‘It’s nice to meet you, Connie,’ Diane says, dipping her head down to stare at her lunch. Her cheeks redden briefly.
‘So Evie told us what you did for her,’ Connie says. Her voice isn’t unkind. At least not for Connie.
But Diane just stiffens for a moment at Connie’s words. She carefully peels back the waxed paper and smooths it out, too, over the paper bag. Diane’s bedroom flashes through my mind. All perfect right angles and organized spaces. A quiet cocoon with not a single thing marking it as hers.
Finally she speaks.
‘What I did for Evie,’ she begins, her hands fluttering over the sandwich, picking it up and putting it down. At last she rests them in her lap and looks up at us. At Connie specifically. ‘I … how could I not do it? I knew what Preston was going to do to her. So I did it. I had to.’
Diane’s gaze doesn’t waver. Neither does Connie’s. I realize I’m holding my breath.
At last Connie gives in. Nods and briefly looks away. You’d have to know Connie to get it, but the way Diane just handled her has given Connie what she would begrudgingly describe as respect for Diane. I wonder if Diane realizes.
Connie takes a bite of her lunch, then pushes the tray away. ‘So you don’t think the fuzz have a clue it was you? Evie says you left the switchblade. That wasn’t so swift.’
‘I know that,’ Diane says, her voice softening as she blushes again. ‘It was stupid. I panicked.’
‘I would have panicked, too,’ says Juanita, and my heart swells in gratitude.
‘So the blade,’ Connie says, pulling us back, ‘where’d you get it anyway?’
A stricken expression comes over Diane. The same expression that crossed her face when the topic of the switchblade came up on Saturday night.
‘I can’t say.’ Her voice shakes, but she means it. You can tell.
‘All right,’ says Connie. ‘I guess I get that. But you better promise us if the fuzz come around, you keep your trap shut. The last thing we need – or Evie needs – is for the police to think she had anything to do with it. They won’t believe her and you know it.’
‘I … I know,’ Diane says, stumbling. ‘I just have to say … I’m really scared. And … I need … friends. I barely know anybody here. And it’s really, really lonely.’
The way she dumps it out there, spills her guts like she doesn’t care who sees them. I can’t imagine doing something like that. It’s not that I don’t trust the other girls. But I do worry sometimes about sharing too much. Being that open. What if Connie and the others thought I was a baby? Or weak? Not tough enough to run with them?
But Diane doesn’t seem to care what anyone thinks.
Juanita’s eyes are open and wide, staring at Diane curiously. I can see from the way her eyes soften that she does feel sorry for Diane. That she does want to help her. And I do, too. But part of me feels lost as to how to handle a girl who rips her heart out in the middle of the cafeteria.
It’s briefly quiet until Connie shocks me by speaking up first. ‘Listen,’ she says, ‘I’m not wild about this. I’m making that clear now. But if anyone messes with you, you tell us. We’ll take care of it. But you have to promise if the police catch wind, you play dumb. Got it? Just keep your mouth sealed tight. The rest of us will, too.’
Diane nods, grateful, and she shoots me a small smile. She takes a bite of her sandwich and chews quietly.
‘Thank you, Connie,’ Diane manages. Connie nods briefly but doesn’t respond. Instead she chews at a thumbnail, gazing out at the cafeteria, her body bouncing ever so slightly in her seat.
‘That’s it, I’m taking off,’ she says all of a sudden, standing up. ‘Gonna go find Sunny.’
‘She had to meet Ray somewhere,’ I say. ‘That’s why she’s not here.’
Connie rolls her eyes. ‘Someone needs to remind that dipstick that Sunny’s not his maid.’
‘Good luck with that,’ mutters Juanita.
The three of us finish our lunch mostly in silence. It’s awkward more than anything, but maybe a little less awkward after Connie is gone. After a few moments of silence, Juanita smiles at Diane and says, ‘I like your dress.’
‘Oh, it was a present from my grandparents,’ Diane answers, smoothing out her skirt. Then she evens out the exchange. ‘I like your eye makeup, Juanita.’
‘Really?’ asks Juanita, surprised but pleased. ‘I can do my eyes up in five minutes flat, you know.’
‘Wow,’ says Diane, impressed. ‘I couldn’t pull off that eyeliner if I tried for days.’
‘I bet you could,’ Juanita counters, and Diane grins in response. I feel a flood of relief that lunch hasn’t been a total disaster, and relax as Diane keeps the conversation moving by asking Juanita who her favorite Beatle is. When Juanita admits it’s George because of his soulful eyes, Diane nods in eager agreement.
After we throw away our trash, I suggest hanging out on the front lawn. We head out and spy Connie and Sunny by our oak tree, smoking cigarettes with Ray and Johnny.
‘I’m not sure,’ Diane says, shifting uncomfortably next to me. ‘I think I’ve worn out my welcome with Connie today.’
‘Forget it,’ says Juanita, ‘it’s cool. I mean it.’ Maybe it’s the exchange about Diane’s dress and Juanita’s makeup and the Beatles, but Diane pauses and stares at the foursome by the tree. Then she finally exhales and says, ‘Well … all right.’
As we approach, Johnny spies us first, looking dangerous and mysterious and handsome all at once. Dark, angry eyes and greased-back black hair. Connie’s hair would be that color, too, if she didn’t insist on dyeing it an almost white blond. I imagine Grandma’s voice in my head. Connie’s cheap dye job is trash. If Connie knew my grandmother thought that, she’d just yelp with delight. I don’t mind the color of my hair, but I think it’s sort of tuff that Connie doesn’t care if her hair is the type grandmothers might lift their noses at.
‘Hey,’ Johnny says to the three of us, but his eyes pause on Diane. I can sense him taking her in, probably noticing how pretty she is, all curvy and bright-eyed in her lime-green dress. Diane must be used to that sort of look from boys. I wonder if I’ll ever know what those looks feel like.
‘This is Diane,’ I manage, nervous to say anything to Johnny even if he isn’t looking at me. ‘She’s new.’
‘Hi, Diane,’ Johnny says, his voice soft. Gentle, almost. ‘I’m Johnny. Connie’s brother.’ Never breaking his gaze from where it’s directed – at Diane – he tips his head toward Connie, who observes the interaction carefully before taking a drag off her Salem. She doesn’t move from her spot against the oak tree, set in a pose that’s all cool and relaxed-seeming. But I know Connie. She’s like a cat, ready to strike at any moment. Ray and Sunny are huddled off to the side, and they take a moment from their own private banter to observe this arrival.
Diane nods, tucks a lock of her auburn hair behind her ear. ‘Hello, Johnny. It’s nice to meet you.’ She hugs her thermos close to her chest, blinks her green eyes once. Twice. Who knew some girls could even blink in a way that makes them seem prettier? As for Johnny’s eyes, he doesn’t take them off Diane. Not for a moment.