"Dear God," she prayed, "let me be something every minute of every hour of my life. Let me be gay; let me be sad. Let me be cold; let me be warm. Let me be hungry...have too much to eat. Let me be ragged or well dressed. Let me be sincere - be deceitful. Let me be truthful; let me be a liar. Let me be honorable and let me sin. Only let me be something every blessed minute. And when I sleep, let me dream all the time so that not one little piece of living is ever lost." ―Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
Ella had heard an ugly rumor, one so ugly, in fact, that it made her stomach turn in on itself until she actually felt sick. Now, Bridget Stevens wasn't exactly a friend of Ella's, not quite anyway, but Ella had a certain fondness for the raven-haired girl, much like she had for both Cathy Carlson and Evie Martin, so the rumor circulating that Jimmy Hopper and Two-Bit Mathews had started in on Bridget during one of their classes, along with the fact that apparently Jimmy had let it slip that Two-Bit hated Bridget, made Ella feel absolutely terrible.
She had only seen Bridget in English class, but for the past two days, the girl had looked mildly off, and Ella wondered if something was wrong. She wouldn't ask, though, no way would she dare. Even though she was fond of Bridget and thought she was nice in her own way, Ella was too shy to sound like she was prying into the other girl's personal affairs.
She tried desperately to focus on her painting of Cathy Carlson later that afternoon while she sat in the library for study hall―it was nearly completed, just a few more colors that needed to be added in, and maybe she needed to fix the wave that was rising a little too high for her preference, and―
"Ella?"
The brown-haired girl jerked around, cheeks flushed. Speak of the devil. "Hi, Cathy!"
"What are you doing here?" The question was innocent, but Cathy's brows were arched, a curious look plastered across her face.
"Study hall," the older teen mumbled out, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "What about you?"
"Oh," Cathy chuckled. "Apparently, Mrs. Reynolds, my English teacher, fell short two copies of To Kill a Mockingbird for our class this period, so here I am, the lucky pick to come and retrieve two more." A sigh escaped her lips. "I like Mrs. Reynolds and all, but sometimes she just―"
"Drones?" Ella guessed, trying not to smirk.
Cathy nodded. "Yeah, exactly."
"I had her last year," she divulged. "She was always repeating herself."
"Oh my goodness, she still does," the younger girl said, stifling a laugh. And then her eyes drifted up to the clock. "Well, I'd better get her those copies before she thinks I took off or something." As she stared at Ella, though, a smile crossed her lips. "Hey, you want to sit together at lunch?"
And Ella's lips curved upward at the question. "I'd like that."
XXXXX
"Would you fucking quit that?"
"What?"
Dallas glared at Two-Bit. "Quit rockin' the table. Jesus Christ, one might think you had to take a piss or something." Silence. The table shifted. "What the fuck?"
Truth be told, Two-Bit wasn't exactly in the brightest of spirits, but he wasn't about to let it show. Thing was, Dallas was getting on his nerves, but he'd likely not be clobbered over the head, so he decided to stop bouncing his knee. The two greasers were sitting outside of the cafeteria with the nomination sheets for homecoming, bored expressions on both of their faces. Two-Bit had been the one who was actually assigned the job, and Dallas wasn't quite sure how the fuck he got roped into it, too, but here they were―Dallas two seconds away from strangling Two-Bit, and Two-Bit two seconds away from calling it quits on the entire thing.
But before the red-headed teen could even make up his mind, a group of girls made their way over to the table, suspicious looks in their eyes as they skimmed over Dallas. Two-Bit couldn't blame them, though, not exactly. Hell, greaser girls were always trying to get into Dallas's pants, but Soc girls were too scared to even make eye contact with the blond-headed hood.
"Howdy, ladies!" Two-Bit greeted, sitting up in the chair. He grinned, elbowing Dallas in the gut to get his attention. Hell, if he had to be all giddy and upbeat, so did his buddy, which meant that he would repeat himself a little louder to gain the attention of the hood beside him. "I said, howdy, ladies!"
