in favor of getting ready for her first high school party.

"Hi, honey," her mom called.

"Hi," Sabrina called back.

"Going out?"

"Yes."

"Have fun."

"Okay."

The curfew was eleven o'clock. Mrs. Davis trusted Sabrina to remember without having her having to say so.

Sabrina walked outside and sat on the curb to wait. She still couldn't believe she had even been invited. It happened after the senior girls drove the freshmen girls through the carwash. The trucks had split up to ferry home their wet and miserable passengers. Sabrina rode in the back of a blue pickup belonging to Nesi White. Jodi rode shotgun to Nesi with Shavonne in the middle. Nesi would shout out the window, "Next address, bitches!" and one of the freshmen girls would reply with directions. When it came to be Sabrina's turn, she wished she could just ask Jodi to drop her back at school. Her house—her whole neighborhood, in fact—was a little embarrassing. But she didn't want to walk home and the time for buses had long passed.

Nesi had pulled her truck up to the exact spot where Sabrina sat now. Jodi got out of the passenger's seat to walk Sabrina to the door.

"I noticed you're not very talkative," Jodi said. "You're not friends with those girls?"

"No. I really don't know anyone." Sabrina gestured at her unkempt front lawn. "Me and my mom just moved here about six months ago."

"What does your mom do?"

"Something to do with a hotel." Close enough to the truth. "Her and my dad got divorced and we moved."

Jodi stopped and put her hand on Sabrina's shoulder. "Hey. Let's get together sometime, alright?" She smiled sweetly.

"Yeah, that'd be fun," Sabrina said, and meant it. "What do you do? I mean, for fun."

Jodi shrugged. "Usually just hang out with the girls. Drive around, that kind of stuff. There's a big party tonight. Should be really great." She smiled again. "Do you wanna come?"

"Yeah." Sabrina nodded, doing her best to hide her eagerness. "That'd be fun."

"Cool." Jodi glanced at the Davis's front door. "You think it'll be alright?"

If she's looking for my mom, she's looking for no reason, thought Sabrina. "Yeah, no problem."

"Okay, great. We'll pick you up about eight-thirty. See you then." Jodi waved and walked back to the truck.

Now, here she came in her white 1965 Volkswagen Beetle. Kaye rode shotgun. Sabrina jumped in the back and the older girls informed her the party was now a no-go. This was disappointing, but at least Jodi and Kaye seemed to have every intention of keeping her around while they searched for something else to do tonight. The girls drove aimlessly with the radio on and the top down. Occasionally, they would come upon a car full of other teenagers. At one point, while stopped at a red light, a guy named Clint Bruno pulled up next to them in his white 1974 Pontiac Trans Am. His friend riding shotgun said loud enough for the girls to hear, "I like the one in the backseat the best."

Sabrina perked up. The guys laughed. Clint revved his engine and blew through the red light. Sabrina watched him go with interest. "What did he say?"

"Who, that guy?" Jodi looked over her shoulder. "I think he said something like, 'The one in the backseat looks like a dyke.'"

Sabrina gasped. "No, he didn't!"

"Yeah, you're right," Kaye said. "He actually said, 'Looks like the one in the backseat could suck the chrome off a trailer hitch."

Sabrina rolled her eyes. "Yeah, that's exactly what he said."

The senior girls laughed. This reaction was borne partially out of Jodi and Kaye's mutual, unspoken refusal to believe that a freshman—any freshman—could attract more attention from a senior guy than they could as senior girls. But mostly, Jodi knew enough about Clint and his friends to know Sabrina needed them like she needed cancer. Jodi had always wanted a little sister to help through the incredible bullshit teenage girls have to endure every day, and if the closest she ever got was keeping one innocent freshman from falling for a jackass's cheap line, she would proudly take that honor.

A few lights later, they passed Darla's pickup. Sabrina recognized it and turned her face the other way. Jodi and Kaye didn't bother to acknowledge the truck either. Inside were Darla, Simone, and Shavonne. The former two were interrogating the latter about Jodi and Kaye, though the irony was lost on them because they were so focused on talking that they missed the subject of their conversation cruise by.

"Like what did she say?" Darla asked, referencing Kaye. "I'm just interested. I think it's funny. I mean, what did she call me?"

Shavonne shook her head, miming the act of locking her lips.

Simone said, "You hang out with her. We know they talk about us, just tell us!"

