‘Gainesville was hell,’ Connie says, her voice cool and even. ‘Don’t bring it up again.’
Sunny frowns, opens her mouth to protest, then thinks better of it and shuts it. Juanita and I glance at each other, surprised.
‘I don’t really want to talk about Dallas,’ says Diane to Sunny gently. ‘But I’ll just say it was hell, too.’ The word hell coming out of Diane’s mouth strikes me as strange, but when she says it, Connie nods in understanding.
‘How long were you there?’ Juanita asks.
‘I came back to Houston in July,’ Diane says. ‘Then they sent me to this side of town to live with my aunt, who’s sort of the family outcast. She’s a drunk, too. My mother and father don’t care,’ Diane says, her voice breaking. ‘They explained me away to their friends, and their friends believe whatever lie they tell them. They have Patty to focus on now anyway. She can be their perfect princess and marry the right man. And anyway, I almost think …’ She pauses, then doesn’t keep speaking.
‘What?’ Juanita presses.
Diane’s cheeks redden. ‘I think … I think they thought having to live here would be some sort of … punishment.’
‘You mean having to live on the east side,’ Connie says knowingly. ‘With kids like us.’
‘No,’ Diane protests. ‘That’s not what I think. But … yes, I suppose … I suppose that’s what they think.’ Her voice drops slightly. ‘But I don’t agree with them. And anyway, if they think this is punishment, they don’t know what it was like for me up in Dallas.’ She shudders, and several beats of silence follow. I wonder if the other girls are filling up that silence with their imaginations like me.
‘But why didn’t you talk to Johnny when you got here?’ Sunny asks, and I notice she’s sliding closer to Diane now, her mouth turned downward with sadness. Sweet Sunny.
‘We did talk, but … it’s been … it’s difficult. Connie, you have to believe me. I still love him so much. And we tried to be with each other when I came back, but … that night at Winkler’s when everything happened’ – at this she looks over at me – ‘he and I had just had an argument. It’s so complicated. It had been so long since we’d really been together, and … it’s … I don’t know.’ She gives up trying to explain. This is just what happened in the listening booth at the Jive Hive, I realize. Just when Diane got to the part of her tale that put her at Eastside High with Johnny, she was hesitant to offer any more details. Just that things were complicated between them.
‘What happened to your old friends in River Oaks?’ Juanita asks.
‘They dumped me,’ says Diane, her voice a whisper. ‘They thought I was beneath them, I guess.’
‘Then they’re lousy people,’ says Sunny, looking at us. ‘We would never do that to each other, no matter what. We stick by each other. Right?’
‘Right,’ says Connie as quick as the question is asked.
‘There’s something else, though,’ says Diane.
‘What?’ I ask, my stomach knotting up.
‘It’s … oh, Connie, I’m so sorry,’ she continues, stricken. ‘I made an enormous mistake. I know why they took Johnny.’
Connie frowns, confused. ‘The cops hauled him in because they haul him in for just about anything that happens in this neighborhood.’
‘There’s more to it,’ Diane says, her voice catching. ‘The switchblade I used to … well. The one I stupidly left behind? Johnny gave it to me that night at Winkler’s when we had that fight. It was his. He said he was giving it to me for protection, that he’d feel better knowing I had it. I thought it was ridiculous at the time. That was part of our fight.’
There’s a stunned silence as we absorb this news. Not even Connie says anything or reacts at all.
‘But dozens of kids around here carry blades like that one,’ I offer, my heart racing a bit, worried that any uneasy truce between Connie and Diane is about to shatter. ‘There’s no way they can link that blade to Johnny, right?’ After all, it’s commonplace for the Eastside kids to carry switchblades, even some of the girls, like Connie. I never do. Grandma and Mama would flip if they found one on me or in the house, and anyway, I never felt the need so long as I was with Connie and the others. And something about carrying one scares me a little, I guess.
‘I don’t think so,’ Connie answers, but she’s antsy and bouncing all of a sudden. She gets up and wanders to the window, peering out it like she’s expecting someone, even though I know she isn’t. At least she doesn’t explode at Diane.
‘They can’t press any charges based on flimsy evidence like that,’ Juanita argues. ‘They’re just hauling Johnny in to scare him into spilling something.’
‘Does he know it was you?’ I ask. ‘I mean … what happened.’
Diane shakes her head. ‘No. We never talked again after that night. I mean, except for before when we pretended not to know one another.’
‘So he couldn’t say anything even if he wanted to,’ Sunny suggests brightly.
‘Even if he could say something, he never would,’ Connie snaps, turning to look at us from the window.
‘You’re right,’ Sunny answers, chastened.
‘So let me think,’ I say. ‘If there’s no real way they can connect the blade, and they always haul Johnny in for everything just to try and scare out some information they’re never gonna get, there’s a real good chance that if we keep quiet – if we don’t let on to any of the boys or anyone else about any of this – Johnny will be out soon?’
No one answers right away, but Connie walks back to our group. ‘Get close,’ she commands, and we all scoot in on our knees. Connie leans into us so tight I can see her black roots peeking out from under her blond hair. I can spy a mean red blemish beginning to erupt on her chin, and when she speaks, I can catch a glimpse of the cracked incisor she got from jumping a girl at a party who Connie thought bumped into her on purpose.
‘Listen,’ she begins, ‘the only people on the face of the earth who know what happened at Winkler’s are in this room. The five of us.’ She pauses for emphasis, dragging her gaze across each one of our faces. Her voice is cutting and insistent. Her dark eyes as mean as an alley cat’s. ‘And not a single one of us is talking, right?’
‘Right,’ says Sunny immediately, anxious to prove her loyalty.
‘Right,’ says Juanita.
‘Right,’ I say.
We look at Diane. The one who has the most to lose. The one who has already lost so much.
‘Right,’ she says, her voice quavering only just.
‘Good,’ Connie says, passing judgment on us.
At this we sit back in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. It’s so quiet I can hear the traffic on Telephone Road, a few car horns peppering over the rush of the wheels. Finally, out of her pocket Connie pulls an open pack of Salems. Before she takes one for herself, she wordlessly tips it forward to Diane, who somehow understands the gesture and accepts. Connie lights Diane’s cigarette for her, and we sit there quietly for a while.