The girls were already reaching for sheets to check off, but Two-Bit's plan of getting Dallas to play nice didn't exactly go that well. The blond shot him a cool glare, before stomping his boot-clad foot down on the older boy's, which caused him to leap forward out of his chair, sending the table out in the direction of the girls. In all the commotion, a few of the papers went flying, the girls shrieked as they backed away, and Dallas smirked at Two-Bit, whose hand was covering the area below his stomach, his face red in agony from where his southern regions, otherwise known as the most sensitive area of his body, had made contact with the ledge of the table.
"Fuck you, Winston," he said, sounding exasperated, face twisted and screwed up.
The blond shrugged. "Serves ya right, you fucking idiot."
And even though he was in pain, Two-Bit gathered up the fallen papers, placing them back on the table beside the ballot box. He eyed Dally critically, before sliding his chair a few inches away from him, an annoyed expression taking over his features, that was, until a name caught his attention on the papers, one that was a little too familiar―Evelyn Martin.
"What's your problem?" Dally asked, noticing Two-Bit's shift in mood, other than the fact that his manhood had previously battled the edge of the table only a moment prior.
Two-Bit squinted. "Look'it here, Dal."
The blond seemed unfazed as he glanced at the name Two-Bit was showing him. "Who the fuck is Evelyn Martin?"
"Evie, Steve's girlfriend," he pointed out, sounding perturbed. "How the hell did she make the nominee list?" And then a certain person crossed his mind, a certain blond-head she-devil, although he couldn't exactly put two and two together, not then at least, but he was sure that Vickie Harper had something to do with it.
Dallas frowned. "Evelyn? Sounds like a fucking fairy name."
"Oh, Dal, hush up," he replied, shaking his head with a wry grin. "You look like one."
"How about another―"
"O-kay!" Two-Bit exclaimed, holding his hands up. "No need to be touchy, Dal." And then his focus returned to the papers. "I wonder if Steve knows about this."
The blond's brows pressed together, his lips pursed. "Who the hell knows . . ."
But Two-Bit was already formulating plans of his own, and he was going to let Dallas in on them, too, and soon. Oh, glory, but just when things were starting to get boring, something juicy had to present itself, and the red-headed teen couldn't be more anxious. He didn't have proof that Vickie Harper or her crowd was behind Evie's name being on the slips, but he was going to make sure that whatever the witch was up to backfired right in her crooked little face.
He smirked as another group of girls approached the table. "Now, don't y'all be putting one down for that Harper gal. You don't want no plastic jugs representing ya at homecoming, do ya?" He winked, a devious smile planted on his lips.
Two could play this game.
XXXXX
"Hey, Ella!"
The brown-haired teen came to an abrupt stop it in the hallway, looking around for the person who had called her name out. She instantly relaxed when she saw Evie making her way toward her, a grim expression on her otherwise perfected features. Ella immediately felt herself clamming up―she really didn't want to know what else could possibly be wrong that day.
"Evie," she greeted, almost sounding solemn, but the tone of her voice went unnoticed by the darker haired girl beside her, as she was too engrossed in her own issues.
Evie responded bluntly. "Okay, so now I've got five girls for hair." At Ella's perplexed look, she simply continued on. "Well, Angela Shepard"―She shook her head―"decided that she wants her hair done, too. Can you believe that bitch?" Not waiting for an answer, Evie kept going, her voice becoming more and more bitter. "And Joan Platten wants in, too." A huff. "You still keeping track of this?"
The shorter girl wanted to sigh, really she wanted to roll her eyes, too. "Yes, Evie. I had three, but now five, girls for hair, four for nails, which includes Jenny Arsele, Angela Shepard, Angela's friend Peggy Nichols, and myself, and well, everyone wants their brows done, too."
Evie's eyes went stark wide at that new information. "All of them?" Ella couldn't be serious, could she? Good Lord. Well, it wasn't like Evie wasn't any good at tweezing brows, hell, she was better than her own mother, but all of them? Or were there others? "Who?"
