“How about Hey Cougars, Bite My Missile?” This is my idea. Martin glares at me. It was only a joke, and not a very good one, but I watch incredulously as the idea takes flight. They take out Rack’s drawing of the missile again and talk about building it and putting it in the mouth.

“I hate it!” storms Rack. “And anyway, we’re not the Colchis Missiles, we’re the Rockets!”

“How about Hey Cougars, Eat My Rocket? And the rocket can be upside down in the mouth, and we can build a cougar head around the teeth.” It’s Lars. When everybody turns to look at him, his face turns bright red. Everyone starts talking at once.

“That is so stupid.”

“It doesn’t even make any sense.”

“If we build the head around the teeth, we won’t be able to get it out of here.”

“Do we even have a trailer?”

“We’re using the Grimshaws’ flatbed.”

“Do we even know how we’re going to get it on the flatbed?”

“What time is it?”

“One thirty a.m.”

Everybody groans. “I have practice tomorrow morning,” Junior says. “Hey Marty, give me a ride home.” In ten minutes, everyone’s cleared out except for me and Rack. Grimshaw’s gone home with Angel to her aunt’s apartment over the bridal shop.

“I have a physics test tomorrow,” I observe. Rack sits down on one of the car seats, reaches in her purse, and gets out a bottle of beer. I’m sitting up on an oil drum. She offers me the first sip.

“It’s still cold,” she says.

“Thanks.” The beer leaves a clear, cold track down my center. “Wow.” I exhale slowly. “That was really good.” I hand it back to her. She’s studying her purse.

“You keep that one.” She takes another one from her purse. “I was going to save this one till later, but what the hell, right?”

“Later when? It’s almost two o’clock in the morning.”

“I know. But I always keep an extra beer around. I like to have something to look forward to. Cheers.” I lean over, and we touch bottles. She pours half of hers down her throat and slowly exhales. “Can you believe I’ve been dumped for that dork Marty Gerard?” she asks.

“You’ve been dumped?” I parrot.

“Basically. You didn’t notice how Junior treated me all night?”

“No.”

“It’s been going on all fall, off and on. He pretends I don’t exist. He’s playing the game of treating me like dog shit so I break up with him and he doesn’t have to take any responsibility for it.”

“Oh.” I’ve never heard of that game. Grimshaw never got dumped. The more I know about other people, the less I know about Grimshaw.