I shiver. I wish I could tell Mama, but how would my mother ever understand? She thinks a good girl should get married, find a nice boy. What would she think about a girl who let herself get caught by a boy outside the bathroom at Winkler’s? What kind of girl would make a boy think he could get away with what Preston Fowler wanted to get away with?
My chest tightens, and the lump that’s suddenly blossomed in my throat strains until it aches. Diane was the one who spent most of the day crying, but now it’s my turn. Only I don’t have anyone to cry with. I sink my face into my pillow, desperate to scream, to sob – really sob – but I can’t because I don’t want Mama and Grandma to hear. I let myself cry as much as I can, as loud as I can manage through my pillow, until hot tears and snot cover my face and my sheets. I don’t care. I cry until I’m too tired to keep crying, and I end up falling asleep in my school clothes.
Juanita and I walk to school together Wednesday morning, and the entire time my mind can’t let go of what I’ve learned about Diane. But I can’t say anything, of course. Even if Juanita knew I was carrying a secret, she’d never pressure me to spill the beans. Loyalty is part of our code.
‘What happened at Winkler’s was still all over the front page of the Post this morning,’ Juanita says, clutching her notebooks close to her chest. ‘I didn’t read it, but I saw the photographs.’
My stomach twists. ‘I wish all of it would disappear,’ I say.
‘I shouldn’t have said anything,’ says Juanita.
‘No, it’s all right,’ I say. ‘The cops aren’t going to ignore this. That boy’s father is too big of a deal in this town.’ I pause, thinking back to yesterday with Diane and trying to square the funny, damaged, kindhearted girl I spent the afternoon with and the understanding that this same girl is the reason a boy is dead. ‘She didn’t mean to kill him, you know,’ I say. ‘She was only trying to scare him and protect me. It was totally self-defense.’
Juanita tucks a loose black curl behind her right ear, revealing her expertly lined eyes. The same eye makeup that drew me toward her the summer before last with the promise of a life that could feel different, somehow. I can still remember the moment Juanita finished making me over on her back steps, and she pulled out her compact and opened it. I peered into that tiny, dirty mirror and smiled. A girl with eyes like that can be a girl who takes chances. Who breaks rules.
‘Of course she didn’t mean it,’ says Juanita. ‘But it’s strange how she and that boy both came from River Oaks. How’d she end up on this side of town anyway?’
I mumble something about needing to help a sick aunt, borrowing from Diane’s easy lie at dinner with Mama and Grandma the night before. I don’t get the sense Juanita believes me, but of course she doesn’t pry.
‘At the very least, if the police find out it was her, which I hope they don’t,’ says Juanita, ‘she’ll have better luck at convincing them that she never meant to kill him. I mean, that bastard wanted to hurt you!’
I nod in agreement, trying to push out the image of Diane getting caught and blamed because I was dumb enough to go to the bathroom at Winkler’s alone. It must show on my face because Juanita peers at me, concerned.
‘Are you okay, Evie?’ She pauses, uncertain. ‘Everything’s been so wild I feel like we haven’t really had a chance to talk.’ She makes a space for me, but something stops me from taking it.
‘I’m fine,’ I say. Maybe if I say it out loud, it will be true.
I can sense Juanita deciding whether she should press the topic, but by this point we’ve approached the school. I’m relieved when we spy Sunny and Connie hanging out under our oak tree. Connie is smoking a Salem, and Sunny is peering at her reflection in her compact, no doubt making sure her makeup is on just right.
‘Hey,’ Connie says. ‘How’s tricks?’
Juanita and I shrug, and I nod at Connie, trying not to eye her too much as I think about what she knows about Diane and her brother, and whether I know even more.
‘Nothing new,’ says Juanita, her eyes scanning the lawn. ‘Look, there’s Diane heading over here.’
Connie sighs, annoyed, but at least she doesn’t say anything mean. There’s a tension inside me, I realize, born out of standing here in my usual spot with my usual friends and having Diane – my new friend – join us. I want to fit in with everyone. I want Connie and the other girls to respect me, hang out with me, consider me one of them. And I want Diane to like me and feel like she belongs with me, too. It’s a strange and uncomfortable feeling.
‘Hi,’ Diane says brightly – maybe too brightly – as she approaches us. I sense Connie tense up, but again, she doesn’t say anything mean. Juanita and Sunny and I say hello.
‘I had so much fun having dinner at your house last night, Evie,’ Diane says, shining a broad smile in my direction.
Connie snorts under her breath, and immediately I wonder if the other girls are angry with me. After all, Juanita is the only one who’s ever even been inside my house, and certainly not for dinner. Diane senses maybe she’s done something wrong, and her face falls a little, her eyes gazing down toward the ground.
I swallow hard, remembering Diane crying in the listening booth at the Jive Hive, trusting me with her secrets. Curling up on the foot of my bed and talking about Cheryl and music and dumb television programs.
‘I had a lot of fun having you over, Diane,’ I say, and I mean it. Maybe it takes guts to say it out loud in front of Connie. Actually, I know it does. But I say it, even if my heart is racing a little when I do.
No one responds, but Connie lights another cigarette. Diane lifts her eyes and smiles back at me, and I wonder who is going to speak next.
Just then, our awkward calm is destroyed. I hear a boy’s voice shout Connie’s name from several yards away, and when we all turn to hear where it’s coming from, we spy Ray Swanson careening toward us, followed by his buddies Dwight and Butch.
‘They’ve got Johnny,’ Ray manages as he and the two other boys brake suddenly to a halt right next to us, barely able to breathe. ‘The cops, I mean. At least five cars. I think it has something to do with what’s been in the papers. That rich boy at Winkler’s. Come on!’
What happens next happens so fast I can hardly keep up. Without stopping to think or even say anything in response, all of us, including Diane, are racing through the yard past teachers and fellow students shouting at us to slow down and watch where we’re going.
Our shoes clatter as we run down the sidewalk, and nobody says much as we move in a pack. Our breathing is shallow and loud, and I can hear soft, whispered curses coming from Ray Swanson.
Diane runs alongside me, her face white as paste. Her eyes are wild.
We reach the corner of Diez and Dumble, not far from Connie and Johnny’s house, and skid into place next to some more of the boys in our crowd, all of them dressed in their faded jeans and dark jackets. There are several cop cars on the street, keeping us from moving any farther in.
Johnny is in handcuffs, leaning up against one of the cars but facing us. His long dark hair, normally greased and combed back, is falling into his face, but I can still see the defiance in it. His eyes are cold and staring at nothing. His mouth is a sharp line. One of the police officers is writing something in a little notebook. Two others are off to the side, muttering to each other. One of them laughs and says, ‘He must be all kinds of stupid to think he can kill a Fowler in this town and get away with it.’