“Congratulations, it’s a boy!” Eliot shouted, clapping. “At least now you can stop wearing that bra.” He jammed his fingers under the strap on her shoulder, pulled back, and released it onto her sunburned skin. “You don’t need a bra for bee stings, just Neosporin.”

Lily had bought the bra for Mickey earlier that month. She talked about “breast buds” with the department store clerk as Mickey shimmied and squeezed into one after another, and she shrugged absently when her mom suggested this one. But secretly, Mickey loved it. It was gray with pink straps, the delicate kind. She should’ve refused the bra, she thought furiously. She should burn it. She wanted to scream at her mother for doing this to her. She decided she would as soon as she got home.

But then she heard a new voice from over her shoulder. “Her boobs will grow, which is more than we can say for your dick, Marks.”

And then there was a shriek loud enough that the coach had to work not to hear it. Mickey looked up and saw Eliot bent at the waist, his shorts in a pile around his legs, his thighs so much whiter than the rest of him—so white they looked translucent in the setting sun. He pulled frantically at the elastic band of his shorts, but they were tangled in the Velcro of his shin guards. The group’s laughter turned on him beautifully, like a school of fish. Eliot burned red and squatted down, covering himself with his hands. Mickey could see his small pink ball sack peeping below his fingers. The way it hung there reminded her of the crust her dog used to get in the corners of his eyes.

“Catch ya later, dipshit.”

And then an arm landed across her shoulders, and they were walking. Mickey looked at the girl pressed against her, warm and smelling like baby powder deodorant. She knew her; everyone knew her. She was in the grade above Mickey; she transferred into their school in seventh. Her arrival caused quite the stir, with her long hair the color of honey on toast and her hips already taking the shape of something powerful and dangerous under her jeans. As far as Mickey knew, this girl had no idea who Mickey was, but she walked with her like they had been friends for years. Like she regularly pantsed boys on Mickey’s behalf. Mickey looked back at Eliot struggling to stand up, and she couldn’t help it: she let out a squeal of laughter. The kind of laugh Sean ridiculed. The kind of laugh she tried to change except for when she truly couldn’t.

That was how she met Ruth Caroway.

PEYOTE