I feel there is something unexplored about woman that only a woman can explore.

-Georgia O'Keeffe

Catherine Carlson stepped out from the harsh light of the morning sun into the dimmed lobby of Will Rogers High School. Low murmurs, squeals and shouts punctured the air thick with perfume, cologne, and the latent scent of cigarette smoke wafting in from the other side of the doorway.

Cathy placed her hand on the outside of her purse, feeling her own package of cigarettes through the imitation leather. It was a nasty habit, one she justified by telling herself that she only smoked when she was stressed. It just so happened that this week she was three smokes a day stressed.

Still, the idea of smoking on school grounds never occurred to her. At Graves Academy that would have been an automatic suspension. But private schools had different rules than public ones. Here, Cathy mused, unless kids were throwing each other out of windows, the school was stuck with them until they aged out.

Cathy shook her head; private school, public school, what did it matter anymore? Graves Academy was the best thing that ever happened to her, she paid her own way through school, but the money ran out and now here she was.

She shook her head and adjusted her purse's gold chain shoulder strap. Feeling sorry for herself wasn't going to change anything. Besides, she wasn't being condemned to prison, just high school. How bad could it be? A wry grin spread across her face.

XXXXX

Throngs of bareheaded teenage boys in jeans and slacks mixed with girls wearing skirts of various lengths, their legs looking like tree branches stripped of their bark, leaving nothing but the exposed heartwood underneath. They assembled in the large lobby, some sitting on benches, and others commandeered the stairwell that led to rest of the school.

Cathy pulled down on her own dress and smoothed down her green flowered skirt. Boy, how Cathy hated wearing dresses! She much preferred jeans and pedal pushers to the billowy tent that made her thighs like a rosebush in full bloom. The only part of going to Will Rogers that she was looking forward to was ditching the dowdy pleated grey uniform. She felt like one of the Puritans in The Scarlet Letter in that stale get up.

But Cathy's desire to wear her favored slacks was quickly dashed by the 'no pants except on casual Fridays' rule. Cathy and the other girls were trapped in their hemmed & nylon prisons. Meanwhile, the boys wore rolled up jeans and leather jackets and no one cared.

Cathy looked around the lobby, some of the kids didn't look any older than her brother M&M who was in the 7th grade, and some look old enough to be in graduate school.

She was fifteen, but often mistaken for older. Being the oldest of seven children will do that to you. Besides knowing how to change diapers at age six and being an expert on coaxing a naked child covered in peanut butter out of the washing machine (don't ask) she also learned how to observe people.

Because isn't that what mothers do? Watch over their children like hawks? That diligence carried over to other aspects of Cathy's life. She couldn't help but analyze everyone she met. It wasn't just about what they were doing that interested Cathy, but why.

She was fascinated by human psychology, but there was a deeper reason why she enjoyed analyzing everyone to death; analyze others and you don't have to worry about analyzing yourself.

Besides, Cathy mused she was a pretty boring person. She wasn't worth analyzing. In elementary school they had a project where the entire class had to list positive traits of each classmate. Cathy received 10 votes for 'smart', 5 votes for 'organized', 1 vote for 'nice' which made Cathy smile, 4 votes for 'hard working', 6 votes for 'quiet' which Cathy wasn't sure counted as a 'positive' trait, and one classmate who wrote on his card, "whose (sic) Cathy?"

Truthfully, Cathy wasn't quite sure if she could answer that question herself.

But she could answer that question about others.

XXXXX

Take the girl with the long and wild black hair. Her skirt wasn't as short as the other girls'. It was nice to see a girl who didn't feel the need to show the entire world her, well, 'world.' Although she was average in height, she carried herself with an elongated pride which made her seem taller. Cathy wouldn't say she looked snooty, exactly, but she certainly looked like a gal who never needed to ask for favors.

She certainly didn't look like the type of girl who was intimately familiar with the joy of cajoling a stubborn two year old out of the washing machine.

If Cathy felt guilty about staring, at least she wasn't alone in her morning ritual. A stocky boy with hair the color of rust and a loose, devil-may-care grin pointed out the girl to a younger boy with long brownish-red hair. The younger boy shrugged, but the older boy stuck his nose up in the air and though Cathy wasn't close enough to hear what they were saying, she was sure it was nothing complementary and probably plenty vulgar.

