"Why, look you, she may cover it with a brooch, or such like heathenish adornment, and so walk the streets as brave as ever!"-Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter

Evie's mouth hurt from smiling. Her smile was set, as if it was foundation that had worn its way into her skin. With each step across the football field her smile stayed in place, a perfectly placed brooch, and only Evie herself could feel the pinprick stab. She tried not to make eye contact even as she waved to the crowd. But try as she could, she couldn't ignore the pointed glares she felt lobbed in her direction. Her new shoes pinched against her toes, but Evie continued to smile. She never knew a smile could be so painful.

Almost over Evie thought to herself. She just needed to walk a few more steps.

She thought of Steve. Steve was brave.

He held off four River King goons with a busted bottle. When he told the story later that night on the Curtis porch, sitting on the porch rail as nonchalantly as a mosquito on a watermelon, his voice cool as ever, even Ponyboy shook his head in amazement, "four guys?!"

It was only Evie and Soda, the two who know him best, who watched the way his legs wrapped tight around the porch rails.

Later, Steve confessed to Evie that it was only two guys.

"That's still brave," Evie told him, wrapping her arms around his wounded pride like a sly tigress.

She looked up and she saw Beth waving wildly at her. It was so easy to be young.

She tried to make eye contact with Steve again, but she lost him in the monotony of the crowd.

Steve was brave. Evie tried to keep that in mind as she walked down the field, she was brave, she was capable, she was able; so why did her stomach not get the memo?

While Evie waved at the crowd, her stomach digested every cruel glance, knowing snicker or blank stare. She was just glad that she couldn't hear what everyone was saying, but their faces did all the talking for them.

"Once more, please give a warm Ropers' cheer to your Homecoming Court." Evie sighed with relief. Never before had the static filled school loudspeaker sounded so sweet.

It was over.

She had made it.

Damn, did her feet hurt.

She gave Vickie Harper a brittle grin, "lovely day outside, isn't it?" her voice as chipper as she could make it.

"See you at the dance, Evelyn," her voice thick, sweet and Southern. Even in the cool autumn, her voice still had the capability to burn.

Evie was about to pull away, find Steve and get the hell outta dodge, when Bridget pulled on her elbow, "we have photos, remember?"

Damn it.

Her smile would have to stay in place a little bit longer.

XXXXX

"You nervous about the dance?" Evie bit into her limp, soggy fry and immediately put it down. Hospital food really did live up to its reputation.

Cathy began to shake her head no, but looking in Evie's eyes, eyes that were bold and honest and if Cathy was being honest; perhaps still a bit unnerving, she sighed.

"Not nervous about the dance, I've been dancing before, or about Ponyboy. I just feel that something is going to go down and I don't know how or even what." Cathy ran her finger over the edge of the plastic cafeteria trey.

Evie shook her head, "can't imagine you being afraid much of anything."

Cathy tilted her head, listening for the sound of sarcasm, Cathy prided herself on a finely honed sarcasm meter, but heard nothing.

Cathy did her best to keep the poker face of the game she never played, to look as calm and cool as Evie apparently thought she was, but her lip dropped a bit.

She laughed, a loud open chuckle. She quickly put her hand over her mouth. Gosh, she hoped Evie wouldn't think she was laughing at her. She tried to stop laughing, she really did, but it was hard.

"Me? Unafraid?" Cathy laughed again.

"I was terrified of getting my hair cut for pete's sake, believe me, there is so much that scares me." she said with a wink. She hoped the movement of her eye would hide the slight raised pitch in her voice. It was true, she was afraid that her father would lose his job, afraid there wasn't going to be money for college, afraid she would work everything she had and it still wouldn't be good enough.

Even leaving her family and working her way through private school, had terrified her.

Evie shrugged, "but you did it, and now look at ya, practically Cosmo material, of course, your fabulous hair designer," Evie said in a hoity French accent, "would love to take some credit for it."

Cathy let out a smile, Evie had a sardonic wit, it was unusual to see her be almost, well, goofy.

Evie was right. Cathy was afraid of things, but she had never given up, she was scared of leaving home and she did it, afraid of changing her hairstyle and she did that. She may have been scared but that never stopped her.

"Besides," Evie said with a raised eye, "I heard what happened between you and Angela, anyone who goes after Angela Shepard has got to be plenty brave and…" Evie let her voice drop, "plenty stupid." But she was smiling.