"For brows?" Ella asked, clarifying. "Um, Jenny, Peggy, some girl named Rebecca, and another friend that Sylvia wanted me to tell you about." She could sense Evie's impatience, so she hurried up about relaying Sylvia's message from earlier that morning. "Sylvia said her friend, Shelia Winters, wanted to know if she could get her brows done, so Sylvia―"
"Told her to hop right in?" Evie guessed. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. "Sometimes, I swear Sylvia is my friend just to drag me through hell with her." She sighed, and the pair began walking again. "Alright, so, I've got―"
Ella cut in. "Five for hair, four for nails, and five for brows."
"So, there's one spot left open for nails, then."
"Yup."
Oh, glory, Evie was going to need to make a list, wasn't she? Well, then again, that was what Ella was for. At that particular moment, Evie decided that she was thankful for the bushy haired girl beside her; Lord knows she couldn't have managed all of that by herself. Ella was more . . . organized, unlike her, but that was okay, because things balanced out. Plus, she had Cathy Carlson on hair washing, and . . . and, ugh―just saying her name, or thinking it, caused a nasty taste to form in her mouth―Bridget Stevens's house to work at.
Right.
So, altogether― Stevens would have . . . wait, what the hell had Ella said? Evie inwardly cringed and made a mental note to ask Ella to relay all of that to her again later. Of course, they would have to tell Bitchy Bridget that they would need to use her house for two days―Friday night for nails and brows, and Saturday afternoon for hair. Oh, Evie couldn't wait to see the look on Bridget's stuck-up little face when these girls arrived at her house―oh, that was going to be something worth basking in―the joy of it all was actually something to look forward to!
Evie and Ella headed into the bathroom, both girls grateful that it was their lunch period. Ella had plans to meet up with Cathy, and Evie would be heading out to see Steve. Well, there was one thing to really just dampen her spirits―her boyfriend's reaction when he got wind of this. Evie knew that he wouldn't take too kindly to hearing that she would be using Bridget Stevens's house for her business for two days come next week.
"Have you talked to Stevens at all?" Evie asked, facing Ella as the two came to a stop in front of the sinks. Evie began digging through her cosmetic bag to powder her nose. "You know, I ain't sure this chick really knows what she's in for, and just wait until everyone else finds out where they're going to get their hair and nails done." She smirked. "She probably lives in some huge ass house. Probably has roller coasters in it or something."
Ella felt bad listening to Evie talk like that. Of course, the idea of a roller coaster being in somebody's house was somewhat silly, and she cracked a small smile. On the other hand, Ella was reminded of the rumor she'd heard that morning, and her stomach turned again, causing her to feel bad for even smiling at Evie's words.
"Maybe," was all she said, her gaze landing on the floor. Her teeth pressed together as her eyes landed on something in the corner by the garbage can―was that a . . . bug? Gross. "I haven't talked to Bridget yet, though," she added thoughtfully. "But we're definitely going to―"
"We?" Evie repeated, a sharp and feral look in her brown orbs. "You mean you."
Ella's expression twisted. "You, too, Evie." Even though her voice was direct, her expression was still one of sheer intimidation; Ella wasn't used to standing up for herself. "I mean, she was nice enough to offer her house up to you, and―" The girl quickly shut her trap at the sound of the back stall opening, and both girls were meant with the sight of Bridget Stevens herself. "Bridget," Ella went to say, but the dark-haired girl spoke instead.
"It's okay," she said, sounding as upset as she appeared. "You can bring as many people as you want for your business. I don't mind." But, she told herself, there was some part of her that did mind, that was unsure of how she truly felt about this entire situation. "Just give me a head's up."
Evie, though, quirked a perfect eyebrow. "So, what now, Stevens? You enjoy hiding out in the stalls or something?"
Bridget scowled, but her green eyes were still filled with worry. "No. I was just―"
But luckily for her, the door to the bathroom opened up and in walked Cathy Carlson, a surprised look taking over her face as her gray eyes shifted between the trio. It was almost interesting, as Cathy had only ever seen the girls one on one and never together like this. And what a coincidence that she had just walked in at the appropriate time. What was this, some sort of secret meeting or something? Cathy wasn't exactly shy about things, not overly anyway, so she took it upon herself to break the silence.