She felt sorry for the wild haired girl. Cathy knew what it was like to have people talk about you behind your back.

Still, Cathy couldn't help but notice that the older boy, even as his eyes narrowed into iron spike slits, couldn't stop staring at the black haired girl.

She also couldn't help but notice that the younger boy was kind of cute.

The two boys went to join a guy with thick, swirled greasy hair and a girl in the shortest skirt the Will Rogers' dress code would allow.

XXXXX

Evie Martin handed her boyfriend the now almost empty bottle of Coca-Cola. For a boy who could lift a hubcap with panther like reflexes he sure was slow on the draw. Evie could still feel the carbonated bubbles popping in her mouth like rock candy as she fumbled through her bag, feeling the outline of the book Miss. Tracy assigned to her. Beth's words still rambled through her mind, "Evie? Evie, I meant it. I really don't think you're a slut. Ya just dress like one."

Evie wasn't offended and normally she would not even remember Beth's quip; if it wasn't for that stupid book. Evie scoffed, imagine getting all uptight over a book some lame ass wrote one-hundred years ago.

Speaking of uptight lame asses, Evie saw that Bridget chick from English. She and Lucy were talking and, God, she looked like an even bigger snob at 7:30 in the morning. There was something so off putting about her, the way she and her little clique of friends gathered like a pack of hyenas on the hunt. Their overcooked giggles sounded like sharp nails screeching on vinyl.

Every few seconds Bridget would glance over at Evie and like a coward, turn away. If she were a greasy girl, Evie might consider starting something, or at least put her in place; but against Miss. Priss? All she could do was meet Bridget's snooty stare with a glare of her own.

Show her who was boss. But who was Evie kidding? Will Rogers High School was no different from the real world, the rich bitches would always be on top, glares and insults would do nothing to change that.

XXXXX

"Excuse me, is this seat taken?" Cathy looked up and saw the girl with the wild black hair look down at her, an expectant look on her face.

Cathy tucked her legs in and gestured for the girl to take the seat next to her. The girl sure had a lot of hair.

"You're new?" The moment those words escaped from Cathy's mouth she inwardly groaned, of course the girl was new, they were both at a special assembly for new students. Cathy blushed and grinned, "Of course you are…"

The other girl only gave a reserved smile. "No worries." She held out her hand, "Bridget Stevens." She had the whitest teeth Cathy had ever seen outside advertisements for toothpaste.

"Catherine Carlson, pleased to meet you." Catherine? Cathy had no idea where that came from. No one, save Aunt Rita ever called her by her full name.

But there was something about this girl; her perfect posture, her white teeth, her presence, that made Cathy want to add an extra few syllables to her name.

As she extended her own hand, Cathy noticed that Bridget had perfect manicured nails. Of course she would. Cathy pulled her own hands under her knees. They were in need of a good trim.

XXXXX

A Mr. Hillenberg stood in front on the microphone, tapping it with his fingers sending a crackled hiss through the auditorium. In his black slacks, crisp white shirt, thin black tie and black suit jacket he reminded Cathy more of an undertaker than a teacher.

Perspiration streamed down his bald head as he stood under the hot stage lights, the lights magnifying every crevice and wrinkle on his face. She couldn't help but think that he looked about a decade past retirement and wondered if he was still working because he wanted to, or because he had to.

He stammered a few times and Cathy cringed in sympathy. She hated watching people embarrass themselves. When he wasn't stuttering and stammering he spoke in a monotone and Cathy wondered how his students made in through his class without falling asleep. But when a boy on the other side of Bridget made a dramatic yawn, eliciting loud chuckles from the kids around him, Cathy shot him a withering look. She hated rude people and when Cathy wanted to, she could be as cold as anyone.

Unfortunately Cathy was no prized sharpshooter; her aim misfired and fell right on Bridget's pretty face. Bridget looked at Cathy with a look that teetered between confusion and defensiveness.

"What?" she hissed.

Cathy shook her head apologetically. "Not you, that look was meant for someone else."

