"Courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point." —C.S. Lewis

Ella's heart was thumping away in her chest. Her focus was fixated on Craig's caramel colored eyes, the slight curve of his lips, and the way his perfect fluffy hair fell across his forehead. Gosh, she thought, subconsciously biting her lower lip, he sure was dreamy. Is this what it felt like to be head-over-heels for someone? Ella wasn't exactly sure, but looking at Craig Bryant right then, her own eyes bright and glassy, a smile adorning her lips, Ella thought that it was pretty close to that feeling.

". . . and I'll pick you up then?"

She snapped back into reality. "Yeah, that— that's fine, Craig." A blush coated her cheeks as she looked back at her crush of two years. "I'm just really excited for everything."

Craig grinned. "Me, too."

Ella nodded, still slightly lost in her own daze of wondrous puppy-love. The way Craig looked at her, really looked at her, made her stomach twist and flip, and golly, but she felt like she was on top of the world. A boy, a boy, was noticing her, her of all people—the invisible girl at school, the one who barely socialized with anyone at all, was being noticed by one of the most popular boys in the school. Ella wondered briefly if Bridget felt this way about Jerry Thompson, or Cathy about Ponyboy Curtis, but then her thoughts flickered to Evie and Steve, and she felt her heart plummet a little as she considered herself ever being in a relationship like that.

Craig took her hand, and Ella's chest tightened. "Let me walk you to your next class."

She nodded. "Okay."

The two fell in step, and as Craig nodded to a few of his friends along the way, Ella's chin lowered a bit, a sinking feeling in her gut. For some unfathomable reason, her thoughts shifted to Vickie Harper, the blond girl's underlying warning echoing in her mind like a broken record with a disturbing melody. The girl wasn't sure why, but the closer they moved to the homecoming dance, the more uncomfortable she began to feel. Oh, blast it, she thought to herself, wishing she could just simply distinguish these emotions of hers, there was nothing to get frazzled over—Vickie wasn't really doing anything, or was she?

What were these feelings that were nagging at her so suddenly?

Ella glanced up at Craig, brows pressing together. "Are you excited for the game tonight?" She could have kicked herself—of course Craig was stoked for the game that night. How could he not be? "I mean with being a nominee and all?"

Craig seemed oblivious to her discomfort. "I'm always pepped for a game." He winked at her. "I don't really care too much for being a nominee, though. I know George Clayton and Vickie Harper are . . . well, they're really looking forward to it all."

"Are they?"

Ella knew that Vickie was ecstatic and rather eager for the entire night of the homecoming dance, even suspiciously anxious, but George? Now that was definitely shocking to hear. George Clayton didn't seem to give a hoot about any dance or school function unless it directly involved sports. She had seen him and Vickie working together, though, and George always looked annoyed and put-off, like being around Vickie Harper was a nuisance in itself, not that Ella could fault him for that thought.

"Well, they're both determined to win with their entire campaign, you know?" Craig answered, running his free hand through his hair. "I don't know, but Vickie was . . . pretty anxious about everything."

Ella nodded, lips pursing, a cool sensation creeping up her spine.

XXXXX

Angela's teeth were grinding together very hardly. Her tiger-like eyes were narrowed, and her full and plump lips were set into such a thin line, she could have resembled a cartoon character. Beside her, Jenny Arsele kept her hands crossed over her chest, a firm expression blanketing her features. Sylvia looked no better, although her countenance reflected more shock than anything. She had heard the news, though, before anyone else, but actually hearing the official confirmation made her feel quite nervous for Evie.

On the other hand, Evie herself, though internally pivoting downward into her own fiery oasis, kept her face neutral, and Sylvia knew her well enough to know that she was doing her best to hold her ground, not that Angela Shepard or Jenny Arsele would ever think twice about jumping her. Then again, neither of them had received the news of making a trip to the West side of town that evening, as well as the following evening for Angela, that well. Sylvia had seen this coming, she had, and she had warned Evie several times in the past week that using Bridget Stevens's house for her salon services wasn't exactly a splendid idea.

"She's a fucking Soc," Jenny bit out, nostrils flaring. "How come we gotta go to her side of town, huh? What's she gotta do with this business of yours?"

Evie was getting frustrated. "Listen here: Bridget Stevens"—Glory, her name didn't taste like vinegar in her mouth anymore, but it was still bitter—"offered me to use her own house for this business of mine, so that's what we're doin'. If y'all don't like it, you can get your hair and nails done elsewhere."