"Am I interrupting something?" she asked, though she didn't sound worried at all.
Ella shook her head, thankful for Cathy's arrival. She didn't want to be between the ominous feud that was still ongoing with Evie and Bridget, so she hoped Cathy's presence, alongside hers, could ease some of the tension circulating them.
"We were just about to figure out how we were going to go about using Bridget's house for the business," Ella stated, hoping she didn't sound as off as she felt.
"And I was just telling Evie that she could have as many people use her services at my house for as long as she needed," Bridget continued, also glad for Cathy's appearance.
Evie's mouth practically dropped at the usage of Bridget's words, and apparently, Bridget realized a little too late how awful they had sounded. Oh, Lord, now she had done it, hadn't she? Why was everything going wrong for her that day? Ugh. Why couldn't she just have one good day where nothing went wrong? Where Vickie wasn't riding her ass about taking care of her issues, where Jimmy Hopper wasn't nagging her, and―
Cathy snorted, and across the bathroom, Ella began silently laughing. Evie and Bridget stared at each other for a few seconds or so, before Evie jerked back around, eyeing herself in the mirror, the only sound other than Cathy's and Ella's laughter being the crack of her blush dropping onto her other items in the bag.
"Oh, laugh it up, both of you," she said, clearly irked. However, there was a slight curve in her lips. "So now that we've established that"―She glared back at Bridget―"Ella's got the list of everyone, and what's going on, and with that, we'll be needing your house Friday evening and Saturday afternoon."
Bridget nodded. "Fine. That's fine." Was it, though? "Just . . . how many people?"
Evie licked her lips, shooting a glance at Ella. The brown-haired girl looked just as off as Bridget, and across from them, Cathy's eyes flickered between them. Oh, good Lord, she couldn't help but feel some sympathy for Bridget―at least she would only be washing four sets of hair, including Bridget's and Ella's. Obviously, Evie would end up doing hers, so who was the other girl's hair that Cathy was washing?
Ella did the math in her head. "Well, altogether . . . um, Friday night is nails and brows, so we have, five for brows and four for nails, but three of the same girls are getting their nails done, so seven, plus us four, but I included myself for nails, so that's still seven." She cleared her throat awkwardly, but still maintained a firm countenance. "And Saturday afternoon for hair should be us four plus Angela Shepard, Jenny Arsele, and Joan Platten, so including us, seven again."
Bridget visibly relaxed. Seven girls for both days wasn't bad, especially when the four of them made up the majority. Still, standing by the the door, Cathy was internally boiling. Angela Shepard? The Angela Shepard? No way on God's green Earth was she washing that bitch's hair. No, no, and no again. Not happening. Sorry. Wrong number. Goodbye.
"Are you okay with that, Cathy?"
The short-haired girl's gaze lifted in the direction of Ella's timid voice. No, she was not okay with it, well, just having Angela Shepard around. But no, she wasn't. "Yeah, sure."
"So, it's all settled then," Evie clarified, crossing her arms. "Well, Stevens, last thing is, none of us have ever seen your house or nothin', so―"
"Why don't you stop by after school today?"
The other three girls all looked at each other, surprised expressions on each of their faces. Bridget was actually inviting them to her house? Her house on the West side of town? Holy moly, but Evie had never set foot on the West side of town, nor had Ella, and Cathy hadn't ventured too far into Soc territory, either. There was a silence that past, one that oozed intense discomfort. Well, they knew that they would be working there next Friday evening and Saturday afternoon, so why was it such a big deal now? Or maybe it was because Bridget Stevens had outright invited them . . .
Evie was staring at Bridget hardly, wondering if she was serious or not. Well, she ought to be―they would be at her house next week, wouldn't they? Duh. But Evie was sniffing a small challenge in the raven-haired girl's voice, one that was completely subtle and probably went unheard by Ella and Cathy, not that it mattered. Bridget, though, was watching Evie more carefully than the other girls, primarily because she was conflicted over her own feelings of guilt along with the crave for absolution.