"Nothing," Shavonne lied.

"Aw, c'mon, nothing! That's a lie!" Darla pointed two fingers, clenched around a cigarette, at Shavonne. "I know you're lying, you bitch. I know you're lying."

"You swear you're not gonna get mad?"

"I'm not gonna get mad. I think it's a riot. I don't care what she thinks."

"Alright, alright." Shavonne smiled pleasantly. "She called you a bitch…" Here, she pointed at Darla. "And you a slut." Then she pointed at Simone.

Simone frowned. "A slut? She called me a slut? That bitch!"

Shavonne laughed. "Everyone calls you a slut!"

Darla cackled. "Oh, shit!"

"That bitch!" Simone slapped her hand on the dashboard. "I am gonna kick her ass. I can't believe that! What a bitch."

"I thought you said you weren't gonna get mad, man?"

Simone immediately said, "I'm not mad," but she clearly was.

Shavonne was okay with that. She kind of wanted Darla and Simone to know what Jodi and Kaye thought of them, even though Jodi especially would never dare tell them herself. Personally, Shavonne found the whole catty rivalry between her two separate pairs of friends a bit ridiculous. It all started a few years ago at summer cheerleading camp when Jodi executed a perfect herkey—a leap into the air with one leg bent—on her first try, showing up Darla. Because Jodi was the first of the girls to achieve this, the coach let her write the cheer they would get to perform at the end of camp for all the families and friends. It went: Spir-it, drive, a-bil-i-ty! We're the best as you can see! So shout it out with all your might! Fight! Fight! Fight! Sometimes they still used that cheer during football games.

In spite of Jodi's strong start, it was Darla whom the coach elected to be head cheerleader and this made them archenemies. Simone, being Darla's best friend, chose her side, and Kaye, being Jodi's best friend, chose the other. Shavonne liked all her friends and didn't want to choose sides. She supposed she leaned a little in Jodi's favor, at least for now. The way Jodi was starting to look and talk about Pink, Simone's boyfriend, made her wonder if the rivalry wasn't going to get worse before it got better. However, Shavonne would just as soon sit on the sidelines if the whole situation was going to devolve in a fight over the quarterback. That was a little cliché and a whole lot unnecessary.

Darla's pickup passed Cynthia's car. Inside, Mike was leaning up from the backseat to turn down the radio. He said, "Look, I got a confession to make."

Cynthia and Tony both waited. Mike had been extra jittery ever since the three of them stopped by Kevin Pickford's house only to find the party was canceled and Mr. Pickford lurked just inside the front door, waiting to scare any rowdy teenagers who showed up. This experience annoyed and unsettled all three of them for two reasons. One, it was a painful reminder how out of the loop they were. No one had told them the party was a no-go; probably no one thought to, not even for an instant. Two, none of them had ever so much as stepped foot into a house party for years, so of course it was their dumb luck that the first one they decided to go to would end badly.

All this stress made Mike speak fast. "You know how the last year or so I've been talking about going to law school so I can be an ACLU lawyer, be in the position to help people who are getting fucked over and all that? Well, I was standing in line at the post office yesterday, and I'm looking around, and everybody's looking real pathetic, know what I mean? People got drool just sorta— And this guy's bending over, you can see the crack— It was just like, wifebeaters—"

Tony made a face.

"Anyway, I realize I just don't wanna do it, know what I mean? It sounds good and all, but I have to confront the fact that I really don't like the people I've been talking about helping out. I don't think I like people period." He quickly amended, "I mean, you guys are okay. I'm just trying to be honest about being a misanthrope."

Tony glanced at Cynthia. She was quiet, always taking a few minutes to let Mike's ramblings settle in. He had been this way as long as she'd known him, since elementary school.

"So…you're not gonna go to law school?" Tony asked. Mike shrugged weakly. "What do you wanna do, then?"

Mike had no idea, but didn't much feel like admitting it, so he clenched his fists dramatically and declared, "I wanna dance!" Tony and Cynthia chuckled, and that would be as far as they took the subject for the rest of the night.

Pink got started a little later than the rest of the seniors. He loaned his El Camino to Michelle after dropping off Mitch so the drummer boy and flute player could be in her possession. Fortunately, David Wooderson called ahead on his way into town and said he would pick Pink up. They hadn't seen each other since Christmas break and Pink didn't mind riding instead of driving for a change. When Pink informed Wooderson their first stop would be Jodi's house, the latter gave him a sly grin.