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Evie's blood was boiling hot beneath the surface, and her own expression of pure anger was enough to challenge Angela's. Of course, she wasn't exactly thrilled about using Stevens's house for this entire ordeal, but it was large and suited their needs just fine, and if Angela and her friends couldn't accept that, then they didn't need their hair and nails done by her, did they? Nope, they didn't. Lord, it wasn't like Evie was depending on any of them to begin with; it was only supposed to be Ella Mitchell and Cathy Carlson in the beginning.

"You ever been to her house?" Sylvia asked, cocking a perfectly arched eyebrow.

Evie, caught off guard, felt her cheeks heat up a little. "Once."

Sylvia looked a mix between confused, shocked, and worried. "This ain't no kinda setup, is it, Evie? I mean, you hated Bridget Stevens just two weeks ago, and now you're defending her and galloping around like you and her are friends or somethin'. What's the deal?"

The brunette rolled her eyes, foot tapping impatiently. "There ain't no deal here. Look, she offered her house up for us to use, and that's all there is to it, savvy?" Her own eyes became slits. "Now, do y'all want your nails and shit done tonight or what? I can always make slots for other girls if none of you want to show up." And then very quietly, under her breath, did she add, "Chicken shits."

And that did it for Angela Shepard, who hadn't exactly opened her mouth since questioning Evie where they would be showing up that afternoon, which was a surprise in itself. Usually, Angela was the bitch who was always getting her two cents in whenever it counted, so Evie was mildly shocked that the black-haired girl had yet to say anything, until then.

"Oh, sure, we'll be there, Martin," she said, the side of her lips quirking up. "You can count on that."

Next to her, Jenny looked appalled, but Evie grinned. "Looking forward to it, Shepard." And she was just pissed enough to offer up a bitchy grin of her own. "See you there at three."

As she turned on her heel, leaving the three girls behind, Evie glowered, hoping to God that whatever happened later that afternoon and evening, Bridget Stevens's house would still be intact by the time everybody left. While she continued walking, though, she couldn't help but hear Beth's voice in her head asking her if she was still friends with Sylvia and Kathy . . . and thinking about it then, Evie's heart seemed to sink a little lower as she wondered if she really was.

Or were they her friends anymore?

XXXXX

Cathy had been looking a lot brighter the past few days, and Ella could only assume that she was very much looking forward to her "second date" with Ponyboy Curtis. She was happy for her friend, really she was, but she couldn't diminish that awful feeling that had been clouding her thoughts ever since she was with Craig earlier that morning. She was doing her best to put on a happy face, but with Cathy's constant looks of concern, Ella figured that she was doing a poor job at conveying her facade of happiness.

"Are you feeling okay, Ella?"

The brown-haired girl nodded. "I'm just worried."

Cathy, always the analytical one, guessed her problem immediately. "About Vickie?"

"Sorta," came the hesitant answer. "I just— Well, I have a bad feeling, and I don't know why. With the rumors about Evie and all, and then the sneaking around just to talk about it, I feel terrible." Her face contorted to sheer agony. "I don't want to see Evie get hurt or anything, and I have a bad feeling about this dance tomorrow night."

Cathy hadn't quite admitted it out loud, but there was something bothering her, too. She was better at concealing her emotions, though, better at putting on a brave face, unlike Ella, or even Bridget, who were both more emotional and sensitive. Evie was tough, Cathy was practical, having spent a lot of her youth babysitting her younger siblings. Bridget and Ella, though, were cool and collected in their own ways, but their sensitivity came from being alone and isolated a lot more than both Evie and Cathy.

But Cathy sympathized, worried about their friend as well. "Don't stress yourself, Ella." She licked her lips. "Nothing is going to happen to Evie, alright?" She hoped that her words were true. "Evie can handle herself, and well, we'll all be looking out for her."

Ella nodded, using the back of her sleeve to wipe away a few stray tears that had fallen. "I hope so." And then she shook her head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to . . . get like this on you."

Cathy smiled. "Oh, don't worry yourself." Her face turned serious for a second. "Are you okay?"

And Ella shook her head in affirmation. "I think so, or at least, I will be." A smile. "Thanks, Cathy."

The younger girl smiled, but there was still a sinking feeling in the very pit of her stomach. Her eyes were suddenly downcast, and she found herself studying her thighs, Vickie's hurtful comment numbing her other thoughts and her current consolation of Ella. Good Lord, but Vickie Harper was terrible, and Cathy found herself suddenly in Ella's position.

"No problem," she muttered out, rubbing her hands together. And then she glanced back across the table at her friend. "Ella, can I ask you something? It might sound . . . strange, but—"

Ella shook her head. "Of course, Cathy."