Then again, Evie's own hurtful remark about Jerry Thompson the other week had made her inwardly cringe―Ugh, limp dicks, Jerry Thompson, limp dicks . . . Why had Evie said that? Bridget would never look at spaghetti noodles the same way again. Okay, but Bridget was trying to apologize to Evie, really she was, but why couldn't she just find the words? Why was it so difficult?
Maybe one day she would find the right words, but for now, she had to contend with seven girls showing up at her house for two days come next week. What had she gotten herself into?
But it was decided right then that Ella would pick Cathy and Evie up after her shift from work, and the trio would make the drive to Bridget's house, the one on the West side of town . . . in Soc territory, the one that could probably fit each of their houses into it together at once . . . the one that Evie thought had roller coasters built inside of it . . .
Oh, glory.
XXXXX
Steve wasn't happy―not at all.
His eyes were fixated on his girlfriend, his stubborn girlfriend, who had so kindly just informed him that she was taking a ride to Bridget Stevens's house later that afternoon with Ella Mitchell and some girl named Cathy Carlson. He didn't mind the Ella chick; as far as he had heard, she was a real dopey broad, probably missing a few screws or something (Dallas's words), and he had only heard Cathy's name from Evie once or twice, but either way, he was not okay with Evie going to a Soc's house―a fucking Soc!
And the cunt who had made a snide remark about her, no less. Good grief. Steve wanted to shake Evie hard, ask her what the hell her deal was, if she was losing her mind or something. But with the way she was glaring up at him, he didn't budge. It didn't matter what he had to say, because Evie had made her mind up, and there was no fighting. For fuck's sake.
"I don't like this," he said, lighting a cigarette.
"I know, Steve," Evie bit back, pursing her lips. "I don't like it either, but this business will help me get some dough, so just hush up."
Steve glared at her coolly. "Yeah, and just where is your little group now?" He exhaled sharply. "I mean, Jesus Christ, Evie, are they all Socs now?"
Evie was sucking on the inside of her cheek. The only Soc in the group was Bridget Stevens, but as much as Evie didn't like her, she was beginning to question if Bridget really was a Soc after all. There was something different about her, but Evie's dislike over a snide comment made a few weeks back wouldn't let her delve deeper into it any further.
"They're eating in the cafeteria, Steve," she finally answered, gritting her teeth. Yeah, because fucking Vickie Harper had invited Cathy and Ella to sit with her and Bridget, not her, not that she ever would sit anywhere near that blond-headed barbie.
Steve rolled his eyes.
XXXXX
Ella was so uncomfortable, so unbelievably uncomfortable, that she felt sick to her stomach. She was a loner, a hermit almost, but she could handle people when she was out and about. There was a very large exception, though, one which applied for people like Vickie Harper. Okay, so being surrounded by Cathy and even Bridget made her feel somewhat better, but with Vickie's sharp eyes dancing over in her direction every few seconds, Ella began to feel nauseous.
"So," Vickie began, a facade of happiness laced in her voice, "Ella, right?"
Ella nodded. "And you're Vickie."
Vickie looked almost appalled that Ella wasn't familiar with her. "Yes, Vickie Harper. So, Ella, tell me, you're dating Craig Bryant?"
"Well, no, not exactly," she answered, vague like. "We're just attending homecoming together."
"And you're friends with Evelyn Martin?" She shook her head, and then winked. "Oh, right. I forgot, you're all friends with her now." Her gaze shifted toward Bridget, who looked as though she was beginning to sink lower into her chair. "So what's this about a salon business I hear?"
Cathy, noticing Ella's discomfort, spoke up. "It's a great idea, actually. Evie is real good at what she does, and well, it's not technically a business, but we're helping her out either way."