"I didn't get into anything with Angela," Cathy said quickly. She didn't want to have a reputation for being a tough chick, even among acquaintances like Evie who admired that quality. "What did you hear?" she asked quickly, good Lord, what were people saying? Cathy's stomach took a stumble.

"Just that Shepard was being her angelic self and you didn't want to deal with it. Don't blame ya one bit."

This surprised Cathy, she thought Evie was friends with Angela or at least that middle ground between mere acquaintance and friend. But Evie scoffed, "she was never my friend."

"You seemed to get along with her just fine when you were doing her nails," Cathy looked down, admiring her own newly manicured set.

Evie shrugged "we get along, but believe me Shepard ain't my friend."

Cathy wanted to ask Evie who then exactly was her friend? But she kept quiet.

"So you have much experience dancing?" Evie bit down on her straw, she didn't expect Cathy to have much experience, she looked like the mousy type, but looks Evie knew could be deceiving. She wouldn't have pegged Cathy as the type of girl to stand up to Angela Shepard either, but she did.

What she didn't expect was the way Cathy shot up, as if a starter pistol had been aimed at her ass, her eyes popped open, her mouth, well, Evie never saw Cathy's back teeth before.

"Oh gosh! I love dancing!"

Her enthusiasm, raw and unbaked, surprised Evie. She didn't think she'd ever seen Cathy this excited about, well anything. If it were anyone else she would have thought they'd taken too much pep pills, but she doubted that Cathy knew anything about the seamier side of life. Hell, she was still digesting the fact that the black haired sophomore smoked.

There was only one year difference between Beth and Cathy, but Evie couldn't help but feel that the grey eyed girl was prematurely old. She reminded her a bit of Darrel Curtis. But this Cathy was almost coltish.

"What kind of dancing? Modern? Ballroom?"

"Mostly modern, but," Cathy's voice tapered off.

Evie put her hands out, palms open, a Beth move if there ever was one.

"But what? You can't just leave me hanging. If you're gonna be putting all of us to shame on the dance floor, my ego needs to know about it."

Cathy didn't know why she felt uncomfortable, but did.

"I use to take lessons at The Pink Barn." The Pink Barn was an incubator for the future Vickie Harpers of the worlds. In Tulsa dance lessons there was a prerequisite to join high society. It was also, Evie had imagined, expensive as shit. It was the type of place she'd imagine Bridget Stevens attending as a child if she grew up in Tulsa.

Yup, Cathy definitely never heard of bennies.

"Where did your folks get the money?" Cathy's folks weren't well off and she had about a zillion siblings clinging around, she couldn't imagine anyone from their neighborhood taking lessons at The Pink Barn. Of course there were clubs, scouts, church youth groups, the "Y", sports teams, but The Pink Barn was out of reach.

Cathy tucked her fingers around her change purse. It wasn't polite to talk about money, her Aunt Rita had instilled that lesson into her from an early age, but she also instilled the lesson that masturbating inevitably led to blindness.

"We didn't have a lot of money, but my parents always would skimp and save so we could do one special activity, for me, it was dancing." Even as their food budget was stretched enough times to form a Gordian knot around the dented cans which filled the shelves, her parents always tried to give their children the same advantages as wealthier children.

Evie thought it was a complete waste of money, but seeing the spark still in Cathy's eyes, she smiled, "that's nice."

XXXXX

Lynette was bored. That was better than the alternative she supposed. Lynette had diabetes and high risk pregnancy, she was supposed to spend her pregnancy at the Salvation Army Home for Unwed Mothers, hidden away from polite society and girls who didn't spread their legs open like the doors at the A&P, but an early scare meant she was forced to spend her pregnancy at bed rest in the hospital.

She didn't mind it. The girls at the home annoyed her; half of them still had fantasies about their boyfriend gallantly sweeping in, carrying their pregnant masses over the threshold and into wedded bliss.

As if their boyfriends would return for them, as if their parents would forgive them, as if their boyfriends could even lift them up without pulling every muscle in their back.

Lynette knew better. Her baby may have been conceived in broken lambskin but its fate was chiseled in the promise of sheepskin. "We can't get married, baby, I'm going to college," and now Lynette was going to have a baby, alone. Then the baby would be taken, given to a 'good family' and Lynette would return to school, as if nothing had happened.