She looked nervous, and her bottom lip curled back under her top lip, a look of anguish in her gray orbs. "Do you . . . think I'm . . . I'm fat?"

The words seemed to tumble out of her mouth, and suddenly, Cathy's eyes were becoming a little glassy as tears formed in them. She was not going to cry over Vickie Harper—she wasn't. Oh, but there were already tears spilling down her face, and the more she mentally scolded herself, the worse she began to feel about it, and everything else.

Ella look alarmed. "Of course not, Cathy!" she blurted out. "I don't think there's anything wrong with you at all." Her expression was firm and serious. "What's wrong?"

And before either girl knew it, Cathy was telling Ella how Vickie Harper had briefly sabotaged her date with Ponyboy Curtis the other night, and even though it hadn't completely destroyed everything, she was still incredibly hurt over the other girl's words judging her physique.

Ella looked appalled, struck, and she hurt for the younger girl. "Well, she's wrong, Cathy. There's nothing wrong with you or your figure." Her voice sounded earnest, desperate for Cathy to hear the truth in her words. "We can't let her do this, keep bringing everyone down."

Cathy nodded, wiping at her eyes. Now she felt silly. "I know, I just . . . Gosh, I'm sorry, Ella."

The older teen smiled a little to try and reassure the girl that she had done nothing wrong. "It's fine, really," she replied, still wiping away the wetness beneath her own eyes.

Before Cathy could respond, though, she noticed a silhouette approaching their table. As her eyes raised to see who was headed toward them, Cathy couldn't contain the grimace that shuddered through her body at the sight of Dallas Winston. She wondered what he could possibly want with them, but then reminded herself that Ella was still his tutor—God, she couldn't feel more horrible for the girl as she did then. Dealing with the blond-haired devil himself in art class was enough to kill a person, and Cathy had been doing her best to ignore the hood's presence since she arrived at Will Rogers High School two weeks ago.

Ella was still wiping away at her eyes, but when she finally noticed Cathy's look, she followed her gaze, a stunned expression stretching across her face.

"The hell is wrong with you?" Dallas asked, wrinkling his nose down at Ella, and then at Cathy.

"Nothing is wrong," Cathy answered, hoping that Winston wouldn't try interrogating them "Did you need something?" Despite the bluntness of her question, she kept her voice level, not concealing her dislike of the hood, but not starting trouble with him, either.

Dallas eyed her coolly, making a face at her floral skirt and matching sweater. "Matter of fact, I did, but it don't involve you, Flower Power."

Ella cringed, considering her own dark magenta skirt and plain black blouse, the sides of her old saddle shoes peeping out from under the table. She glanced at Cathy's face, her expression darkening a little, and before the dark-haired girl could snap back, she intervened, sliding out of her chair and facing the blond delinquent with a stern look.

"Cathy can stay," she stated, folding her hands in front of herself. Her eyes met Dallas's. "If it's about Vickie, it's fine."

Dallas sneered, clearly unhappy. He'd had enough people telling him what the fuck to do, and he didn't need to hear it from Dopey, too. Good Lord, but with Steve getting all over his and Two-Bit's case, the ongoing issue with Ponyboy that nobody seemed to know about, the fucking tutoring, and this entire homecoming bullshit, he was about to blow a fuse.

His jaw clenched as he glared once more at Cathy before looking back at Ella. Jesus Christ, the little broads had been crying; he wondered who the hell had crapped in their sheets, having never seen them get that upset before. He didn't have time for this shit, though. It was their lunch period, and he had things to take care of, and spending time with Dopey and . . . Flower Power wasn't one of them.

He rolled his eyes. "You hear anything yet?"

A sigh fell from Ella's lips, a hand reaching up to rub her forehead. "Not exactly, but there's, well—" She paused, unsure of how to explain the issue to him. One look at Dallas's face told Ella that he was becoming incredibly irritated, and quickly. She decided, with good conscious, to speed things along as to not get him more irked than what he already was. "It's just that Vickie is saying that Evie cheated to get her votes in order to become a nominee."

The blond's brows pulled together, a skeptical expression on his face. Well, he thought, Two-Bit had been on to something after all. Dallas knew that the only reason Two-Bit was involving himself so deeply in this shit was because of Bridget—Buzzing Bee—Stevens, and he didn't trust her. He wasn't all that sure that he trusted Ella, either, but he had nothing else to go on. At Ella's nervous look, though, he figured she wasn't the type to go along with the likes of Vickie Harper, but Bridget . . . different story there.