The blond hummed, eyeing the four girls critically. She couldn't fathom it, any of it. Bridget didn't mix with these two other girls, and they certainly didn't blend well with the likes of Evelyn Martin. From what she could tell, Ella and Cathy were middle class girls, and whether or not they got caught up in the social class divide would say a lot about them based on which side they picked. Vickie was more than determined to not let Ella Mitchell make a fool out of Craig Bryant by associating herself with the likes of Evelyn Martin, and she was going to make sure that she didn't lose Bridget, either. She wasn't sure about Cathy, but she knew the younger girl didn't like her, not by a long shot.
So who would it be, then?
She could go after Ella, she decided, since that little ditz was the one who was becoming Evelyn's sidekick―probably thought the sun shined straight out of her asshole, too. Plus, Ella was meddling her way into Vickie's crowd anyway―Craig was the best friend, aside from Bob Sheldon, of George Clayton. And then there was Bridget, who was already part of them by default, so if she even thought about copping out, she would get tossed into a void of emptiness―no one would associate with her. So Vickie figured Bridget was safe for the time being. And then there was Cathy, Miss Sunshine, who was too assertive and analytical. Vickie didn't like her. She didn't care for Ella, but she―Vickie decided Ella was Miss Ditz―would be the perfect candidate for getting her what she wanted.
Perfect. Miss Ditz was it, then. Now, she would just have to figure out a way to get her information from the girl. She needed to know what was going on with that salon, and she was going to make sure that Evelyn understood that she hadn't just been relaying a message to her a few weeks back. Oh, no, she wasn't looking out for her―she was warning her.
Vickie grinned as she listened to Cathy ramble on about how great Evelyn Martin was, but she didn't care about any of that. Nope. Oh, Evelyn could have her fun all she wanted―for now. Vickie couldn't wait until the night of homecoming. Little Miss Martin was in for a little surprise, one that would humiliate her so bad she would hightail it out of the school with her tail between her legs like the pathetic creature she was.
Yes, she thought, shooting a devilish glance at Ella, and then Cathy, and then Bridget, her thoughts focused on Evelyn.
God help the girls.
XXXXX
Evie was more or less collected about paying Bridget Stevens's house a visit. Or, wait, no―she was paying Bridget a visit. Oh, glory, she was actually internally a bit nervous about seeing the girl's house, but she would never, under any circumstances, admit that to anyone. No way. As she watched the scenery pass by out the back window of Mrs. Mitchell's Impala, she felt her heart beginning to flutter around the nicer it became―every second they drew nearer to the Soc's stomping grounds. Lord, Evie could practically smell the wealth from inside the vehicle.
She sneaked a glance at Cathy, who was sitting in the passenger seat, taking in the younger girl's look of uncertainty, except, where Evie was more stunned, Cathy seemed more like she was observing her whereabouts. Ella expressed more apathy than anything, like she didn't care about where they were going, or to whose house they were visiting.
After a few minutes, Ella stopped the car in front of a rather large, white plantation looking house, and Evie's jaw nearly hit the floor as she stared at it in utter amazement. Well, then, her thoughts hadn't been that far off, had they? Nope―Bridget Stevens lived in a mansion, or a museum. All three girls were expressing the same looks of awe, and Evie could only imagine what the likes of Angela, Jenny, Peggy, Rebecca, and Sheila would think when they arrived next week.
Evie leaned forward and plucked Ella's shoulder. "There's definitely a roller coaster in there."
Cathy's eyes were broad, her gray irises full of wonder. "This is Bridget's house?"
Ella nodded, lips parted ever so slightly. "Uh-huh."
It took a few seconds before the girls moved, but they climbed out of the car and headed toward the door, each feeling rather intrigued, or skeptical, or awestruck. Cathy rang the doorbell, and Evie crossed her arms, wishing she had a cigarette. Beside her, Ella folded her hands together in front of herself, a blank look on her face.
A man answered the door a moment later, and Evie's brows raised to the heavens above. Well, if she wasn't at all impressed with the Stevens' household, Bridget's father―Was this her father?―was shocking, to say the least, well, more professional than any of her friend's fathers that she had met in the past. This man was dressed professionally, not crazy overdressed or anything, but he definitely gave of the airs of somebody who was . . . comfortable, and laid back.