It wasn't fair, this was her baby, as much as it was his, but what choice did she have? She didn't have a family to support her and she couldn't make her baby a bastard. She knew exactly what would happen.

After the nurses made him all nice and cozy they would fill out his birth certificate in their careful handwriting, have Lynette sign it and stamp 'illegitimate' in siren red across the clean crisp white sheet with her baby's name dyeing through the page.

No, she may be a lousy person, a 'goddamned whore' her mother called her, not just a regular whore, but a 'goddamned' one; but Lynette wasn't going to do that to her baby. That would be unforgivable.

So she did the only thing she could do, she waited, waited for that day to come and for this all to be over. Then she would feel a particularly strong, painful kick and she realized that it would never truly be over.

"Hey, how are ya?" Evie poked her head into Lynette's room.

The nurses at the hospital were all professional but some treated Lynette as if she was carrying a rare tropical disease. But Evie would always stop by, if just for a few minutes and say hi.

Evie was a better friend to her than anyone else at this moment. The thought did not fill Lynette with warmth, just the opposite. This random girl should not be a better friend then her lifelong childhood friends, her parents or her boyfriend. But she was. Lynette also knew that real friendship was based on more than just five minutes of small talk every now and then. But this was all she had.

"So, you working this weekend?" Lynette hoped so, weekends were especially boring.

"Nah, I have Homecoming." The moment those words entered the air Evie wished she could pull them back. I have Homecoming. Evie's voice mocked in her mind. Compared to what Lynette was facing, Homecoming and all of the secret worries she stuffed down about what could happen at the dance seemed downright childish.

But Lynette didn't seem to notice. "Your boyfriend taking you?"

Evie nodded, she couldn't believe that she had convinced the hot tempered, prideful young man to actually go to the dance, but she did.

"You, Evie Martin are a miracle worker," Two-Bit had crowed.

"Yeah?" Evie moved closer, sticking her finger out, she liked joshing with Two-Bit, "the real miracle would be if you ever trim those damn side burns."

"He treat you well?" Lynette's eyes didn't move off Evie as she waited for an answer.

Evie didn't have to think about it, or stumble, or try to make a joke or sarcastic remark; instead, she smiled, "yeah. He does."

Steve loved her, even more than that, he respected her. Those qualities in Evie which would have turned off most guys: her brashness, her brittleness was welcomed with open arms by Steve.

Sometimes Evie would think of Lynette and wonder how Steve would react if she got knocked up, would he run out her like Lynette's boyfriend did?

But Evie knew the answer as well as she knew herself. Steve would be there for her. He was always there for her, always would be too, and she would always be there for him. She was still young and she knew plenty of couples that everyone thought would get married in a few years, like Soda and Sandy blew up; but deep inside she knew that she and Steve were different.

The past few weeks it was painfully obvious to Evie all the things she didn't have, like a pink telephone, but now she couldn't help but think of all the things she did have, parents who loved her, a good boyfriend, and she thought of Ella, Cathy and yes, even Bridget; and maybe a pack of girls who understood her.

She was lucky.

XXXXX

Curly had ragged on Angela all week, "can't believe little Angel Shepard is going to Homecoming. What's next Ang, joining a country club?" Curly burst out laughing as if his joke was actually funny and not a cornponed Henny Youngman knockoff.

"Aww, fuck off Curly," Angela pushed her brother aside, "you're just upset no girl wants you." It wasn't exactly true, Curly had some girls hanging around him, but right now out of all the Shepard offspring only Angela had a steady.

Curly sure knew how to make a girl feel uncomfortable, but Tim was worse. God forbid Angela was more than two minutes late from a date, he'd send off the hounds on her.

"Y'all need to stop poking your nose where it don't belong," she told her eldest brother while brushing through her long, wavy black hair.

"Behave like a lady and I wouldn't have to keep my eyes on you," was Tim's simple retort.

Behave like a lady. When she was younger Angela's mother, when she wasn't knee deep in some bender, bristled at her tomboy daughter. Angela got in fights, climbed trees, got in fights, wore Curly's hand me downs not out of necessity but want, and oh, got in fights.

"Would it kill ya to fix your hair once in a while? You look like a ragamuffin running around like that," Ma complained.