Bridget's face melted and once again she smiled, "I'm sorry, I hope I didn't overreact," she whispered. Cathy could tell that Bridget felt embarrassed by her reaction, but Cathy wasn't offended, she got a lot worse from the twins almost every night.

Cathy felt guilty, she forgot how menacing her 'big sister' glare really was. Besides, this Bridget didn't seem like the type girl who was used to people not treating her with kid gloves. She probably never received a dirty look from anyone in her life.

For a reason Cathy couldn't quite articulate, it made her feel a bit sorry for the girl.

XXXXX

Standing next to Mr. Hillenberg only made Miss. Tracy look even more nubile. She didn't look much older than the students, and Cathy wondered if that was strange for her.

Cathy thought about going into teaching. In another life her mother taught first grade. Cathy couldn't imagine teaching such young children. As much as she loved her siblings, having to take care of entire class of skinned knees, hurt feelings and runny noses appealed to Cathy as much as getting tetanus shot.

But high school? That was different. At Graves Academy, Cathy's favorite class was the Freshman Great Books Seminar, each student read a classic, and Cathy read The Canterbury Tales. Bridget reminded Cathy, at least on a superficial level, of The Prioress.

Miss. Tracy sure was enthusiastic. When she talked her voice bounced off the auditorium's walls, "I'm so happy to welcome each and every one of you to Will Rogers." She paused, and Cathy thought she expected applause, but when none was forthcoming she just flashed a huge grin and continued to speak.

"This is an exciting time in your life, and a confusing time. As you probably noticed, Will Rogers is a huge school, although not large enough to have an elevator." She added with a smirk.

That comment drew groans and a few tired chuckles from the crowd. Cathy already had two kids try to sell her 'passes' for the nonexistent elevator.

What really confused Cathy was one kid tried to sell her a pass while she was already on the third floor.

"First of all, there is no elevator. Secondly, I'm already on the third floor, why the heck would I need an elevator pass? Clearly, I have no issues climbing up stairs."

Cathy may be the new girl, but she wasn't stupid.

Cathy didn't notice that Bridget was poking her elbow, "Catherine…"

Miss. Tracy assigned what she called an 'ice breaker' activity, but which really just sounded like a waste of time to Cathy. Every new student would be paired up and they had to spend 3 minutes talking about themselves.

Cathy wished she could take an elevator right out of the auditorium. Unless she was comfortable with someone, she hated talking about herself, and even then she preferred to listen.

"Want to pair up?"

Cathy smiled and nodded at Bridget, relieved that she didn't have search through the auditorium for a partner.

Bridget was originally from New York City; she loved Broadway, wanted to be on the stage someday and enjoyed concerts at Radio City Music Hall. As she continued to speak, Cathy noticed that her voice became more relaxed and she couldn't stop smiling as she talked about New York City. She talked about New York the way Cathy thought about Graves Academy and Cathy wondered if Bridget missed The Big Apple as much as Cathy missed her school.

Bridget certainly sounded like she was familiar with the finer things in life, and Cathy felt some pride that her initial assessment of the girl was correct.

"And, um, I love The Beatles. I guess that's it."

Cathy awoke from her passive politeness and practically shot up, she couldn't keep the enthusiasm out of her voice, "Oh, me too! Okay, who is your favorite? On the count of three, one…two…three…"

"Paul McCartney," Bridget said with gusto.

"John Lennon," Cathy said with equal zest.

The girls burst out laughing, and Cathy felt that she could become friends with this Bridget Stevens. Isn't that funny; finding out you like the same band that millions of girls all over the country went ga-ga over, and suddenly Cathy felt a kinship with this New York girl.

"But" Cathy continued, "I feel a bit sorry for Ringo, it seems like everyone forgets about him. At my old school we had a Fall Follies and I volunteered to play Ringo in a skit just because no one else would. Guess I shouldn't feel too bad for him, I'm pretty sure The Beatles are millionaires, hard to feel bad for someone with that much money."

Cathy hoped that her voice was not as bitter as it sounded in her ears. She had no problem with money, heck, Cathy hoped to have a lot of it someday; but she couldn't help but feel bitterness rise through her when she remembered that she had to leave Graves while girls who slept through class and never read the assignments continued to attend because their parents could afford the fee.