"You must be Bridget's friends," he said, opening the door wider to let them in. "I'll get her." He gave them a smile before calling for his daughter.
"Coming, Daddy," came the response, and Evie snickered.
Cathy was eating the shit out of this place―her eyes darting in every which way. But unlike Evie, and even Ella, she looked comfortable, not like she belonged, but like she could. Ella, though, looked a little sad, or off, and Evie's brows drew together as she wondered why. And then it dawned on her―Ella didn't have a father in her life. Her old man had split when she was little or something, so it was only her and her mother. Evie couldn't understand that, not fully, because she had both of her parents, like Cathy did. Well, she supposed, she was used to Steve, who only had his dad―his mother was out of the picture, too.
Bridget came down the steps clad in a pair of casual jeans and a fuzzy pink sweater, her stocking covered feet sliding a little once she hit the main floor. Evie took in her appearance, wondering if this was all some kind of joke. Holy shit.
"Hi, guys," she greeted carefully, glancing at her father once.
Ella responded first. "Hi, Bridget." She offered the girl a smile. "Thanks for inviting us."
"Your house is immaculate," Cathy stated with a wide grin. "Really."
Bridget flushed. "Thanks." And then she seemed to remember her father standing there. "Daddy, this is Ella, Evie, and Catherine. We're . . . working on a project together for school." Well, it wasn't a complete lie, but Evie smirked nonetheless.
"Nice to meet you girls," he said, and glancing back at his daughter, took that as his cue to leave. He told them that he would be around should they need him, and gave them one last smile before taking his leave, walking back to a room that resembled an office.
Evie let her eyes wander around, taking in the interior of the house. It was ginormous, there was no doubt about that. There was a dining room to the right of where they stood, and a spacious kitchen just up ahead. Evie wasn't sure, but it looked like a powder room to the opposite side beside what appeared to be the living room, and to the left of them, was another room, one that had a piano in it. Evie was amazed by everything―she was actually a bit excited to see Bridget's room.
"So, um, I was thinking, we could do hair and everything in the kitchen," Bridget stated. "And maybe nails and stuff on the porch, weather permitting."
Evie nodded. "Sounds good, Stevens." Yup, this house would definitely provide them with everything they needed, plus the room there was to maneuver around was fantastic. Evie would never say it, but she was actually grateful that Bridget had offered her house up for this. "And your daddy ain't gonna mind?" She smirked.
Bridget bit her lip. "I told him we were working on a project. He might not even be here those nights, so he doesn't . . . exactly . . ."
"Know?" Cathy guessed. "What's your dad do for a living?"
Bridget smiled a little, but it didn't reach her eyes. "He's a professor."
"Speaking of which," Ella said, her eyes drifting back toward Dr. Steven's office where the door was still cracked.
"Oh, right," Bridget said, and invited them up to her room.
Evie took in every detail of Bridget's house, from the grand stairs, to the large opening upstairs, to the three rooms―one of which was a library―and then Bridget's room, which was overly pink, so pink in fact, that Evie thought the girl might as well become a part of it in her pink sweater. The bedding was pink, the walls were pink, she had a princess bed―Oh good Lord! Jesus Christ, Bridget just might as well have been pink. She even had a phone, her own phone, in her bedroom. Evie was . . . oh no she wasn't, she couldn't be, but she was. Oh, she was actually jealous.
Ella's eyes were fixated on Bridget's collection of music while Cathy was taking in the girl's shelves of books. Bridget didn't look proud, though. In fact, she looked awkward, and Evie actually took pride in that―she should feel weirded out for once, even if this was her territory.
For the next several minutes, Ella and Cathy gushed over Bridget's room, and then Bridget herself had began talking to them about her music collection―The fucking Beatles of all things―and then they went on about her books, and then back to The Beatles, and who was their favorite, and what their favorite song was, and Evie was growing agitated.