"Where'd you hear this?"

Cathy was watching the exchange, remembering when Ella had told her and Bridget about Vickie Harper seeking her out just to try and pry information from her. It surprised her, though, that Dallas Winston was involving himself in any of this, but what was more stunning to her—and she wondered if Ella was even aware of it—was how Dallas seemed to actually talk to her. It was odd, considering the fact that he usually snapped at everyone, except his friends, but he was . . . strangely decent to Ella, who was practically cowering back every time he spoke.

"Vickie."

Dallas's lips curled. "Vickie?" he repeated, eyes hardening. "When in the fuck did you talk to Vickie Harper? What the fuck else ain't you tellin' me, girl?"

Now Cathy stepped in, and even though Winston's brewing gaze was enough to unnerve her, she didn't back down, just like she wouldn't from Vickie. She stood up in one fluid motion, arms crossing over her chest as she gave the blond the coolest look that she could.

"Vickie approached Ella, not the other way around," she clarified, raising her chin. "She's been trying to find out information about Evie Martin's salon business . . ." She trailed on, leaving Ella to nod along with what she was relaying, wishing more than anything that none of them were mixed up in this godawful catastrophe.

Dallas was listening, his teeth pressing together harder and harder with each passing second. Jesus Christ almighty, but all of this was fucking girl drama, and he couldn't believe that he had gotten his ass roped into it all because Two-Bit fucking Mathews cared about some Soc chick, and because Steve fucking Randle's girlfriend had become a puppet of sorts for some stupid-ass dance. Good fucking Lord, but this entire thing was nothing less of pathetic. He wanted out.

After Flower Power stopped yapping away, his attention flickered to Dopey. "That's what the fucking water works were about?" He shook his head, mumbling under his breath, "Jesus Christ."

Ella scowled. "I've been worried about Evie . . . and Bridget." Before Dallas could make another hideous remark about Bridget Stevens, Ella continued on. "She's not planning anything with Vickie Harper, either, Dallas." A sigh. "She's not against Evie. In fact, she's been trying to help her out."

A flashback of her and Cathy talking with Bridget a few nights ago entered her mind, and just remembering Bridget sobbing herself senseless over her remark to Evie a few weeks ago, along with the fact that she was guilty—blaming herself for this mess—Ella felt her stomach twisting up in knots, making her feel sick all over again. Bridget did want to help Evie, she did, and Ella was certain that it wasn't just out of guilt, but because she was desperate—desperate for the same thing they all were.

The blond shoved his hands in his pockets, looking away for a second before turning back toward the two girls. He really didn't want to be there, didn't want to be in that fucking library or that fucking school, didn't want to be involving himself in some petty high school drama that suited the likes of Sylvia and Angela just fine; he was getting soft—this shit had to stop.

"Sure," he said after a moment. "You two just keep an eye out for Evie, ya hear?"

And with that, he turned on his heel and headed out, a bitter look plastering his face as he conjured up the rest of what he and Two-Bit would be taking care of. He hoped that the red-headed wise-cracker didn't have any plans set for the following night, because he was going to be helping him with something, something that could potentially sabotage anything that Vickie Harper and George Clayton were up to.

They were going to the homecoming dance.

XXXXX

Evie was glowering—this just wasn't her day, far from it. Dealing with the disaster of telling Angela Shepard, Jenny Arsele, and even Sylvia was enough to drive her up a damn wall, and now she was listening to Steve's words of caution about going to Bridget's house that night. More than once, he had suggested driving her over there, but she had told him that she would be going with Ella and Cathy after school, and they would be following behind Bridget, who was getting a ride from Cherry Valance.

Steve was tense, terribly so, and his brooding attitude was making Evie even more upset. Glory, but why did everyone have to be breathing down her neck that day? Why couldn't they all just leave her alone instead of making mountains out of molehills, and leave the drama elsewhere? Christ almighty, but even Beth—her kid sister—wasn't this dramatic. Her boyfriend continued on, though, oblivious to the fact that she had already tuned him out, not in the mood to deal with him. Instead, her eyes were focused on the other students assembling around the gymnasium for the pep rally, the football players lined up on the sides, ready to take forefront of the entire show, like always.

Evie groaned lightly as her eyes fell on Jerry Thompson, George Clayton, and Craig Bryant—they were the male nominees for homecoming, and she ground her teeth while she wondered who she would be made to ride with that night. Surely, Vickie and George would be together—that was a give me—and probably Cherry and Randy, so that left Bridget, Lucy, and her, and Craig, Kevin, and Jerry. Oh, God help her, but she would die if she was paired up with either Craig or Jerry—Ella's and Bridget's dates!