"How's that going?"

Pink waved away the inquiry. He didn't need to talk about it, at least not this early in the night, before he'd even had a single drink. He was trying to get over her. Instead, he explained how he rescued Mitch from O'Bannion. Wooderson listened to with a smug look, realizing more than Pink how similar this story was to the way they met in Pink's freshman year. It was nice to know some of his better qualities had rubbed off on Pink over time.

Wooderson's black 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle SS, which he dubbed "Melba Toast" for reasons only he knew, pulled up to the curb by Mitch's house. The kid came jogging out before Wooderson even honked the horn. Mitch would never admit it, but he had been sitting by the window, anxiously awaiting his ride.

"Alright, let's rock and roll," Wooderson declared.

Mitch walked around the car to Pink's side. "Hey, hop in, man." Pink pulled the passenger's seat up far enough for Mitch to squeeze into the back.

"Hey man, whose car?"

Pink gestured at the driver. "You know Wooderson?"

Of course, Mitch did not. Wooderson said, "How's it going, man?"

"Pretty good, how's it going with you?"

Wooderson eyed Mitch through the rearview mirror. "Say, man. You got a joint?"

Mitch's wide eyes flicked over to Pink, who smirked. "Uh…no, not on me, man."

Wooderson gave a turn of his head. "It'd be a lot cooler if you did."

The Emporium Pool Hall was located at the corner of North Lamar Boulevard and Brentwood Street next to Quinn's Bar & Grill. The establishment was a favorite hangout of all the local teenagers since it had not just pool but several pinball machines, foosball tables, and, most importantly, a manager who didn't care if the young patrons brought in beer. This was in spite of the blue sign hanging on the wall which clearly read IT IS ILLEGAL FOR MINORS UNDER THE AGE OF EIGHTEEN (18) TO CONSUME ALCOHOL ON THESE PREMISES.

"Alright, alright, alright."

"Hey man," Pink said as they parked. "You still driving into Houston tomorrow to get those Aerosmith tickets?"

"Whoo, you damn right." Wooderson waved at a couple girls walking into the Emporium. "Evening, ladies." He asked Pink, "Need me to pick you up a couple?"

"Yeah, two."

"Cool."

Pink came prepared and handed Wooderson enough cash to cover two tickets. The older man sniffed the money like a fine cigar. "This should buy me a bag of Colombian."

"Yeah, right." Pink wished Wooderson wouldn't joke like that because with him, it was always a slight possibility.

Mitch noted Benny's truck parked nearby. "Hey man, you sure I'm okay in here?"

"Aw, yeah man, you'll be fine," Pink said. "Listen, if anyone starts messing with ya, just play it cool."

Mitch was unsure if he knew how to play it cool, but supposed he would be okay as long as Pink had his back.

Inside the Emporium, Bob Dylan's "Hurricane" was playing on the jukebox. This mixed with the sound of pinball machines and the haze of cigarette smoke created a surreal atmosphere as the three young men entered. Don, Benny, and Melvin were in the middle of a pool game. Wooderson spotted Pickford playing foosball with Kyle in the back corner. Michelle watched.

"Prickford!" Wooderson said.

"'Wood-a-been' happening?" Pickford answered.

"Bummer about your party, man."

Pickford kept his eyes on the game, a little embarrassed for Wooderson of all people to know about the situation. "Yeah, what can I say? It's beyond me. Delivery guy bricked." He scored the winning point and declared, "Dead issue!"

Nearby, Pink approached Julie Simms. She was a sophomore but had a brother, Jimmie, who was a senior. He asked, "What's going on?"

"Nothing at all."

Pink presented his young companion. "Hey, you know Mitch?"

Julie smiled. "Oh yeah, I think I just heard about you."

Mitch looked her up and down, nervous because he found her cute. "Oh really, what'd you hear?"

Julie shrugged. "I dunno, man, are you okay?"

"Oh. Yeah." Mitch hoped his cheeks weren't turning as pink as his still-sore butt.

Pink observed the way Mitch and Julie looked at each other and grinned to himself. After Julie walked away to rejoin her friends, Mitch whispered, "Hey man. What grade's she in?"

"Sophomore," Pink said.

