I checked my watch. The last bus had already come and gone.
Stomping away from the depot, I cursed the skies, public transit, and my good-for-nothing brother. Two-Bit's forgetfulness was as legendary as his boozing and equally inconvenient.
Here I was, once again navigating streets darker than his sense of responsibility, armed only with a well-earned sense of annoyance. If I had a nickel for every time he forgot to pick me up, I could afford to hire a private chauffeur by now. Fool me once, shame on Two-Bit; fool me twice, and it's just another Saturday night.
And Mom? Probably sprawled out on the couch between double shifts at the bar, bless her. How could I call, knowing she'd spent the whole night at work and was due back in just a few hours? Even if Two-Bit didn't give a hang about me, he could've done it to help Mom out. He has his hand out, asking her for beer money often enough, I thought bitterly.
Man, this new bus schedule was starting to get to me. Wasn't cutting the weekend express bad enough already? If I'd known the late routes got slashed too, I never would have agreed to babysit all the way out here. This neighborhood was a snake pit, and I was the mouse.
Two-Bit's promises were about as helpful as a trail of breadcrumbs now.
I knew the drill. Just keep walking, head down, eyes forward. Pay attention and, maybe, walk a little faster in the darkness between the streetlights. I wasn't scared, not exactly.
But those boys - Curly Shepherd and the trash he ran around with - it was like they had a sixth sense when it came to the pulse of these streets. They easily sniffed me out, a babe in the woods of Tulsa.
"Hey, sweetheart! Wanna have some fun?" one of them called out, a leering smile splitting his face.
Knowing better than to give them a reaction, I kept my cool, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind my ear. I tried not to walk too fast, not to trigger any dormant instincts by reminding them of prey. But their words clawed at me, snowballing from indecent to downright vulgar as they crossed the street.
"Don't be shy, baby," a dark-eyed greaser cackled as he circled and planted himself directly in my path.
My palms were sweating, panic settling in, when I heard her, tough as nails, a rush of undisguised contempt and raw authority crackling in the humid night air.
"Not one brain cell between the lot of you, is there?"
It was Angela Shepherd, Curly's sister. With her hip cocked out, one hand stuck to her waist, and the other holding a smoke, she looked like she could take on the world and win.
"Get these creeps out of here before I knock some sense into you, Curly," she warned, taking a long drag off her cigarette.
"But Ange—" Curly started to protest.
"I said beat it!" she practically screamed.
Curly shrunk, his bravado and face both dropping. He set his jaw and stood there, clenching a fist. I half expected him to lay Angela out right there in the street, but he seemed to think better of it as she narrowed her eyes. Turning on one heel, he gave a scornful grunt and signaled for his buddies to follow as he retreated back across the street.
I'd never seen anything like it — the way Angela just took control, unflinching and unapologetic. She was all toughness and edge - a firestorm in a miniskirt. She didn't just talk back to those boys; she commanded them, owned them, and they'd scattered like roaches.
I was mesmerized.
"And you," she spat, flicking her cigarette butt so it went whizzing past my head, "walking around alone at this hour. Are you some kind of idiot or just plumb crazy?"
My mind went blank. I'd never spoken to Angela before.
"I ain't scared," I stammered, my squeaks painfully unconvincing.
"Maybe you should be," Angela snapped, her voice cutting through my pretenses.
"That's Two-Bit's kid sister," another voice said from behind her, the embers of their cigarette burning brighter in the darkness as they took a drag.
"You're a Matthews?" Angela paused, a wry smirk curling on her lips. "That explains a lot. Stupid must run in the family."
A chuckle tumbled out from the shadows, but I barely noticed. I just stared at Angela. I couldn't help it; she was everything I wanted to be. For a moment, I lost myself in a strange longing to learn from her, to be like her.
"I can hold my own," I finally responded, narrowing my eyes to mirror her.
Her expression shifted a fraction.
"Just watch your back, Matthews."
Her voice was dripping with disdain, but her dark eyes held the slightest hint of respect. Then she was gone, slipping back into the shadows with a final flounce of her raven curls.
The image of Angela, illuminated by the streetlight's glow, lingered in my mind as I walked. Half-smiling, I replayed how she'd bullied Curly into recalling his pack of drooling goons. It occurred to me then that I'd been a chump. My whole life, I'd been playing by someone else's rules, dancing to their tune. But Angela didn't dance for anyone: she led.
Something shifted in me by the time I rounded the corner onto my own street. I was ready to take on the world without flinching.
And I was finished with breadcrumbs.