"She had an inside and an outside now and suddenly she knew how not to mix them." – Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God

Vickie Harper, Cherry Valance, Marcia Powell, Missy Redar, Penny Simpson, and Bridget were all stood together in front of the school bulletin board, scanning…scanning…scanning…aha! Yes, that's what they were looking for. Vickie stepped back with a smug, prideful look on her face.

"I knew it," she declared. "See, I told the committee that 'Midnight in Paris' would be a perfect theme, and what did they go for? That's right. It helps to have the power of persuasion on your side, girls."

Marcia and Cherry exchanged eye-rolling glances. This is the way Vickie had been her whole life, and it was the way she'd remain for the rest of it. "Vickie Harper strikes again," Cherry deadpanned, and the other girls tittered.

Vickie shot her a fake smile. In her head, Vickie was in constant competition with Cherry. That's the way it had always been. Marcia and Missy and Penny had always been very go-with-the-flow, but Cherry was always challenging her. Oh, they were friends for sure. But they were constantly head-butting. And with Bridget now in the mix, who knew where Vickie stood? She'd already heard that Jerry Thompson had his eye on her, which was just perfect, wasn't it? "Well, it wasn't hard," Vickie said. "Not like your idea was any better."

Cherry scowled, but before she could say anything, Bridget said, "Is homecoming a big deal around here?"

The other girls stared. A couple of them may have gasped. Missy's mouth hung open a bit. Bridget blushed and shuffled her feet. "Was…was that a stupid question?"

Vickie recovered quickly. This girl sure did need a lot of work, though. "No, not stupid," she shook her head, and she gestured for the girls to all start following her. "But yes, it's a big deal. A whole week of activities, the big game on Friday, and then the dance Saturday night."

"I suppose you need a date for something like that," Bridget sighed.

"Well, it'd be awfully strange for you to show up without one," Vickie said, trying to keep the 'well, DUH' out of her voice.

Again, Cherry and Marcia glanced at each other. They liked Bridget, and they had the feeling Vickie did, too, in her own way. But why was she treating her like a child? It was not only rude, but it had to be somewhat embarrassing for Bridget. She wasn't helpless.

"Strange things happen all the time," Marcia said cheerfully, "and stranger things have happened than that."

"Yeah, I don't see why the only way you should be able to enjoy homecoming is if you have a date," Missy shrugged, Penny wordlessly nodding along. (Penny was almost always wordless.)

Vickie huffed in frustration. "Well, that's what the rest of the week is for. And we have to cheer at the game anyways. So there ya go."

Vickie was a master at ending conversations. Bridget wandered into first period feeling as if she'd just come from an alternate universe, a bit in a fog. She sat down next to the freshman she'd been seated next to – Ponyboy Curtis, one of many boys with odd names in an odd town – and listened to the morning announcements. Nominations for homecoming court would be held this week and announced Monday. Bridget wondered if she might ever get even a few votes for something like that. She doubted it. Homecoming queen would end up being somebody like Cherry or Vickie or some senior. Bridget knew that almost nobody knew what to do with her. She knew that all too well.

"Do you have to have a date to go to homecoming?" Bridget wondered aloud, but not loud enough for anybody beyond her table to hear her. Ponyboy briefly glanced at her, but he never seemed to be able to keep eye contact with her for very long. Ponyboy seemed very inexperienced when it came to girls, but Bridget's brain refused to believe that the sight of her might make him even the least bit flustered.

"My brothers always had dates," he half-mumbled, shrugging, though the shrug looked more like a jerking movement.

"Oh," she muttered.

Bridget figured she just wouldn't go, then. Nobody would ask her, most likely, and cheering at the game would be fun enough. Besides – most people had probably known who they would be going with for months. Nobody had even known her that long.

As she went from first to second period, art to American history, she wondered if homecoming was something those east-siders liked going to. Or was it something they considered uncool? Would a girl like Evie want to go? Bridget knew she had a steady – Steve Randle – but just because she had a steady didn't mean anything when it came to attending school functions.

But Bridget didn't mind school dances. In fact, she sort of liked them.

What she didn't like was second period. Not because of the subject matter, but because of a certain prick that sat right behind her, who always smiled at her when she walked into the room. She was certain that he made sure to get there as quickly as possible so he could be seated before her and piss her off. The thought made her cheeks heat up, and she thought she just might explode when she saw him that morning.

"Well, howdy, Miz Bee."