"Better than a whore," her Stepfather complained, a cold eye glanced in Ma's direction.

Now that Angela was growing older and into boys and wearing makeup and fixing her hair up, 'behaving like a lady' took on a whole new meaning.

Ma's squawking was bad enough, but it was nothing compared to warden Tim: "the skirt you wear don't leave much to the imagination, do it?" Tim let his words saturate the air as if it was some profound shit.

"Everyone is wearing their skirts this length, hell, you didn't complain when Edie Wallace was wearing a skirt a whole lot shorter than this, and from the sounds comin' from your bedroom, it sounded like you rather enjoyed it." Seeing Tim's face flash red, she decided to poke him further and mimicked the joyous screams and panting she heard through her thin walls.

"For someone who never listens, you sure do got some ears on you, little sister. You just made my point for me, Angel, I have enough trouble without hearing my little sister is trying to outdo the neighborhood whore."

So that was it, being a lady meant finding that sweet spot between being a tomboy and a whore, and where that sweet spot was seemed to change on a daily basis. No matter what Angela did, no matter what she wore, it was never good enough.

Not that there wasn't a good side to being the only Shepard girl, Angela only had to meekly (a feat she could pull off with surprising ease) suggest that some guy was looking at her the wrong way and Tim and Curly would be all over them.

Just threatening to sic her brothers on some pimply faced would-be-JD was enough to get her way.

She still didn't want to bring Bryon home to her mom and step father. Bryon was different, even in looks; he had that broad shoulder, husky build that reminded Angela of a football player. He grew up in the same neighborhood, didn't have a daddy at home but his mom was always sweet to Angela.

Angela knew she was attractive, she'd been drawing glances and wolf whistles from men since she left elementary school, but she never imagined getting someone like Bryon Douglas to give her a second glance.

He was a good guy, almost like Pony Curtis.

Speaking of…

Angela couldn't believe how Pony ended up dating that stuck up snob Cathy Carlson. She remembered their last interaction with each other, Cathy was taking her good old time walking down the hallway and Angela just politely suggested that the girl move her ass out of the fucking way.

Cathy tried to ignore her, most girls didn't want to mess with Angela Shepard, but instead turned on her foot and faced the petite teen. "Gee, you sure sound like a real lady."

XXXXX

Cathy couldn't stop thinking about Bridget Stevens. Ella didn't have her father around and that was horrible enough, but Cathy felt it was a special horror for a girl not to know her mother. Mrs. Carlson was the former Sara Claudia Baker of Georgia. Her wedding picture showed a Georgia peach with soft features and luscious spools of ink black hair. It was strange thinking of your parents as being good looking, but Sara Baker was a beauty. Her wedding dress wasn't expensive, it was plain, but beautifully fitted and when she was younger Cathy thought that her mother looked like Snow White.

Cathy watched her mother, age and seven children had greatly expanded her waist line, her hair, still dark with a few strips of grey; straighten out the living room.

"Are you nervous?" Mrs. Carlson hovered over daughter.

Cathy had no idea why everyone asked her that. She was wondering if she was going to the moon and not a little high school Homecoming Dance. Cathy watched a T.V. show about going to the moon someday. Some people thought it would happen by the end of the decade, but Cathy wasn't so sure.

"No," Cathy flattened her hair, hoping that her lie wasn't blatantly obvious.

Mrs. Carlson picked up one of Jenny's stuffed dolls that had fallen between sofa seats.

"Cathy, it's your first dance it's okay to be a bit nervous."

Except it wasn't Cathy's first dance. She had attended a small dance with Mike, but this was her first real dance.

"My mother would have a fit if was dating at fifteen," there was a not subtle longing in her voice and Cathy wondered if maybe her mother had a hidden flame before she met Daddy. Cathy cringed.

"Something went down the wrong way?" Mrs. Carlson's grin was large and lively.

"Nothing's wrong."

"Momma?" Cathy had so much she wanted to say to her mother, but she had no idea how. "Thank you."

Mrs. Carlson looked surprised, "for what?"

"For letting me take dance lessons as a child, I really enjoyed them."

"Of course darling, a proper Southern lady always knows the art of dancing." She gave her eldest daughter a wink.

Cathy stood up and straightened one of the sofa's pillows. Thank you felt so inadequate.