Mitch's gaze followed Julie across the room. He wondered if he could manage a sophomore. His thoughts were interrupted by Pickford and Michelle loudly announcing Wooderson and the others needed to check out something outside. Slater was waving at them from the door.

Pink called, "Donnie! I got a big surprise for you, man, c'mon!"

"Hold on," Don said. "Lemme make this shot!" He missed his shot and handed his cue to a girl nearby. "Here, hold onto this. Tight!" He followed Pink, Pickford, Michelle, and Wooderson outside. Mitch tried his best to keep up.

Pink's El Camino sat right in front of the Emporium's main doors where Slater had parked it. In the back was the drummer boy and flute player, their faces finally complete. Now they resembled Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley in full white-and-black makeup.

"Oh wow, geez!" Don climbed into the car to admire the paint job closely. "Who painted 'em?"

"Mostly Michelle," Pickford said.

Don leaned down and said to Pink, "I got an idea. A beer bust later on. Whaddaya think?"

Slater interrupted them. "Hey, man. Pickford's got a duber we're about to burn, you with us?"

"Think about it," Don told Pink, then hurried to join Pickford in the latter's Pontiac.

Slater squinted at Mitch. "Are you cool, man?"

Mitch hesitated. "Like how?"

Slater found this amusing and walked away chuckling. "Okaaay."

The Pontiac pulled away from the Emporium with Pickford, Don, Slater, and Kyle inside. Michelle stuck around to guard her artwork.

Pink explained to Mitch, "He was just asking if you get high."

"Yeah, like smoke pot?"

"Yeah."

Mitch shrugged. "I never have before, but you know…"

"It's nothing you have to do if you don't want to," Pink admitted. "Benny and Mel and a lot of those guys don't. I mean, Mel says he will when it's legal, but it's never gonna be legal, you know?"

"Yeah." Mitch had never thought much about it. Carl would sometimes talk a big game about how he planned to one day buy some weed for himself, Mitch, Tommy and maybe Hirschfelder to all share. Just so they would know what it was like. "Is it fun like people say?"

Pink thought so, but suddenly felt a little guilty. If Jodi were around, would he be talking about this with Mitch? Probably not. Jodi got high on occasion, but she still had a certain responsibility streak in her. If her first time getting high was as a freshman, she wouldn't want Mitch getting high until he was a junior, or something like that. "It's alright," Pink said at last.

Pickford put in his Foghat eight-track and cranked up the volume. He and Slater passed a joint back and forth while Don attempted to make Kyle's homemade bong work for him.

"Hey!" Don pointed from his spot in the passenger's seat. "It's the chicks."

Jodi's Beetle was coming up on the left. Kaye and Sabrina were still with her, and at some point Shavonne had left Darla's truck and joined them as well.

"Shavonne still thinks she's mad at me," Don said to the other guys. "Watch me get a little something going." He leaned into Pickford's space so he could shout out the driver's side window. "Hey, what's going on?"

Shavonne shouted back over the sounds of the road. "Hey, what're you guys up to?"

Slater displayed his half-burned joint from the backseat. "Oh, a little weed, you know."

Don shot him a Shut up and let me handle this look that Slater didn't notice. He called, "There may be a beer bust later on!"

"Oh really?" Shavonne looked interested, but Jodi was apparently tired of trying to keep her car parallel to Pickford's and accelerated. Shavonne waved. "Guess we'll see you around!"

"Okay, check you later!" Slater said.

Don watched Shavonne go, disappointed in the way the conversation had gone. Bad enough trying to shout over traffic, but Slater got in his way. He turned to look at his stoner friend accusingly. "Slate man, why're you always such a dork, man?"

Slater frowned. "What're you talkin about?"

"'Check ya later, check ya later!'" Don mocked.

"Hey, get off my case, man."

Don groaned at the unabashed naivety riding in this car with him. "Chicks don't wanna hear that shit."

"Well, they don't wanna hear anything, man," Slater said. "The girls, man, in our classes, they're all prudes, man. They're worthless little bitches, man. It's the girls ahead of us, man, they were wild, man. Our class is just worthless, man."

"Oh my God!" Don shook his head, exasperated. "Maybe you've just never gotten past the sniffing butt stage, that's what that sounds like to me."

"Hey man, it's quality not quantity, alright, man?" Slater aimed his finger confidently at Don. "And wait till I get to college, man. I can't wait to get to college, man."