Bridget didn't say anything, but Cathy noticed she looked down at her saddle shoes for a second before looking back up.

XXXXX

Cathy wished she could continue talking about The Beatles; they were more interesting than she was. She knew all about the Fab Four. But Bridget said, "tell me about yourself, Catherine," in such a nice tone that Cathy felt comfortable.

"I'm the oldest of seven kids," Right on cue Bridget's eyes widened and Cathy smirked, "it's not that bad. They're good kids, most of the time. I work part time at the hospital, I like to read, and I adore The Beatles, of course."

Laying everything out there just reminded Cathy of how uneventful her life was.

There was a lot more Cathy could have talked about: Mike, her secret summer fling that not even M&M knew about. How the best part about staying with Aunt Rita was having a room all to herself, even if she had to share the room with Aunt Rita's creepy China dolls who sat on the window sill like a demon processed jury, their vacant eyes looking right through her.

XXXXX

"Do you have some gum?" A boy with sandy hair poked Cathy on her shoulder, and Cathy opened her purse, fishing for a piece of Doublemint. Bridget opened her own more expensive purse. Not thinking, Cathy lifted up the package of cigarettes and pulled out a packet of gum. Bridget's eyes enlarged into huge green crystal balls and her nose crinkled up.

"Catherine, you smoke?" She sounded genuinely shocked, like Cathy just pulled out a gun and a ski mask and planned on robbing the F&M bank…

Cathy didn't know why, but she lied. "Nah, I just hold a package of cigarettes for my girlfriend, her parents would freak out if they caught her."

That was a twofer. Not only did Catherine smoke, she didn't even have a close friend to hide cigarettes for.

XXXXX

Her name was Mrs. Girdlé and with her thick glasses and plump physique she gave off a matronly aura. The room smelled like dried paint and clay, easels rested against the wall, while on the opposite side of the room a dozen wooden and plastic hands, heads and arms sat on the windowsill.

They would have made great company for Aunt Rita's dead eyed China dolls.

Looking at Mrs. Girdlé adjust her broach Cathy resigned herself for a semester of painting bowls of fruits and if Mrs. Girdlé felt like cutting lose, hands. Maybe.

Cathy sighed; she was actually looking forward to art class. For someone as practical and some would say rigid, as Cathy Carlson, she loved the idea of throwing caution to the wind and globs paint splotches onto a canvas.

XXXXX

The girl next to her had bushy brown hair and was tapping her fingers against the desk.

"Excuse me, do I know you from somewhere?" Cathy asked.

The girl shrugged, "I don't know, I don't think so…" she looked back down at her notebook.

The girl looked awfully familiar, Cathy didn't think she'd forget a girl with hair like that. What was it with this school and girls' hair? Between this girl and Bridget, Cathy might as well been bald.

The girl's tapping was getting on Cathy's nerves, when Cathy remembered where she knew her. "Do you work at the store on Sutton?"

The girl perked up, "yeah."

"My little brother, M&M, I mean Edwin, he works there too, he helps bag groceries a few hours after school. He needed the money because Mom and Dad weren't giving him enough of an allowance to pay for all of the books, candy and soda he likes."

Cathy chuckled, thinking of the mountains of M&Ms her brother hoarded in his bedroom.

It was funny, Cathy found it so hard to speak about herself, but she could talk about her brother for hours.

A look of recognition flashed across the girl's face, "oh yeah, he's a real nice kid." The girl had a nice smile.

Cathy beamed. Everyone loved M&M. He was a genius, an honest to God genius, but he was the sweetest boy in the entire world.

"He's the best," Cathy began before shaking her head, it was only a few months since she left Graves but she had already forgotten her manners, "Cathy Carlson, nice to meet you…" she extended her hand.

"Ella Mitchell," the frizzy haired girl replied.

XXXXX

Cathy couldn't help but notice that Ella kept on glancing at a tow-headed kid sitting a few rows behind them. The boy wore a sniveling expression, while his eyes were as cold as Aunt Rita's dolls. He propped his feet on top of the desk, and every time Cathy looked back, he looked right at her, a wolf ready to pounce.