"Evie, are you listenin' to me?" Steve asked, stepping in front of her and blocking her view.

Her eyes narrowed thinly. "I was, Steve, but you've been repeating yourself for the last several minutes, so I ain't." Her chin raised ever so slightly. "And I told you, I ain't changing my mind about this, so just quit it already."

Lord, she hated arguing with Steve, and she knew he hated arguing with her, too. Usually, they never fought with each other; oh, they had their disputes, minor as they were, but they never got out of control, and they were always quick to forgive one another. But this? This was getting annoying, and it was making Evie quite aggravated. Steve was antsy, though, and Evie thought that he might just blow up from all of the irritation that had been building up inside of him for the past two weeks.

"Fine," he eventually snapped, face hard. "Do what the fuck you want, Evie. Just don't say I didn't warn ya." And then, without really thinking, he spit out a terribly hurtful remark to her, wishing that he could take it all back the second it was out of his mouth. "I just thought you were smart, that you had some workin' brains up there, but I guess I was wrong. Yer just like the rest of them."

The brunette girl's eyes broadened, but Steve hadn't quite noticed because he was already recoiling a bit, his own face twisted in shock at his own words. Evie hadn't cared, though, and with an expression of sheer contempt, she turned on her heel and headed to the bathroom. She sat in a vacant stall, hands covering her face as her elbows pressed into her knees, her back bent forward as one lone tear streaked her right cheek.

XXXXX

"You look absolutely . . . terrible."

Bridget felt terrible, too, but Vickie's words stung, and she didn't really appreciate being told that she looked downright horrible just before the pep rally. She gave the blond a glare, but to Vickie, it looked more like a child about to throw a tantrum. Bridget had been off all week, and just looking at Vickie right then only made her feel worse; she couldn't get the thought of her scheming behind everybody's backs out of her mind. And to make things worse, she kept telling herself that it was all her fault, that because she was so desperate to fit in with her "social crowd" a few weeks ago, her comment had led to all of this.

"So, all of those girls will be at your house tonight," Vickie continued, sounding like a detective on a mission, only her voice was light and thin. "I really hope that you'll be careful, and really, you should look out for yourself. Your father will be there, right?" At Bridget's silence, she merely carried on, as if what she was saying wasn't hurting the black-haired girl beside her. "Goodness, Bridget, but have you even told your father what was going on? Did you bother to tell him that—" She froze, jerking around to fully face her. "You didn't, did you?"

Bridget's face tightened as she attempted to control herself. "Vickie—"

The taller girl scoffed. "Whatever, Bridget. Like I said, I would just watch my back. Evie might just be taking advantage of you because . . . well, look at her and look at you." She shook her head, brushing over her uniform. "And those other girls . . . what were their names? Catherine and Ella, right?" A sigh. "Who knows what girls like that would do? And to think that . . . good gracious, Bridget! How many of those . . . pigs are coming to your house?"

And those last words were all Bridget Stevens could take. Without another word, stare, or expression at Vickie Harper, she walked away and headed to the bathrooms by the gymnasium. Taking the farthest stall from the door, Bridget walked in and allowed the tears that had been previously blurring her vision to fall, the tiny droplets plopping onto her hand and running down her fingers.

Unbeknownst to her, the girl in the stall beside her was a perfect reflection of her.

XXXXX

Mrs. Mitchell's car was filled with bags of items that Evie would be needing that evening, as well as the next. Bridget had agreed to let her keep the stuff at her house to make things easier—that way she didn't have to keep lugging everything around with her. Evie sat up front that time while Ella drove, Cathy silent in the backseat behind Ella. There was some sort of tension emitting around them, although it wasn't directed at each other, but rather, the upcoming events that they would all be involved in for the next thirty something hours.

In front of them, Evie could see the back of Bridget's head in Cherry's Stingray, and she felt her chest tighten as she considered Sylvia's words, accompanied by Beth's. Sure, she had been hanging around her, as well as Cathy and Ella, and sure, Evie had defended Bridget on multiple occasions the past few days, but they were all involved in this now, despite having their separate reasons, and Evie couldn't help but to not exactly dislike Bridget anymore. In fact, the girl was coming to realize that she had gained a certain respect for her, not that she would ever—in a million years—admit that to anyone.

