point. Braids or no braids, I’d given myself away. “Still in high school?”
She laughed, not seeming surprised at all. “So you’re what, sixteen?”
“Er… I will be soon. Really soon.”
“Uh-huh. What’s your name?”
I’d told her I was straight before I told her my name? Could this night get any more embarrassing? “Sharon.”
“Okay, you’re Sharon, you’re fifteen, and you’re straight. Wow, we already know each other so well.” Evelyn’s grin was friendly, though. Behind us, the sound of the instruments onstage had been replaced by a roar of cheers and shouts from the crowd. The Prudes’ set must have ended. “To get back to my question, what brought you to the Castro?”
“My brother, um, well, he’s…” I cut myself off when I realized I probably shouldn’t tell this stranger about Peter.
“Don’t worry, I get it.” She grinned. “Wow. When I was fifteen, I was spending my Saturday nights in a field tipping cows. Listen, Sharon, if you ever get back up into this part of town, you should come by Valencia Street Books. We want to reach out to more young women here in the city. Especially women your age who might not have a safe space where they can go. It’s a couple of blocks up, and we have volunteer meetings every week.”
“Oh, yeah. I think I’ve heard of it.”
“Eee-vieeee.” The growling voice was so familiar, I knew it was Midge Spelling before I turned my head. Her arm was around that guitar player’s—Johnny’s—shoulders, and they were both covered in sweat. Johnny had tied Midge’s trench coat around his waist, leaving her in just her black lace corset dress. Her shoulders and most of her chest were bare. “We’re gonna be in the back for a while if you want to come.”
“Cool, I will.” Evelyn took another puff on her cigarette. “This is Sharon.”
“Hey,” I said. I couldn’t stop staring at Midge. Wasn’t she cold?
“Hey.” Midge peered down. In her heels, she towered a good six inches over me. “I saw you from the stage.”
“You did?” My heart pounded in my chest.
“Yeah. When you walked in you looked like a deer stuck in the headlights.” She laughed, but it was a friendly laugh, like Evelyn’s.
“That sounds about right,” I said, and now all three of them were laughing.
I can’t believe Midge Spelling laughed at something I said. I can’t believe I even existed in the same space as Midge Spelling.
“It was fun watching you dance once you got into it, though,” she went on. It must’ve been another joke, but before I could laugh she’d already turned back to Johnny. “See you around.”
They walked off with their arms wrapped around each other’s waists.
“I’d better go.” Evelyn lifted her chin toward the stage, where another band was setting up. Two of the guys were pointing drumsticks at each other and shouting words I couldn’t make out. “You watching the next set?”
“Um. I should probably head out.”
“Cool. Anyway, come by the store if you can.”
“Cool.” I nodded. Suddenly that sounded worth considering. “I will, thanks.”
And as I turned my back, pushed my way through the thrumming crowd and walked out into the nighttime chill, there was a buzz of pleasant, unfamiliar hope thrumming under my skin, too.
Yours, Sharon
Sunday, July 3, 1977
Dear Harvey,
I HAVE PROOF.
Ha! I always knew my aunt and uncle were hypocrites, but now I have physical evidence.
Since the Miami vote, I’ve been trying to keep my head down. I got that Patti Smith album, Horses. I bought a couple of other punk albums while I was at it, but none of them can beat Patti. I listen to Horses every night before bed with my headphones plastered over my ears.
During the day, though, I can’t escape the noise of Aunt Mandy crowing about her victory. She and my uncle have been all over the news, and seeing herself on TV and hearing her own voice on the radio will always put a mammoth fucking skip in my aunt’s