Bridget took a deep breath and slumped into her seat. Oh, this boy. Would there ever be a day (when he was actually at school that is) when he wouldn't feel the need to bug her? Probably not, she thought glumly. She shouldn't say anything, she shouldn't acknowledge him, she shouldn't respond, she shouldn't –

"Well, hey, Two-Bit."

She always responded.

XXXXX

"…and I'll see you later, Bee Stevens!"

Bridget couldn't resist the urge to turn around and scowl at Two-Bit, who just winked back at her, then cackled and walked away in the opposite direction. Bridget shook her head – he was the worst, but at least she only had to put up with him once a day. But that nickname was really starting to catch on, which was pissing her off.

Anyway.

Bridget ran her thumb along the spine of Their Eyes Were Watching God as she clutched it close to her chest. English was next. She didn't know how far Lucy was into [her book], but Bridget had picked hers up – only meaning to maybe get a chapter or two in – and hadn't been able to put it down. Zora had her from "Ships at a distance have every man's wish on board" and hadn't let her go. That Ella girl had been right, it was a melancholy read, but Bridget wasn't unfamiliar with the feeling. She had no problem, really, letting the melancholy fill her and allowing herself to sit with it for a bit. Sure, she'd laid in bed and cried some, with the book sitting on her chest, feeling like a wimp because Jesus she cries a lot and she's had just about enough of it, but it was always nice to be reminded that she could feel something.

"Bridget!"

At first, it didn't register with her that someone had called her name, but when she heard it again, she stopped and turned to see Catherine Carlson approaching her. Bridget smiled a little. Catherine was a nice girl. She didn't know her very well yet, but they were both new and navigating this new school together, so she felt like she could understand her at least in that capacity. That, and in their love for the Fab Four.

"Hi, Catherine," Bridget greeted, feeling nicer and calmer than she had earlier when having to deal with Two-Bit. "How're you?"

Catherine shrugged. "I'm alright," she said. "This place sure is big, isn't it?"

Bridget nodded. "It sure is. I get lost just about every day." She glanced at Catherine. Bridget so envied her hair. Hers looked so healthy and…tamable. "Are you liking it here so far, though?"

Another shrug. Was Catherine ever really sure of anything? "It's alright." (She's alright, it's alright.) "Um. It's just strange to compare this place to Graves. There really is no comparison."

"Well, I don't know anything about your old school obviously, but I don't know. This place is sort of gorgeous for a high school," she said, referencing the art deco décor, "even if some of the people…"

"Are absolutely terrible," Cathy grumbled, her expression darkening some. Bridget smirked.

"You seem to know exactly what I mean," she said, laughing a little. Cathy nodded vigorously.

"There's this boy in my art class," she sighed. "Dallas Winston. He's…" she shook her head. "He's…"

"Terrible," Bridget finished for her, having heard plenty about that particular hoodlum. "I've heard some things. One of his buddies sits behind me in history. From what I've heard he's not as dangerous, but he's got to be at least ten times as obnoxious."

"Well, good luck."

Bridget snorted. "You too. Say, you going to homecoming?"

Cathy looked unsure. "I don't know. Is that a big deal around here?"

Bridget feigned shock. "Is it a big deal?" She repeated, acting surprised even though she'd asked that very same question that morning to her friends. "Of course. I mean, I've never been to a homecoming dance here, obviously," (or ever), "but I mean…I've heard."

"Well, I don't exactly have a date…I mean, don't you need a date?"

Bridget didn't know. "I could get you one, if you wanted," she suddenly offered. Cathy scrunched up her face a bit, and Bridget felt her face get hot. "Only if you wanted, though," she quickly added on. "I mean, and that's only if you really want to go at all! I'm…" Bridget sighed. "Well. Anyways. I don't even know if I'm going. But I'd help you, if you want."

The poor girl was a bumbling mess. Why did she always do this? Ugh. She felt sorta sick to her stomach and was about to make a hasty retreat to the nurse just to get out of this situation, but Cathy didn't seem too bothered, actually.

"Well, I still don't know if I want to go, but thanks for offering anyways." Cathy shot her a smile. "And hey – I guess if we don't find dates, we could just go for fun anyways."

Bridget liked the idea (even though a tiny part of her desperately wanted a boy to ask her), so she quietly nodded and grinned back at Cathy, wondering how this younger girl managed to be so much more put-together than she was.

XXXXX

The early minutes of English were rowdy, and Bridget sat next to Lucy wordlessly. She glanced across the classroom to Evie and…yes, that was Ella. Ella Mitchell? That sounded familiar.

This is knowing people she thought to herself, but then she had to remind herself, No. This isn't knowing people. It's recognizing them. You don't know Ella any better than you know anybody else.