A few minutes later, Bridget climbed out of Cherry's car, the red-head waving as she sped away, and Ella parked the Impala where the Stingray had previously pulled up. Nothing was said as the three girls followed Bridget inside of her house, bags in hand, and both Ella and Cathy felt almost awkward for once as they recalled the last time they had been there without Evie.

Bridget's expression was solemn as she turned around to face them once they were in her massive kitchen. "I was thinking that we could use the porch to do nails . . ."

Evie nodded. "That's fine, Stevens. It's nice out today." She turned her attention to Ella. "I'll do yours last, savvy? I know Stevens here is probably anxious to get this over with anyway." At the shorter girl's look of protest, Evie merely continued on. "Look, I'd be anxious to get the likes of Angela Shepard and Jenny Arsele outta my house, too. Relax."

And Bridget did, almost. "So, nails and—"

"Brows," Evie finished. "Tomorrow is hair and makeup, which is gonna take a lot longer than nails. At least the majority will be us, so don't get all uptight." Despite her words, her tone was actually not condescending, but more playful, and Bridget gave her a small smile.

Cathy licked her lips. "Who's coming tonight again?"

"Oh," Ella said, fishing around her bag for her notes. "Other than us four, there will only be five other girls here."

Bridget's eyes widened. "I thought you said seven in total last week."

The brown-haired girl's face flushed. "I miscounted." There was a nervous sound in her voice. "I forgot about Sylvia's friends, Sheila Winters, and—"

"Her volunteer," Evie cut, rolling her eyes. "She decided to tell Rebecca Hudgeons to join the crowd without asking me first, so that's that."

Bridget looked like she might faint, but she maintained a collected exterior, for the most part. "Okay, so nine. And tomorrow?" At that, she looked back at Ella again.

"Six," she confirmed. "Us four, Angela Shepard, and Joan Platten."

Bridget nodded. "Okay."

Cathy grimaced at the thought of washing Angela's hair. Ugh, she couldn't wait until all of this was over with—she just wanted to be at the homecoming dance with Ponyboy Curtis; that was really only the major thing she was looking forward to. She was excited to be going, to be seeing her friends, but the looming threat of Vickie Harper hanging over her head was nagging at her, too.

"So," Evie said casually, cocking an eyebrow as she placed a bag of nail polish on the kitchen floor with ease, "you mind if I smoke on the porch?"

XXXXX

Two-Bit was considering Dallas's plan.

He liked it a lot. If they succeeded in fulfilling it, then Vickie Harper and George Clayton would be made fools of, and that was something that he could take immense pleasure in. The thought alone was quite enjoyable, and he had to admit, he had missed this side of Dallas—wild, cunning Dally. While he went over the plans in his mind, he gaze shifted toward Steve, who looked downright miserable. He knew that the dark-haired boy had gotten into an argument with Evie, and he couldn't help but feel some form of sympathy for his buddy.

Still, he and Dallas had work to do.

He had agreed to attend homecoming, though the thought of seeing Bee Stevens there on the arm of Jerry Thompson wasn't exactly . . . enthralling.

XXXXX

Peggy Nichols arrived at Bridget's house with Jenny Arsele and Angela Shepard. Bridget's heart was busy thundering away in her chest as she looked the girls over, trying to understand why everyone was so intimidated around this girl—Angela. As far as she could tell, Angela looked like any other girl, except that she was stunning in appearance. Bridget subconsciously ran her fingers through her hair as she stared in awe at Angela's naturally blue-black ringlets that fell down her back, and her large blue eyes that stood out on her dark face.

Jenny stood next to her, eyeing the house with a hungry look in her brown eyes, her thin face giving nothing away. Peggy looked awkward, but tough, kind of like Evie, and Vickie's voice entered her mind at that precise minute, warning her to be careful.

While Evie told the three where everything would be taking place, Sheila Winters and Rebecca Hudgeons pulled up, and Ella walked with Bridget to answer the door. Cathy followed suit, but stayed behind a few paces, not wanting to crowd everyone, but not wanting to be anywhere near Angela, either—she just prayed that this could go as smoothly and as quickly as reasonably possible.

She didn't want any trouble on top of everything else going on.

Angela was staring at Bridget. "So you're Bridget Stevens, huh?" She was chewing a piece of gum, a blank look in her eyes. "I've heard about you, ya know."

Bridget looked a little pale, a flash of concern etching across her face. "Have you?"

Angela nodded. "You hang around with Vickie Harper." And before Bridget could answer, little Angela was already onto another topic. "You gotta nice house here." Her eyes held a glint in them, and Bridget wasn't quite sure how to take it. "I ain't ever been on this side of town before."

