I look up at Grimshaw, a nonparticipant in our fun. She’s sitting cross-legged on the bank above us, with her face tilted up at the sun. Her chin makes a shadow that vees down between her breasts. Her eyes are closed. I climb up and sit next to her and throw grass at her face.

“Ruby says there’s a big party in the gorge tonight,” she says.

“That’s cool. Except I’m grounded for failing history.”

She’s incredulous. “Just for that?”

“Yup. The only difference between me and a political prisoner is that I can lock my own door.”

“Can’t you sneak out tonight?” she asks.

“No problem. I’ll sever the chain link fence with my bolt cutters, crawl through the concertina wire on my elbows, and tunnel under the guards at the perimeter with a spoon.”

Grimshaw sighs heavily. Her eyes remain shut. Sometimes my sarcasm wears her out.

“Is Ruby going?” I ask.

“Of course. He asked me if we wanted a ride.” I don’t exactly have a crush on Grimshaw’s brother Ruby, but I do sort of think of him as mine. If Grimshaw has a boyfriend with a car, sometimes we go on double dates. Grimshaw and friend sit in the front and make out, and Ruby and I sit in the back, usually with Jake and Jaws, Ruby’s two Rottweiler mixes. If Grimshaw and friend want to get serious, they get out and go somewhere else and Ruby and I usually stop kissing and talk about cars.

“Are you going to meet up with Junior Davis?” I ask.

She opens her eyes. “Will you let go of Junior Davis? I told you, he doesn’t have a car. Besides, he left for football camp yesterday.”

“How do you know that?”

She shrugs. “I know things, too, you know.”

“You better watch out for that cheerleader.”

“I’m not worried about any cheerleader. So if you don’t go tonight,” she says, “I’m going with Mike Lyle.”

“Not the one in the Corvette,” I guess.

“Yes. That one.”

“Figures. I knew you knew who it was.”

“You’re not allowed to be a snob, Serena. He has wheels.”

“Yeah, but it’d probably go faster if he stuck his feet through the rust holes and ran.” That gets a laugh out of her, the first one of the day.

“Don’t give him any crap about it, okay? He paid a lot of money for that car. He’s very sensitive about it.”

“How old is it? How old is he?”

“I don’t know. Old. Promise you won’t give him any crap?”

“I won’t give him any crap. It just looks like the car is about six sizes too small for him, that’s all.”

“He thinks you don’t like him.”

“I haven’t even met him! He is sensitive. What does he want with you, anyway?”

“Nothing. He just comes by and we get to talking.”

“Yeah. After he stalks you. What a loser.”

“He’s got a car,” she says. “And he’s not a loser, anyway, he’s okay.”