They had the class to work, so that's what they did. Over across the room, Evie slammed The Scarlet Letter onto her desk and Ella watched on at her dramatic little production as she gently set A Tree Grows in Brooklyn out. Where Evie was bright colors and big (styled) hair and perfectly (over)done makeup, Ella sat next to her feeling drab and dull in comparison. She couldn't pull off Evie's style, not ever. But she didn't realize that Evie herself would glance at Ella and think to herself that maybe it wouldn't always be such a bad thing to display a little modesty, if only to keep potential rumors at bay. The girls at Will Rogers were ruthless. Especially those snobby soc girls. But it's not like Evie's friends were much better. When she and Sylvia and Kathy (the Girlfriend Coalition, as Evie liked to refer to themselves) got together, they hardly ever talked about their boyfriends. They could gossip and be just as cruel as girls like Vickie Harper and Lucy Radner.

Natural order of things.

"Miss Tracy has really outdone herself," Evie sighed. "Makin' us read two books at the same time. And you know we've got more comin'. I heard the next class book after Catcher in the Rye is some play. Where do they come up with this stuff to make us read?"

Ella just shrugged. "I don't know. There's probably some sort of list."

"Yeah, well, I think it's too much. Anyways, have you made any more progress?"

"A little. I was thinking about comparisons we could make, and, well, both of our books have main characters that are girls. That's something."

Evie considered it. "Yeah. But it ain't much of something yet. It's a start, though. Better than I got. I mean, we'd have to know more about our characters first."

"Yeah," Ella nodded. "We could maybe center our entire project around them."

"Sounds good to me," Evie declared, sighing. "This is boring. Let's talk about something else. You going to homecoming?"

Ella looked a bit surprised that she asked. Evie was going. She'd roped Steve into already, and he had a hard time saying no to her. Besides, Evie liked going to dances. They were fun. She could blow off some steam. When Steve wanted to blow off steam, there were three things he wanted to do: drag race, steal some hubcaps, or fuck. Evie had taken it upon herself to try and help him redirect.

"Oh. I don't know," Ella trailed off. "Um. I'm not sure. I don't have a date."

"So?" Evie shrugged. "Go with a friend." Evie didn't consider that maybe Ella didn't have friends to go with. "You could buy a cute dress, or alter one. And you'd be good to go." Well, almost. "But you'd have to do something with that hair of yours."

Ella huffed a laugh, not sure if she should be offended or not. "Oh, yeah. Right. I'm not very good with hair. Or…beautification in general."

Evie finally perked up. "Well, I am. Heck, if you wanted, I could do your hair for you. It'd be a good challenge. And I can do nails, too."

Evie suddenly liked this idea. She needed to test her skills, and Ella? Ella was the perfect project.

XXXXX

When Bridget arrived home that afternoon, she ran inside and slammed the front door shut behind her. She walked through the quiet house, late-day autumn sunshine coming through the windows as she made her descent up the stairs. The orange skirt she was required to wear as a cheerleader matched the scene. If anyone had seen her at that moment, they'd have seen a tiny young woman bathed in yellow sunlight and wrapped in school colors, tightly clutching Zora Neale Hurston's masterpiece in hand, so hard her knuckles had turned white. Then she stood in her room, staring at herself in the mirror.

There was a boy.

(There was always a boy.)

Jerry.

(Jerry Thompson.)

He'd asked her to homecoming. She'd said yes.

(For some reason, this concerned her.)

But first thing's first: this skirt-and-sweater set needed to come off. Now. Because Lucy was coming over to work on their project, and Bridget wasn't about to just sit around like this.

"Hey, Bridget."

Jerry was sweating and shining in the sun like some sort of bronzed Greek god. Whenever she saw him, a lump grew in her throat. She'd never thought of herself as having a type, let alone that type being the athletic kind, but here he was, standing in front of her.

"Hi," Bridget squeaked, trying to smile. "How was your practice?"

Jerry shrugged. "Not bad. Arm feels good. Need my wide receiver to…" He trailed off, noticing that Bridget looked a bit lost already. "Well, it was good," he grinned. "Yours?"

"Fine, fine," she said. "It's not hard to remember cheers. Not exactly the most stimulating thing."

Jerry laughed. "Well, anyways…I was wondering if I could ask you something?"

"Sure," Bridget shrugged. "What's up?"

Jerry looked a bit nervous, actually. "Um. Well, I was wondering if you'd like to go to the homecoming dance with me."