Future con, Cathy thought to herself. Now if anyone was going to throw someone out the window, it would be that boy.

"You know him?" Cathy asked Ella, a tiny hint of worry underlying her question. She couldn't imagine this nice girl knowing someone like that boy.

Ella shook her head, "I wish I could say no. But, I'm tutoring him."

"Good luck," Cathy whispered.

Ella only sighed, "thanks, I'm gonna need it." She went back to tapping on the table.

XXXXX

Mrs. Girdlé arranged paintings on the easels; large flowers, deserts, barren landscapes.

"Who knows the artist?"

Cathy glanced around, no one was saying anything. Cathy raised her hand, "Georgia O'Keeffe."

Mrs. Girdlé nodded, "that's right, one of our greatest living painters. I want you to notice not only her mastery of brush strokes and color, but what's going on underneath the surface. Art is a form of storytelling even more ancient than the written word. What story is Miss. O'Keeffe trying to tell us through her paintings?

For this semester's art project, each of you will be paired up to complete a self-portrait and a painting of your partner. But," Mrs. Girdlé pushed her glasses up, "I don't want you to draw a literal rendition, I want you to draw yourself and your partner as a natural object, as a metaphor."

Wouldn't it just be easier to draw hands? Cathy grumbled to herself.

"For example, if I were painting myself, I might see myself as a…"

"piece of shit," the tow headed boy murmured under his breath.

Cathy gripped the table, her face burned with righteous fury. She wanted to walk over to the boy and give him a piece of her mind, but no one saved Cathy and Ella and a few others appeared to hear him.

Ella shook her head, "he isn't worth it."

XXXXX

Ella and Cathy were paired up, and Cathy felt relief that she wasn't paired up with the rude boy, although she already envisioned how she would paint him: a cold-eyed wolf against a vacant winter landscape. She would even draw tiny pieces of wolf droppings in the picture, getting back at him for being so rude.

She felt bad when, due to an odd number of students, Mrs. Girdlé paired herself up with the boy.

"Well, Mr. Winston, it looks like we're going to be partners." The boy only gave her a dark grin, "it's going to be a blast Mrs. Girdle," purposely mispronouncing her last name.

Ugh! What an asshole.

XXXXX

Cathy looked at Ella, with her hair, and the way she kept on looking down at the table, Cathy was already envisioning her as Weeping willow.

She wondered how Ella would see her.

XXXXX

Evie bent down and yanked the dead bouquet of roses from the bottom shelf and tossed it in the trash; as she did, flakes of dead petals crumbled in her hands. Was this supposed to some sort of sign? Evie rolled her eyes, she could just picture Miss. Tracy gush about symbolism and metaphors. What did the rose 'mean'?

Miss. Tracy always wanted her students to talk about 'subtext' and 'deeper meanings.' Evie figured that sometimes shit just happened. It didn't mean anything.

All it meant to Evie was that Dolores had forgotten to clean the bottom shelf. Again. But that wasn't a surprise. Dolores was a few months away from retirement but her eyes were already filled with visions of Greyhound buses, slot machines and disposable income.

She told Evie that she was planning on taking a trip to Atlantic City next summer. Evie wondered why she wouldn't want to go to Vegas instead? Vegas was much more exciting, with its endless casinos and neon lights, not to mention it was closer to Tulsa.

But Dolores practically glowed with such excitement when she talked about the casinos and boardwalks, that Evie thought she must have visited before. But no, Dolores just read about Atlantic City in Ladies Home Journal five years ago and planned a trip ever since then.

Evie wondered where she would be in five years.

XXXXX

Someday, Evie was going to be a hairdresser, it was just that day was further away than Evie wanted. In the meantime, between putting in a full day at school, helping out at her mom's salon, looking after Beth, and put in the work of well, making her and Steve work, Evie put in a few hours every week at the hospital gift shop.

It wasn't much, but it helped stretched out the measly salary Evie made at the salon. When Evie told her father she got a job at the hospital, a small, surprised smile spread on his lips.

"You thinking about going into nursing? That's a good job, respectable."

No. Evie was not thinking about going into nursing; the idea of getting a shot still creeped her out, let alone giving someone else the shot. She figured patients wouldn't be too fond of having their nurse close her eyes and squirm as she punctured their vein with a needle.

