“Beer!” the two of them cheer, tossing silver cans at us. Angel gets out of the truck and picks her way through the thistles in a miniskirt and high wedge heels, but Claudette just mows through them, talking a mile a minute. Claudette is big—well, big-boned, anyway, and Angel is tiny with glossy olive skin. Claudette has big ears and thin, bleached blond hair and a loud honk of a laugh that you can hear all over the school. Angel has a curtain of dense black hair that hangs to her waist. Her eyebrows look like butterfly antennae. Her nails are two inches long. They seem to know their way around our dead and buried friends, so I take it they’ve been here before.

Talking at the same time, Angel and Rack report that Nanci Lee has empowered them to run the practice and to pick the replacements.

“She says she’s giving us ownership of the team.”

“She says it’s all about leadership, that she wants us to pick girls who can represent the town.”

“Like we’re senators.” Rack guffaws.

We discuss the plan of us becoming cheerleaders, and they are all for it. Nanci Lee is the only obstacle they can foresee. She won’t like it if they let people walk in off the street and be cheerleaders, or at least not people like Grimshaw and me. Apparently, Grimshaw has filled them in on the details of my home life, and they know that Nanci Lee is not my staunchest ally.

“Nanci Lee is my aunt Teresa’s friend,” says Angel. “They went to high school together.”

“Is she the one who has the bridal shop?” I ask.

“So is Nanci Lee hot for Serena’s dad?” Rack asks her.

“Stepdad,” I correct them. “A subtle, but important, distinction.”

That stops the cheerleading conversation dead for a minute. “You have to stop talking like that, Serena,” says Rack. “It makes the boys think you’re stuck-up.”

“But what if I am stuck-up?” I ask.

“Just ignore her,” says Grimshaw. “That’s the only way to deal with it.”

Rack laughs midswig and coughs up some beer. Angel and Grimshaw pound her on the back. “Oh my God,” gasps Rack. “It’s four o’clock. I forgot to take my pill.” She runs down through the weeds and thistles to her truck.

“What pill is this?” asks Grimshaw.

Angel shakes her head. “The four o’clock one is so she can do her homework at night, even though she never does it.” Angel sighs. “You wouldn’t believe the pills that girl is on.” Rack comes puffing back up and sits down heavily on Mr. Sprague. She puts a little pill in her mouth and washes it down with Lite beer. A burr sticks to her sweater and there are more on her socks and pant legs. Angel and Grimshaw start picking them off her.

“Ack,” Angel says. “Now they’re on me.”