"Bridget! Your friend is here!"

Bridget came back down to earth for the moment, but she still wasn't wholly there. She still felt like she was floating as she went back downstairs where she found her father letting Lucy into the house. Lucy was still dressed in her school clothes, and Bridget felt dowdy next to her in her jeans. But she'd seen Colleen Corby in a pair! She could wear jeans if she damn well wanted to!

"Hi, Lucy," she said, wishing her father telepathically away.

"Hi, Bridget," she grinned. "Thanks for inviting me over. You too, Mr. Stevens."

Dr. Stevens didn't correct her. He just smiled at the girl and told the two of them that he would be in his office if they needed him. The two were left in the front room, Lucy hanging her coat up and Bridget left standing with her book in hand. It wasn't often that she had people over. Funnily enough, her father had always been the social one, not his teenage daughter.

"So," Bridget sighed once the two of them had gotten up to her room, Lucy sitting at her desk and Bridget sitting with her legs spread out in front of her (something she couldn't have done if she wasn't wearing pants!) "how far have you gotten?"

Lucy held up her copy of Candide wryly. "Not far. What exactly are these books supposed to have in common, huh? I've got a book about some French boy, and you've got one about a black woman. What's the deal?"

Bridget shrugged. "Maybe it was random."

Lucy shook her head. "I don't think so," she said. "I think Miss Tracy very carefully planned all this out."

The thought that Miss Tracy had very carefully thought out which book each of them were given made Bridget's stomach do a flip-flop. (Why was it that she was always feeling sick to her stomach?) She couldn't quite bring herself to believe that. Miss Tracy couldn't know them that well yet. To believe what Lucy was saying was to believe that Miss Tracy had stereotyped and pigeon-holed all of her students from day one. Bridget was much more comfortable believing it was all random.

"I've already finished my book," Bridget said quietly, and Lucy's eyes bugged out a bit.

"Really?" She asked. "Wow."

Bridget shrugged. "It was good. It made me cry."

Lucy seemed slightly stunned for a moment, but then she started snorting with laughter. That really made Bridget feel like crying again. Maybe she was about to start her period. Or maybe she was just sick and tired of feeling different. So what if she cried? Hell, Bridget cried all the time. She scowled, but Lucy didn't seem to notice.

"What's so funny about that?" Bridget asked, defensive.

Lucy sighed and wilted. "Nothing, nothing. Just you," she said, as if it were all so simple. Bridget huffed.

"Anyways," she went on, "maybe you ought to read a bit more. It might make this easier," Bridget suggested, trying to keep herself from sounding too judgmental or bitter because there was a certain dignity, she realized, in taking the high road, though she did not always travel it. And when she said that perhaps Lucy ought to read a bit more, she wasn't just talking about Candide. Bridget didn't think she was as smart as her father, but she also realized the benefit of being well-read.

Bridget was well-read. She was. Her father wouldn't let her get away for not being so. And that is why she cried for Janie. Because as her father said – the more you read, the more human you became.

XXXXX

"Beth – time to am-scray."

Beth groaned dramatically and rolled over on her bed to face her big sister. "Ya know, I am fourteen. It's not like I don't know what you guys are talking about up here. Why can't I stay?"

Evie glared at Beth. She kinda hated it when he pointed it out, but Steve was sometimes right – Beth could be a pest. Then again, Steve sorta hated everybody younger than them. He didn't like Beth or Ponyboy, Sodapop's little brother. Evie thought Ponyboy was an OK kid, and she loved Beth and all, but they were sometimes sorta annoying. Ponyboy really wasn't mature enough for high school, Evie had once realized, but he was there and there wasn't much they could do about it now. And even though he was loathe to admit it, Steve – along with the other boys, Dallas and Two-Bit – had his back. And Evie had Beth's.

But there was still no way in hell she was gonna let her kid sister hang out with her and her friends.

"Because I said so," Evie said. "So get."

Beth looked a little hurt, and she stuck her tongue out at Evie and ran downstairs to presumably bug their mother. As she was leaving, Kathy and Sylvia came into her bedroom. They rotated whose house they stayed at all the time, and it was Evie's turn to play hostess. Sure, she probably had the nicest parents who were maybe a bit hover-y, but the girls still usually managed to sneak something in. Kathy's parents were the hardest to get anything by. Reverend Lawson was a temperance man. Kathy was the antithesis of a PK. She should've been sweet, but she wasn't. Likewise, Sylvia was known around town for being a whore, but she was actually pretty nice once you got to know her. There's a lot to be said for first impressions.

