instead. I closed my eyes and let my body start thrumming to the music. I’d never heard DV8 before, and they weren’t my favorite—the Dils were better, and their set wouldn’t be until later—but the beat was as mesmerizing as ever.
As the rhythm rose inside me, I forgot all about introducing Kevin to punk. All I could focus on was how this felt.
“HEY, SHARON?” His voice was shouting into my ear. I opened my eyes reluctantly. “DO YOU KNOW THOSE GIRLS?”
“WHO?” I shouted back, but I saw them before he could point.
I recognized the first girl he was looking at instantly—Midge Spelling. It was jarring to see her in the middle of the crowd again, like she was anyone else. Midge Spelling wasn’t like anyone else.
A lot of the girls tonight were dressed up, in thrift-store fur or brightly colored ripped tights or puffy wigs, but Midge stood out as much as always. Her hair was slicked back, with a single short lock curling over her forehead, and she had on impossibly shiny red lipstick and cat-eye liner. She was wearing a bright red trench coat, the exact same shade as her lips, buttoned all the way up to her neck but open from the waist down, with tight red pants and knee-high black leather boots underneath.
For an instant I wondered how Midge Spelling looked when she wasn’t at a punk show, but I dismissed the thought. I’d rather not know.
She was with another girl I couldn’t place at first. The girl looked understated compared to Midge, but she still fit in perfectly. She was dressed in a black leather jacket, ripped jeans with a leather collar tied under the right knee, and ancient-looking Converse sneakers, and she was looking right at me.
Right. Evelyn, the girl I’d first seen on Castro Street ages ago.
“HEY! SHARON, RIGHT?” Evelyn pushed through the crowd toward us first. Midge followed her, but she was dancing as she walked, her trench coat flapping open.
I nodded at them, because the band had launched into an earsplitting drumroll and it was impossible to talk. Evelyn gestured for us to follow her toward the bar. I took Kevin’s elbow and led him after them.
He was visibly relieved at the slightly less dramatic volume on that side. As soon as we could speak again, he offered to get drinks for all of us and waded through the sea of people toward the bartender.
Evelyn smiled at me, and I smiled back, even though smiling in a punk club seems as out of place as swimming down Market Street. Next to us, Midge kept dancing.
“Cool skirt.” Evelyn had to lean in close so I could understand her. “I’ve been hoping you’d come by the bookstore.”
“I’ve been really busy with school.”
“Oh yeah? I thought I saw you at a show here last week.” She raised her eyebrows, and I blushed. Then she laughed. “Relax, it’s cool. You should come by if you get a chance, though. We’re launching a big new campaign. Have you heard about Prop 6?”
“Yeah, the one banning gay teachers?”
“That’s it. We’re teaming up with some other groups to canvass the whole city, and other places, too, if we can, and we’re raising money so we can rent buses and—”
“HERE!” Kevin shouted, thrusting out three cans of Coke. His forehead had a thin sheen of sweat, as though he’d run a marathon. The crowd around the bar had gotten thicker since Evelyn and I had been talking. “SORRY, THAT WAS ALL I COULD GET. DIDN’T THINK THEY’D CHECK ID.”
Evelyn took a can and smiled at him. “Thanks.”
I didn’t want Kevin to hear us talking about Prop 6. Ever since I got Tammy’s letter, thinking about gay stuff makes me uncomfortable. And kind of lost.
Midge stopped dancing long enough to take one of the Cokes. “Thanks, man.”
“Hey, Midge.” Evelyn pointed toward the door. “Is that Johnny coming in?”
Midge cracked open the Coke can and glanced up. Her skinny guitar player was strolling through the door, a cigarette burning in his hand. He looked paler than last time I saw him. “Yeah.