Don grinned. "Yeah, when I get to college, all I'm gonna do is bangbangbangbangbang! I'm gonna stay gettin it."

"Really," Pickford said. "Walker said in their dorm room they got this list of girls they can call up at any time and they'll come over and fuck."

All four boys became ridiculously giddy at the idea.

The orange Pontiac pulled up to the parking lot of the Fletcher Recreational Center next to O'Bannion's gray Plymouth.

"Oh, Don!" O'Bannion called.

"Men!" Don replied, seeing Benny was riding shotgun in the Plymouth. "Any luck?"

O'Bannion glanced at the rec center. A slow love ballad could be heard from inside. The junior high kids were in the middle of an end-of-year school dance, and plenty of freshmen undoubtedly hid inside.

"Well…" O'Bannion sighed impatiently. "They gotta come out some time, know what I mean? We'll be here."

"Donnie, I got a beer over here with your name on it," Benny said. "Let's go."

"Yeah, lose these morons, will you?" O'Bannion gave Pickford a dirty look, though nothing had ever happened for him to feel any animosity toward the hippie.

Don shrugged. "I'm gonna go hang with those guys for a while," he said to the stoners.

"Later," Pickford said.

Don got out of the Pontiac and walked around the Plymouth to get in the backseat. Benny cast him a suspicious glare. "What're you doing, a Pink imitation?"

"Oh, c'mon, give me a break," Don said.

"You know what I'm talkin about."

"Hey Benny, how 'bout a beer?" Pickford called. He stood halfway out of his car with his hands primed for a catch.

Benny begrudgingly tossed Pickford a can of Schlitz.

O'Bannion spotted Slater climbing into the passenger's seat of the Pontiac. "So Slate, how's your mom feeling? She walking alright now?"

"She's good," Slater said easily. "How's your sister doing?"

This was the sort of competitive back-and-forth they shared ever since junior year, when O'Bannion streaked through the school parking lot but failed to get half the recognition he wanted for it because Slater had crashed his car into a telephone pole at the same time.

"Oh, she's good, she's doing a lot better."

"She's a moneymaker!" Slater rubbed his fingers together. "She brings it home."

Pickford jumped back into the car and started to drive away.

"Hey, where's my drugs?" O'Bannion shouted. "Gimme my— Slater! I need my drugs! Where you going?!"

Where Slater and the other stoners went was to take a lap around the rec center. They spotted two boys sitting on the curb sharing a cigarette and Pickford stopped the car.

"What grade you boys in?" he asked. He had no intention of harming them in any way, but was a little high and thought it would be a kick to scare them. Only the boys looked rather calm.

"Eighth," the first one said.

"Going into eighth," the second added.

Pickford believed they were telling the truth. They looked young. "There wouldn't be any eighth graders going into ninth inside, now would there?"

The first boy shrugged. "I dunno, it's not our day to keep up with them."

Slater chuckled at the kid's nerve.

Pickford had to grin, too. "What was I thinking?" he muttered, and drove away.

Carl and Tommy saw but could not hear this interaction through a rec center window. Neither of them recognized Pickford or Slater and assumed the worst. "They probably have us surrounded," Carl said, his face pressed against the glass. "You see O'Bannion out there anywhere?"

Tommy's eyes strained against the darkness. "Not yet, man. Hey, right after they leave might be a good time to get the hell out of here. You ready to go?"

Carl held no fondness for school dances where they played lovey-dovey music like Bread's "Make It with You" and Nazareth's "Love Hurts." He nodded. "Yeah, let's cruise."

"After we find loverboy." Tommy smirked.

The two boys crossed the gym, weaving in between couples. Most of the girls were taller than the boys, and no one of either sex knew how to dance. They merely swayed side to side. Neither Carl nor Tommy brought a date. As O'Bannion and Benny suspected, they and a few other freshmen boys had shown up just to hide.

A dimly-lit room off to the side of the gym had become the designated make-out room. Hirschfelder, one of the few boys who did have a date, was in the process of putting it to good use with a girl named Terry. They sat on a couch next to another amorous couple.

Carl and Tommy watched for a moment. Their chubby friend's inexperienced hands traveled all over, from the girl's thighs to her ribs to her shoulders, never daring to touch anything forbidden.

"Hey Hirschfelder, let's go!" Tommy hissed.

No reply.

"C'mon man!" Carl said. "It's time to leave!"