"Thanks for kickin' the kid out," Kathy said, her and Sylvia both flopping down on Beth's bed, having no problem getting all over her stuff. Kathy was the baby of her family, and she, like Steve, had no problem talking shit about kids younger than them.

"She knows the rules," Evie shrugged. Sylvia was busy rummaging through her bag, pulling out junk food and magazines and cheap, shitty, fruity wine that wasn't even really good for a buzz, just the thrill of being taboo.

The Coalition really wasn't much these days. After the whole thing with Sandy and Sodapop, three suddenly felt a whole lot smaller than four. And Evie and Sandy had been pretty tight. These girls had otherwise been brought together because all their boyfriends were friends – and now Kathy and Sylvia weren't dating them anymore.

Evie was the holdout.

And she wasn't about to give Steve up.

"Alright, Kathy," Sylvia began, "spill it."

Kathy leaned up against the wall and sighed. She didn't exactly seem sad. She didn't exactly seem upset. She seemed about as neutral as she could be. Kathy and Two-Bit weren't exactly strangers to the concept of an on-again, off-again relationship, so Evie and Sylvia weren't sure if they should really take this situation seriously or not.

"It was the week that Johnny Cade knifed that soc," she said. "We were s'posed to go out. Pretty much as soon as he picked me up, we started fightin'. He's such a dumbass." Kathy shook her head. "He and all his friends. Gettin' involved with all the wrong people."

"That's a good one, considerin' your brother's a fuckin' hood."

"Shut up, Sylvia. Anyways, I tell him to take me home, that I don't wanna see him that night. And I wasn't gonna break it off, ya know? But I don't know what happened, but one second we're talkin' and the next second we're spinnin' out into the intersection cuz this bastard's brakes went out, and then we're sittin' there, just starin' at each other, and he looks at me and says 'I think we're done, Kathy', and that was that."

Evie watched Kathy for a moment. She looked confused, almost. Evie didn't really know Two-Bit all that well, but they'd grown up together, just as they all had, and she knew him well enough. Kathy and Two-Bit had been on and off for a long time now, but what surprised Evie was that it seemed that it was Two-Bit who was the one who'd finally, officially, forever called it quits. And that fact seemed to be what was confusing Kathy.

Steve would never do this to me Evie thought, confident. He'd never leave me like this. He'd never want me to feel this way. Evie knew this. She knew this like she knew the Earth was round. She knew this. It was so true, it could be in a textbook.

"Sorry to hear that," Evie said, feeling as if they probably weren't getting the whole story.

"But don't feel too bad," Sylvia tacked on, cracking open a Coca-Cola. "He ain't shit. He's stupid to break up with you. Now you can date whoever the hell you want, show him what he's missing."

"Like the sound of that," Kathy said, and tapped her bottle with Sylvia's. "Evie, that Steve Randle may be the grumpiest son of a bitch alive, but at least he likes ya."

Evie shrugged. "True."

Sylvia raised an eyebrow. "Don't he?"

"'Course he does," Evie scowled.

Of course he did. He had to. But Evie still thought of The Scarlet Letter, sitting at the bottom of her purse, weighing it down like a brick. She thought of girls like Kathy and Sylvia, who bounced from boy to boy like it was nothing, like nobody had any feelings, like nobody ever got hurt. Two-Bit may have hit on any blonde in a skirt and Dallas may have been…well Dallas Winston, but she'd never heard of them stepping out. Evie's friends had been with countless guys, but it was Evie who felt like she was the one who'd been marked. And all she'd ever done was wear her skirt a bit shorter. She'd never slept around.

It was all starting to feel a bit unfair.

"So I guess this means y'all ain't going to homecoming then," Evie said.

Kathy and Sylvia looked at each other and then burst out laughing. Evie rolled her eyes to the ceiling, prayed to God to make them shut up with whatever means possible.

"Homecoming's for squares," Kathy laughed, Sylvia nodding along.

"Or prissy girls with rods up their asses. Hey, you think I could get on homecoming court?" Sylvia asked, batting her eyelashes and making Kathy laugh. "That shit is stupid. It's just a popularity contest."

Evie shrugged. "Well, sure, but that don't mean it ain't a good time."

Kathy snorted. "It ain't, for girls like us."

Kathy sure did know how to bring down a room. Even Sylvia seemed affected by the statement. Girls like us.

But what kind of girls, exactly, were they?

XXXXX

AN: Of course, we also don't own Candide – Voltaire does. And Colleen Corby was a model back in the sixties.

Thank you all for reading! You guys rock!