forever, though? Is that something you think about?
Sorry—you’d probably rather not talk about that. I’d go back and cross it out, but we said we weren’t going to do that anymore, so please just ignore it.
At least today was the last day of school. Huzzah! I won’t have to worry about Sister Catherine for the next three months. At graduation tomorrow I’ll try to keep in mind what you said about my brother. I don’t know if I believe it, but I’ll take it!
Write back soon and tell me all about prom, please.
Yours, Sharon
P.S. I forgot to mention—I saw an ad in the newspaper for a Christian radio show called New Way on the Air. Isn’t that the name of your church? Did your aunt and uncle finally get their show, thanks to all those bribes in that check register you wrote to me about? I want to listen to it with Peter so we can make fun of it together.
Tuesday, May 30, 1978
Dear Sharon,
God, I wish I could go to a march in San Francisco. About anything, honestly—I’d happily go to a Save the Whales protest.
I could never travel that far on my own, though. Girls in our family aren’t allowed to go anywhere unsupervised. Once my sister and two of her friends planned a ski trip, just one night in someone’s uncle’s cabin out by Big Bear Lake, and my parents grounded her just for asking.
So… I don’t know what to say about prom.
At least it’s over, and… I survived? I guess? The walls didn’t collapse and crush me to death? Even though there were times when I wouldn’t have minded if they had.
The grossness started before we got there. Brett’s dad rented a limo, but it turns out limos aren’t that big on the inside, and there were eight of us jammed in. The guys had clearly already been drinking before they picked us up. I don’t know if that’s why it happened or if this is how it would’ve gone, anyway, but we weren’t halfway to school before Tim—whose lap I was half-sitting on, since there was literally nowhere else to sit—started pinching my butt.
I was so mad I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t do anything in front of everybody else. I guess he knew that, because he kept doing it even when I tried to squirm off his lap. I finally reached back and grabbed his wrist, but he only laughed.
Brett laughed, too. I’m positive he knew what was going on. Carolyn didn’t notice, thank God.
When we finally got there the guys hung out in the gym with us for long enough to get our cheesy official photos taken, then disappeared. There were dozens of chaperones, but none of them seemed to notice them sneaking out to get high. Even my aunt, who was wearing about ten yards of ugly pink caftan fabric wound around her, just smiled her usual smug smile as they went by.
That was when I pulled Carolyn into the hall. I wasn’t sure I’d get another chance, so I led her straight to our stairwell. I’d had to hide the collage in my dress, because my mother would only let me bring a tiny clutch big enough for lipstick and a blotting tissue. (Though I guess it could have also held a little more, because I know for a fact that at least three of the other youth group girls had the exact same clutch but somehow managed to fit condoms inside.) Fortunately, my skirt had so much extra puffy fabric no one noticed the cardboard backing of the collage taped to the underside.
“Close your eyes,” I told Carolyn, so she wouldn’t see me awkwardly lifting up the ruffled hem of my floor-length skirt to pull out the collage. Besides, it seemed more romantic if she didn’t see the logistics at work.
Carolyn closed her eyes. She looked beautiful that night. Her dress was even puffier than mine, with baby blue lace running from the frilly collar to the frilly hem, and it had a pale pink sash that tied around her waist. It was a lot, but it suited her perfectly. Her hair