XXXXX

Bridget Stevens felt like she was hosting a fancy dinner party. A fancy dinner party that just happen to take place in a make-shift salon.

"Add an extra 'o' to the word and then you're talking about my kind of place," Two-Bit retorted as they stood in the school foyer.

Evie, sitting on the bench, halfheartedly reading her book, looked up, "aww, look at y'all, already bickering like an old married couple, excuse me while I go throw up," she let out a genuine laugh and winked at Bridget.

Bridget felt a warm sensation fill her chest; she remembered the way Evie had glared at her weeks ago in English class, the way her cold eyes seemed to build a wall between them that was impossible to scale no matter how hard Bridget tried.

But with this wink, Bridget wasn't on the outside anymore, she was a part of the joke. Evie's joke wasn't meant to isolate her or make her uncomfortable, it was meant to include her.

For the first time since that fateful day in English class, Bridget felt completely forgiven for her rude comment. Who knew that a wink was such a precious gift?

Neither girl would call each other a good friend, but it was amazing how much was carried in a simple joke, how even the smallest of gestures could mean so much.

Now as she prepared her house for all the girls who were coming for their Homecoming hairdos she felt lighter than she had in weeks.

But that didn't mean that there wasn't still some nerves bubbling up in her stomach. She told herself that she didn't care about being crowned Homecoming Queen and really, she didn't; it was an antiquated tradition anyway. But when she closed her eyes, she sometimes imagined what it would feel like to have the crown be put on her head.

Her dream would immediately end just as the crown hovered over her head. It was better that way Bridget decided; the crown would only give her a headache.

XXXXX

The doorbell rang and there stood Evie, Ella and Cathy.

Evie was no longer intimidated when she entered the Stevens home, not that she would ever admit to being intimidated in the first place. She still didn't see the point in living in a house that could double up as a museum, she no longer dreaded walking up the driveway.

"Joan and Angela should be over soon," Ella didn't miss the subtle rolling of the eyes that comment elicited from Cathy. She hoped everything would be okay, they had enough to deal with Vickie Harper hovering in the distance like a dark shadow. Couldn't crises come one at a time?

It was funny, Ella thought she'd be nervous last night but everything went smoothly. Evie was a natural, not just in her skills but the way worked efficiently and professionally. Evie had a brash side to her, she was slow to warm up to people, even if Ella knew better than most the full depth the teen possessed. But last night as she did manicures for all of those girls those very qualities that made it hard for people to get to know the real Evie Martin were her greatest assets.

"I'm glad we didn't have this at my house," Cathy washing her hands in a bathroom sink called out. Between Jenny, Petey, Chris and Bonnie I don't think any of us would make it out alive!" She said in a bright tone.

"Six siblings," Evie muttered as she organized her combs. "Hey, did anyone give you any problems because you came from a large family?"

Bridget's eyes widened slightly, having no siblings of her own, she had no idea anyone would ever give a Cathy a rough time for coming from a big family.

"Not really. Once when I was little and Momma had me, Winnie-I mean M&M, Bonnie and Leslie and she was pregnant again some lady muttered a really nasty comment about the Pope under her breath as she walked past us. Of course at the time I didn't put two and two together." Cathy tried to laugh but Ella could sense she was uncomfortable. Ella knew it was hard for the younger girl to be vulnerable and open.

Ella meant it when she told Cathy that she wasn't overweight, but she wondered if deep down the younger girl secretly believed the nasty things Vickie had said about her. She noticed the younger girl wasn't wearing her flower and yellow jumpers as much, but instead was wearing dresses and skirts. She hoped Cathy had changed her wardrobe because she wanted to, not because of Vickie's comments.

Ella understood, it didn't matter that she had new friends, that she was dating THE Craig Bryant; when she got home and put her Beatles album on the record player under the sweet tones of Paul's voice was an even louder voice. The voice that told Ella that her skin was too pale, her hair too frizzy, that she was a loner and a loser and in no time Craig would realize that. The voice was her own. It never shut up.

Ella shook her head, she couldn't think this way, she wouldn't let her negative thoughts cloud her mind. She was dating Craig Bryant, she was going to Homecoming, she was helping Evie run her salon. She knew she was capable and able to handle anything that came her way.