Then there was the whole blood thing. For a self-styled tough girl, blood gave Evie the heebie-jeebies. When she had to make a delivery to a patient's room she kept her eyes straight ahead, hoping to avoid accidentally catching a glance at a doctor fresh out of the O.R. his scrubs slathered in scarlet.

Besides hairdressing was a perfectly respectable career. Dad should know that, his wife was a hairdresser.

Evie looked down at her nails; she always kept them in good condition. She wasn't a snob about her appearance like the Socy girls were, but she figured if she was going to be a beautician she should at least look the part.

Besides, who would want to get a manicure from some gal with brittle, chipped nails?

Evie looked down with disdain at her calf-length pink skirt, her uniform, at least her mother had approved this outfit.

"Evelyn!"

Evie groaned internally, she hated being referred to by her full name.

"I'm going to deliver these flowers, you okay handling the shop, dear?" Evie only started working at the hospital a month ago, but with Dolores halfway out the door she practically ran the place.

She gave a small nod to her older co-worker and watched as the thickset, silver haired woman carefully placed bouquets of flowers on the 'flower wagon' and pushed away.

Evie could hear the cart squeak all the way to the elevator; she continued to clean the bottom shelf.

XXXXX

A girl with shoulder length jet black hair rang the bell at the cashier's desk.

Five times.

Hold your damn horses. What was the huge emergency? As soon as that thought popped in her head Evie groaned, that was just the type of corny joke Beth would find hilarious.

Evie smiled a tight grin where annoyance and feigned politeness smacked lips.

She had good customer service skills.

"Can I help you?"

"Oh, I didn't think anyone was here," the girl said. It took Evie everything she had not to throttle her. Of course someone was here, Evie was just busy. She hated how the girl implied judgment on her just because she had to wait an extra few minutes.

The girl plopped a teddy bear with "Get Well Soon" embroidered across its stomach. The girl had on a blue uniform and white apron, according to her hospital name tag, her name was Cathy.

Evie didn't recall seeing her before, but again, a lot of people worked at Tulsa General.

Every night families and friends of patients stalked through the gift shop looking for the perfect card, flowers, teddy bear or candy for their sick loved ones.

Evie tried not snoop around in their business, she figured everyone, especially the sick, were entitled to their privacy.

Dolores on the other hand could talk the bark off a tree. Have someone mention that her husband was in for gallbladder surgery, and Dolores would top that with an anecdote of how both her son and husband had their kidney stones removed-on the same day.

The girl in front of her didn't seem particularly sad or worried, just impatient. She kept on glancing at her watch.

"You want a card with the bear?" Evie motioned towards a rack of "get well" cards, the sympathy cards were kept in back, hidden from view.

A slight smile came to the girl's face and Evie was amazed at how much younger she looked when she smiled, "No thanks; the teddy bear is for my little sister, it's her birthday today and I kind of forgot to buy her a present. She's two, so it's not as if she can read yet." A small smirk spread on Cathy's face.

Cathy blushed but looked straight at Evie, "I usually don't forget things like that, but with starting a new school…." Cathy said in an overly earnest tone.

"Where do ya go?" Evie didn't really care, but she wanted to be polite.

"Will Rogers," Evie couldn't fail to pick up on the slight note of distaste on the girl's tongue. Suddenly, Evie felt very defensive of her high school, which was amusing, because Evie didn't have particularly strong feelings about the place one way or the other.

It was kind of like with Beth; sometimes her kid sister annoyed the hell out her, but if anyone else ragged on Beth Evie would turn into a tiger, pounced for the kill. It helped that Evie, even when she didn't try, looked tough.

"Yeah, I go there, I don't remember seeing you around, are you a freshman?"

"Sophomore, I just moved." The girl's tone was polite, Evie supposed, but clipped, as if she couldn't be bothered making small talk.

The girl was a bit strange, Evie decided, she managed to alternate between friendly and bitchy in the same conversation. Evie didn't know what to make of her. She was an average looking girl, sorta pretty and cute, but no knockout. The kind of girl Evie could imagine working on when she owned her own salon.

S.E Hinton owns

Thank you for reading!