Hirschfelder finally pulled his face away from Terry's. Her lipstick was all over his mouth. He saw his friends looked insistent, perhaps even nervous, and sighed. Dicks before chicks, and all that. He kissed Terry one last time, saying, "I'll be right back," and knowing it was a lie. He got up and followed Carl and Tommy across the gym to the front doors.

A sixth-grade teacher stood guard. The boys didn't know his name because he was new to the school this year. "Hey," the teacher said gruffly. "You boys leave, you can't come back." Carl and Tommy looked at each other in mock panic.

"Aw, gee!" Carl said. "You hear that? If we leave, we can't come back!"

"Oh no! What should we do?" Tommy scowled at the teacher and the three boys left the dance.

"What the hell are we doing?" Hirschfelder demanded. "I was getting there! Man, I had my hand up her shirt."

Carl scoffed. "Oh, you were getting there?" He tapped Tommy's arm. "You hear that? He was getting there!" Tommy grinned. Carl said, "Son, you wouldn't know what to do even if you had gotten there, so don't worry about it."

"Just 'cause you guys are striking out—" Hirschfelder began.

"Grow up, boy!" Tommy interrupted. "That was our last junior high party."

"That's right," Carl agreed. "We're in the big time now. We're freshmen. Where all the girls'll be puttin out. Your days of lying around and pulling tongue all night are over."

"Yeah, right."

Carl continued to riff on Hirschfelder and his date as they walked through the dark suburban streets, mostly because he couldn't understand why Hirschfelder of all people was able to secure a date when he, Carl, was not.

"You didn't know she stuffed her bra?" he was saying.

"Terry stuffs her bra?" Tommy repeated. "Shit."

"They looked real to me," Hirschfelder said, though it had been dark in that make-out room…

From somewhere in the night came the haunting voice of Ozzy Osbourne, accompanied by the hum of a car engine. All three boys stopped short. The hair on the back of their necks raised.

"Shit…" Carl whimpered.

Tommy dared to look behind them and saw the unmistakable outline of O'Bannion's Plymouth, easing toward their position, the headlights turned off. "Scatter!" he yelled.

The headlights flicked on. Carl and Tommy sprinted off to the left, deeper into the neighborhood. Hirschfelder chose to go right, which turned out to be a came up against a chain-link fence. The Plymouth came to a stop. O'Bannion and Benny leapt from the car, paddles and beers in hand. Don appeared too, though he only had a beer. Hirschfelder's mind became addled as he tried to process his terrible luck. How had it come to this? Less than ten minutes ago, he was getting the most action of his short life, and now it looked like his life would come to an end.

O'Bannion caught him easily and shoved him against the fence. "Where you running to, boy? Huh?" He laughed a wicked laugh. "We ain't gonna hurt you…much! Hold onto that fence there and squeal like a pig! Wee! Wee!" He raised his paddle, asking Benny, "Ready to switch-hit?"

Benny positioned himself opposite O'Bannion. "Oh, yeah."

"I'm first!" O'Bannion swung immediately in case Benny wanted to argue this, his paddle connecting directly with Hirschfelder's denim-clad butt. Benny struck next, then O'Bannion again, then Benny, and so on. Don merely watched from where the Plymouth sat parked. Further away, in the shadows, Carl and Tommy watched too, flinching each time Hirschfelder was hit.

"Geez," Tommy whispered. "Bastards."

O'Bannion and Benny were both a little drunk by now and may have gone on hitting Hirschfelder for minutes. The poor freshman boy's salvation came in the form of Jodi, Kaye, Shavonne, and Sabrina, who pulled up in the Beetle behind the Plymouth.

"I know him," Sabrina said, indicating Hirschfelder.

"Hey, you guys!" Jodi called. "Take it easy on the kid, would you?"

Don forgot about the hazing at the sight of Shavonne. "Ladies," he said, walking around the Plymouth and popping open the trunk. Inside were dozens of loose beer bottles and cans, mostly Schlitz and Pabst Blue Ribbon. He selected a new one for himself and popped it open.

"Hey, who is that kid?" Jodi asked.

"Who, that kid there?" Don shrugged. "Just some kid we saw running around that shouldn't have been by the rec center."

Shavonne sat up in the backseat. Her clothes were tight. She leaned forward a little, letting Don have the barest of peeks. She had recognized her effect on men early in life and always found it amusing. Her voice husky, she asked, "Can we have some of those beers?"