Evie waltzed on in just then, a forced smile on her face. "So you made it, Shepard."

"Told you I'd be here, Martin."

Ella shrunk back next to Bridget, and both girls seemed to disappear behind the others. Cathy stayed put, not one to back down, although there was a sour expression on her otherwise cool face. Ella knew that Cathy was annoyed with Angela's presence, and she felt bad. She had a feeling that Bridget wasn't quite familiar with the youngest Shepard sibling, judging from her countenance, but Ella didn't really have a problem with the girl directly, having never actually spoken to her before. She glanced around at each girl standing in Bridget Stevens's house, looking at how different they seemed from one another, but were they really?

To anyone else—anyone else meaning Vickie Harper—these girls didn't fit together, didn't belong standing around and socializing like this, but here they were, and it was casual, very much so, even if there was a form of awkwardness radiating from everyone.

This was the testing point, though—this took courage—to stand together like this, even if was only to get themselves beautified in one way or the other for a school dance.

Evie nodded to Sheila and Rebecca, before going over what she had with Peggy, Jenny, and Angela, and the two girls merely nodded along, looking rather bored. While she spoke, Bridget rubbed her clammy hands against her skirt, noticing that Ella also looked out of place.

It wasn't long before Evie set to work, starting with Jenny. The girls stayed out on the porch while Evie began tweezing away at Jenny's brows, before moving along to Peggy, Rebecca, and then Sheila. Ella, Cathy, and Bridget stood in there own corner, Cathy's dislike of Angela not going unnoticed by any of them. In fact, Angela seemed to return the feeling, but she made no move to say anything, didn't even bat an eye in Cathy's direction.

"Evie sure knows what she's doing," Ella stated, her focus on said girl.

Cathy replied while Bridget nodded earnestly. "Yeah, I could actually see her having her own business one day doing this, can't you?"

"Hey, El, you're up!" Evie called out, and Ella's chest tightened.

She could feel everyone's eyes on her as she made her way over to where Evie stood. She sat down on the chair Bridget had let them use for brows and nails, heart hammering away.

"Not too thin," she practically squeaked, staring up at Evie.

The brunette began combing away at her brows. "Don't worry. I ain't gonna shred your brows off," she teased, and then her face turned serious. "At least close your eyes or somethin', though. You starin' away like that is creepy!"

The process had proved to be less painful than what Ella was expecting, and when Evie let her look at herself in the mirror, she was actually stunned that she didn't look bad—not bad at all. In fact, with the way Evie had plucked the few stray hairs and had trimmed them across nicely, Ella's eyes seemed to stand out just a little more.

Ella was very pleased, and a grin adorned her lips as she thanked her friend.

After paying Evie, Sheila and Rebecca took their leave, and Evie had gotten to work on painting nails, once again leaving the other girls to themselves. Not much was said, but at one point, Bridget had offered out drinks and snacks to be polite. Evie had finished up with Peggy quickly, since the girl only wanted a manicure. Jenny was next, and then Angela, and while Evie worked on her, the other two girls sat across from Bridget, Cathy, and Ella on the porch, immersed in their own conversation while their nails dried.

Evie was busy painting Angela's fingernails a dark purple. "I'm surprised you didn't ask me to paint them red or somethin'."

Angela only smiled. "My dress is lavender."

Surprise, surprise, Evie thought to herself, brushing one more coat over the younger girl's pinky. "That should do it," she said, pleased with her handiwork.

Angela inspected her nails for a second, one brow raising. "Ya know, Martin, you do one helluva job with this stuff. You really gonna be a beautician?"

"That's the plan."

She looked thoughtful. "Well, if you are one day, you'll have to let me know." And with that, she winked, standing up and making her way over to where her friends were still sitting, taking a seat beside them.

Evie looked almost shocked, but called Ella over. She painted her toenails dark and contrasted them with her fingernails, painting them a lighter color. By the time she finished up with her, Angela and her friends were ready to head out. They paid her for her services and thanked her, and Bridget led them through the house and back to the front. Before they were completely out, though, Angela turned to face Bridget, a small curve of her lips being the only indent of barely noticeable smile.

"Thanks, Stevens."

Bridget looked surprised. "For what?"

"Heard you volunteered your house for this or somethin'," she replied, brows raising. "That's tuff."

"Oh," Bridget said, pursing her lips. "It was no problem . . . Angela." When she turned back around after closing the door, Evie was standing there, arms crossed over her chest.

"Word of advice, Stevens," she began, voice firm. "Don't trust Angela Shepard . . . ever. She can play nice, but she really ain't, and trust me, she ain't the kinda person you wanna get yourself mixed up with, savvy?"