The girls began to talk about their boyfriends, Evie both by nature of her personality and the length of her relationship spoke the most, but every now and then the other girls spoke up and Evie could tell that both Ella and Cathy were excited about not just the dance, but their boyfriends as well.

A sinking feeling weaved down Bridget's stomach. On paper she was the one who had it all. Her boyfriend was gorgeous, a star athlete, smart and a nice guy. On paper she was the one who hit the home run, so why did everything feel so wrong to her?

"Everything okay, Bridget?" Cathy looked at her with concern and Bridget smiled weakly, Cathy may have been only fifteen but she had an uncanny and unnerving ability to pick up Bridget's emotions.

"Oh yes, just thinking."

"Well cut it out Stevens, we got work to do!" Evie laughed.

Angela and Joan arrived ten minutes late.

"Nice for you to be on time, Shepard." Evie snapped. It actually hurt her. She and the other girls had spent all of this time not to mention money, well, Bridget spent the money and here Angela and this Joan girl no one even knew, didn't even have the decency to show up on time.

"Sorry we're late, had a last minute errand to run." Angela seemed genuinely apologetic, which threw Evie for an even bigger loop.

"It's fine, Cathy will start on your hair."

"Hell no! She's not doing my hair! I thought you were doing it. I'm not having her fix my hair." Angela's eyes turned an interesting shade of fire.

"Christ, Angela, I'm doing your hair Cathy is just going to wash it."

With that Angela slinked over to the sink Cathy stood at.

Cathy cringed, she wished she would had just ignored Angela's rude comments earlier even if she would have hated herself for not standing up to her.

"Be careful, my scalp is very delicate," Bridget and Cathy shared a rolled eye. Bridget found it hard to imagine anything about Angela Shepard being delicate.

Ella looked at the clock, she was anxious for Evie to finish with Joan and Angela so she could start working on their hair, she was even more anxious to see Craig.

The doorbell rang and the girls looked at each other, there was no one else on the list for tonight. Please be a Jehovah's Witness Bridget silently prayed, please be a Jehovah's Witness.

Nope, through the peep hole she saw Vickie Harper. Of course she looked gorgeous. Movie star gorgeous. For a second Bridget thought about not answering the door, but Vickie knew she was home, it would look worse if she didn't answer.

"What are you doing here?" Bridget said shortly. She cringed on the inside, even while she maintained her steely gaze. It wasn't in Bridget's mindset to be rude.

"Nice to see your new friends have washed off on you," Vickie said in a low voice.

"What's going on?" Evie called out.

"Oh! Is that Evelyn?"

"Christ almighty..." Evie showed off her linguistic skills in swearing.

"You looked so beautiful in your Homecoming Court photo!" Vickie called out. The Homecoming Court all had to take individual poses that would be used as a background slide show that night. Evie thought it was ridiculous. The photos would be used in the yearbook as well. The yearbook staff was overzealous, it seemed like every other day she would see the flash of a camera light in the hall.

"Just capturing some candids," some girl named Donna said brightly. Evie knew her name because she wore a name tag around her neck, "Donna: Yearbook Photographer." Evie thought it was all ridiculous.

Ella went to the front door and stood next to Bridget, she didn't feel particularly brave, but she didn't want Bridget to face Vickie alone, and she certainly didn't want Cathy to have to face her.

"Ouch!" Angela snapped up and glared at Cathy, "fuck, you trying to kill me?"

"Sorry." Cathy never understood girls who swore, she said hell and damn sometimes but saying 'fuck' even in her mind made her feel dirty. If Daddy heard her say that word he'd wash her mouth out with soap so good she could open a laundrymat in her mouth.

"What are you doing here?" Bridget tried her best not to break her gaze from Vickie, but her nerves were making that difficult.

"I forgot you have your little play salon tonight, that's wonderful. Oh and Ella and Catherine are here! How delightful. Well I best be on my way, but I came by to drop off your book, you left it in the library. I didn't want you to have to pay for a replacement copy."

Vickie handed Bridget her copy of "Their Eyes Were Watching God."

"Thanks," Bridget said softly.

Vickie nodded and turned away. As she was getting into her car she turned around one last time and looked straight into Bridget's green eyes.

Holding the worn book in her hand Bridget couldn't help but think the title was omen.

XXXXX

S.E. Hinton owns

Thank you.