"What kind of music do you like, Evie?" Bridget asked, breaking her train of thought.
And Evie's eyes widened. "Well, I don't dig The Beatles. I like The Supremes." Well, she did―they weren't her favorite group or anything, but she liked them enough, and it was the first group that had come to mind.
Bridget smiled, thumbed through some of her 45's, and handed Evie one of them. The other girl looked down, a smile brushing her lips at "Baby Love." She liked that song.
For the next hour, the four girls discussed music, books, boys, and clothes, and even though Evie had felt a little not included, she eventually joined in once they moved on to hair and cosmetics and fashion and accessories . . . and Evie finally found herself chatting away in her environment with these girls, girls who were so different and yet so strangely alike.
As she glanced at them each sitting on Bridget's pink princess bed, taking in their appearances―her own short skirt and tight blouse, heels that were maybe an inch too high, brunette hair sprayed to perfection and makeup just right; Ella with her bushy hair that was crazy-long, barely any makeup on her face at all, and her skirt that stopped just above her ankles with her dark turtleneck; Cathy and her casual look, baggy pants and nice sweater, her straight and short hair; Bridget with her wild black hair that was everywhere, and her own casual countenance―Evie smiled.
What none of them knew was that each of them had forgotten their own troubles. Evie had forgotten that she actually thought Bridget was a bitch, Ella had forgotten about her tutoring troubles with Dallas Winston, Cathy forgot about being so juggled between work, school, and her home life, and Bridget had forgotten about Jimmy Hopper's words to her that morning along with Two-Bit Mathews hating her.
Four sets of eyes were bright and laughing.
One green, one blue, one brown, and one gray.
But they were all bright.
XXXXX
Ella and Evie sat outside of Evie's house that night. Ella was in higher spirits, and even Evie, who was smoking a long awaited cigarette, seemed to be in a better mood as well. Ella was surprised that the night had gone so well―they were officially on for next week. Still, Ella actually found herself excited for something, really excited, and she could tell that Evie was beginning to perk up, too.
"So, what did you think?"
Evie shrugged. "She's gotta nice house. No roller coaster, though."
The brown-haired girl smiled. "I had fun." But then her mood seemed to switch as another look crossed her face. "Evie, what's it like having a boyfriend?"
"Huh?" She was taken off guard. "Ain't you ever dated?"
"No," Ella answered. "I just mean, I really like Craig, but I―" She look puzzled. "I really like him, and I get distracted whenever I think about him, and―"
Evie chuckled. "Well, if you ever find yourself distracted by him, just think of yourself kissing somebody that you don't like." She winked. "I'm always thinkin' about Steve. He's good to me, ya know? Treats me real good." A smile. "Makes me feel real good, too."
Ella blushed. "I wish I had a relationship like that."
"Well, I'm sure you will some day," came the reply. "But for now― If you ever feel overwhelmed with Craig, do as I said. Oh, and be yourself, ya know?"
The other girl nodded, but at Evie's advice, a certain white-haired hood crossed her mind, and even though she told herself to be grossed out by that particular thought, she found herself more curious than anything else.
XXXXX
"What's got you lookin' like that?"
Ponyboy glanced at Soda. "Like what?"
"You're all flushed."
The younger teen subconsciously touched his cheek. "Oh, nothin', I'm just thinkin' is all."
"Sure you are," Soda said, and winked. "Who is she?"
Ponyboy felt his ears go red. Oh, no. He wasn't going to tell Sodapop about the girl he had been thinking about all week. Definitely not. Oh, but she was so gorgeous with her dark hair, her gray eyes, those long lashes . . . He hummed in response. Cathy Carlson was something else, he told himself, but he didn't want to tell either of his brothers about his feelings for the girl, not yet at least.
"Fine," Soda said at his younger brother's silence. "Don't tell me."
Ponyboy chuckled. "Goodnight, Soda."
And just like that, Cathy's face appeared in his mind again, and he smiled in the darkness, letting his thoughts cloud away everything else.
S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders.
Thank you for reading!