The shorter girl nodded, not bothering to question Evie's warning.

XXXXX

Vickie Harper's grin was almost diabolical—almost.

She stared at George across the field that night, a calculating look in her blue eyes. There were only twenty-four hours until the King and Queen would be announced, and Vickie's excitement and eagerness to see her plans play out was causing her veins to pump hot with adrenaline. She had been waiting for these two nights for the past few weeks, and now that they were finally there, she just couldn't wait to see Evelyn Martin made out to be a complete fool. So many people already believed that she had cheated to get the votes, so when tomorrow night's events occurred, the entire student body, or those that would be attending the dance, would really get a treat when . . . all was revealed.

Vickie's eyes shifted toward Bridget, who hadn't said one word to her since that morning, and it irked her that she had been getting awfully close to Evelyn, and those other two mediocre brats. This was all unacceptable, and Vickie was going to make sure that it was stopped—for good. Oh, why couldn't it just be the night of homecoming already? The blond had to remind herself to remain patient—all good things took time, and this was no different.

Her lips curled as she gazed around the bleachers, her eyes landing on Miss Sunshine, Miss Ditz, and—her eyes focused a little more—Ponyboy Curtis, the good-looking brother, Two-Bit Mathews, Dallas Winston, Steve Randle, and Evelyn! Perfect!

Oh, this was just . . . perfect.

XXXXX

Halftime came quicker than what Evie was hoping for, but soon enough, it crept up on her. She stood behind Cherry Valance, Lucy Drysdale, Bridget Stevens, and Vickie Harper, knowing that she stuck out like a sore thumb. The girl had to keep telling herself that she didn't care, that no matter what happened, none of this mattered, because it didn't.

The order of the nominees was announced, and Evie's chest tightened at the pairings.

George Clayton and Vickie Harper; Jerry Thompson and Bridget Stevens; Craig Bryant and Evelyn Martin; Randy Adderson and Sherri Valance; Kevin Rogers and Lucille Drysdale.

Up in the stands, Ella's face expressed shock, and Evie felt her jaw drop to the ground at the thought of being paired up with Craig Bryant! Craig Bryant, who was Ella Mitchell's date. Oh, good Lord, this had to be some sort of trick, only it wasn't, and Evie's teeth clenched together at the thought of riding around the field with her friend's love interest. Oh, but she could just die! And now she would be forced to stand with him tomorrow night at the dance itself, and to make things absolutely worse, she had to fucking dance with him!

Vickie Harper looked smug, incredibly so, and Evie considered on slugging the girl. Something wasn't right with this, and Ella's, Cathy's, Bridget's, and even her other friends' warnings of something being wrong was beginning to eat away at her. Evie was on guard, her gaze not once removing itself from Vickie—that bitch!

Craig stood beside her, a sickened expression clouding his face, and he didn't even bother to utter one word to her. Vickie was still smiling, and behind her and George, Bridget turned to give her a sympathetic look, obviously picking up on her discomfort. Cherry Valance even looked off with this, but there was something else lurking beneath her otherwise collected exterior, something that Evie couldn't put her finger on.

And then it hit her.

Half of these people thought that she had cheated to get there, and now she understood why Ella and Cathy were so concerned. Hell, even Stevens had seemed worried about it, and now the realization of what could potentially happen only just began settling in the very pit of her stomach. But Evie reminded herself that she wasn't going to let any of this get to her, she wouldn't, because she was tough.

Dammit.

Steve's worried face was etched into her mind. She caught his eye up in the bleachers, that same look in his orbs as he stared at her from his spot next to Dallas Winston and Two-Bit Mathews. She kept her own expression neutral—the last thing she needed was to look like a coward.

The nominees rode around the field, and to Evie, everyone merely played their parts, even her. Craig didn't so much as spare her a glance, and Evie's chin raised as she forced a smile onto her face—one which resembled more of a curved line—and waved. Golly, but internally she was feeling nauseous, worried, and overall sick.

She would suck it up, though.

She had to.

This was her testing point.

It was at this moment that Evie Martin could imagine a scarlet letter sewn onto herself, because now she was officially the outcast, the one who was being scrutinized and silently judged. But like Hester Prynne, she was strong, and brave, and Able.

"The letter was the symbol of her calling. Such helpfulness was found in her,—so much power to sympathize,—that many people refused to interpret the scarlet A by its original significance. They said that it meant Able; so strong was Hester Prynne, with a woman's strength." —Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter

S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders.

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