Don was only able to act natural because he and Shavonne had been doing this little tango for so long. They first came together at the 1974 Halloween dance. She was dressed as Faye Dunaway and he as Joe Namath, complete with a fake Fu Manchu mustache. The Eagles' "Already Gone" was playing. Shavonne had smelled of the LemonTwists Menthol 100s she still smoked to this day and Don knew then and there he needed her like no man had ever needed a woman. Prone as he was to hitting on classmates and teachers and strangers alike, no member of the female sex would ever knock Shavonne out of first place in his heart and especially his loins.

"One of these?" Don looked at the beer in his hand and smiled. "Why?"

"Just gimme a beer," Shavonne said.

I like it when you get bossy, pretty lady, is what Don might have said if no one else was around. "Yeah? Catch." He made to throw it at her. At the last second, he saw Hirschfelder running back down the road they had come from. O'Bannion and Benny had finally let the kid go.

"Tubs! Catch!" Don called. Hirschfelder turned and Don pitched him the beer underhand. Hirschfelder caught it and immediately took off running again.

Benny appeared at Don's side, frowning. "What're you wasting a beer on him for?"

"What?" Don didn't understand what was up Benny's ass today. "It's no big deal."

Despite getting to dish out licks on yet another freshman, O'Bannion came over to the trunk griping. "Hey man, this fuckin sucks," he said as he grabbed a bottle from the trunk and tried to twist off the cap. "Last day of school, no fuckin party, no fuckin nothin—" The bottle refused to cooperate easily and O'Bannion threw it against the chain-link fence, where it shattered.

"You just wasted another fuckin beer," Benny groaned.

"Ah, shut up."

Don finally stopped messing around and brought each of the girls a beer. He made a particular show of giving Sabrina one, correctly guessing she was a freshman and had partaken in few if any beers before in her life.

"Thanks," Shavonne said, taking hers.

Don leaned against the car door, getting up into her space. "Hey," he said simply. He wiped his hands on the leg of her jeans.

"So, which one of your friends bought you the beer this time?" she asked.

Before Don could reply, a random voice called out, "Hey, fuck her! I did!" Tires screeched, and the catcaller disappeared into the night.

"Bite me!" O'Bannion called after him, still gripping his paddle.

"You wish, asshole!" Kaye added for good measure. She shook her head, asking anyone who might have an answer, "Why are guys such pigs?" It seemed no one did have an answer.

Don's fists had clenched at the stranger's taunt. Everyone was trying to ruin his game tonight; first Slater, now that random sumbitch. He thought about the time Shavonne became the victim of a "padding" rumor. This did not sit well with Don. First of all, the girl he considered to be his girl would not be subjected to any kind of rumor as long as he was around to say something about it. Second, he had seen Shavonne's breasts up close and personal many times by then, and he was proud to say she needed padding like Burt Reynolds needed more pussy. Hers was one pair of tits that were both real and spectacular, thank you very much.

He normally tried not to be so reminiscent on an easygoing night like tonight. Maybe he was doing a Pink imitation, as Benny suggested. In any case, Shavonne didn't seem to be in the same mood as him because the girls' car pulled away a moment later, and all she offered him was a tip of her beer can.

The Beetle passed by Carl, Tommy, and Hirschfelder as it drove away. The three freshmen walked casually now, figuring O'Bannion and Benny had got their kicks in. While Hirschfelder limped a little, Tommy and Carl especially were in a good mood since they had left the alley with a beer. They walked shoulder-to-shoulder, passing the bottle between them and taking generous swigs.

"Face it, you got busted 'cause you couldn't get away," said Carl, pointing at Hirschfelder with the hand holding the bottle.

Hirschfelder jerked the bottle away and drank. "You try and outrun O'Bannion and those guys. I'm gonna be laughing my ass off when it's your turn, and they're busting your ass."

Tommy got the bottle next. "Oh, man," he said. "I heard last year, they caught about ten freshmen at once? O'Bannion backed his car over some pizzas and made 'em eat it, man." He drank and passed the bottle to Carl.

Hirschfelder scoffed. "I mean, that's bullshit, right? Idiot flunks his senior year so he can be a dick two years in a row? Is that legal?"

Carl shrugged and downed the last of the beer. He tossed the bottle over his shoulder. It shattered on the pavement. Tommy groaned. "Damn you, Carl!"

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