Fade Read Free Page A

herself to feel as though that were something to be celebrated. Most of the kids, in her opinion, had it as good as they ever would. But, that might be as good a reason as any to have a party. Eat, drink and be merry while there were still cheerleaders, free rides and denial to be had.
    “I’ll call you at about six-thirty, chick.” Jan shifted her backpack to her other shoulder and dug keys from her purse. Smiling, she zipped her black and gray plaid tank top down several inches. “Ha-ha! No one can stop my inappropriate cleavage now!”
    Cynthia smiled a second too late, pulled from her thoughts. “Alright, you rebel, you. See you tonight.” Cynthia rolled on her heels as she passed her friend, walking backward, twirling her own keys as she talked. “ Oh , can’t believe I forgot to tell you! Guess who asked me out yesterday?”
    “Dalen Young.” Jan gave a half-hearted smile and rested against her car, letting her bag drop to the blacktop.
    “ Whoa . How’d you know that? And why, pray tell, do you seem so unimpressed by the news?” Cynthia crossed her arms. Her blue eyes, masked black with eyeliner, narrowed.
    “I heard him asking around about you. And I’m not un excited. It’s probably just that my excitement seems like Cancer-ward gloom compared to yours.” She laughed, but it was empty.
    Cynthia pursed her lips and arched an eyebrow. “If you say so.”
    “I do , and you can tell me all about it tonight.” Jan stuck her tongue out and sat down behind the wheel. When she drove past her she honked twice, laughing and pointing to the other side of the school where a late Cynthia had been forced to park that morning. Cynthia flipped her off with a smirk, unaware that those would be among her last few moments of normalcy.
    ***
    Cynthia watched Jan’s car disappear and took a deep breath, letting it out all at once. She was glad the stupid gym was decorated for the stupid prom and all the stupid mandatory volunteering was over. Her pleated skirt was never intended for climbing ladders. And high school boys were predictable in their capacity for lechery. And changing was out of the question.
    She rounded the corner to the front of the building where she saw her car—a sight that sang liberty. Two trucks, both mud-caked Chevys, also sat in the lot across from hers. Three or four students stood in and around them. She gave a glance at the small, laughing group who seemed intent on something she couldn’t see. She imagined a rabbit or cat they were making life miserable for and frowned, but kept walking.
    “That’s at least a three-pointer!” One of them yelled, and they all cackled.
    At first, Cynthia continued to ignore them. She was certain she would not find whatever they were laughing at as hilarious as they. Then, as she got closer, she caught a glimpse of their target. It was the homeless guy—which summed up about all Cynthia knew about him. Hell, it was all anyone knew about him. He was the unwanted mascot of Black Oaks, who stumbled about town mumbling to himself, his long, oily hair always sticking to his pale, dirty face. Right then he was a ball on the ground, encircled by beer and cola cans, fast food cups. Someone threw a pocket full of change at him. At the sight, Cynthia achieved the high point in her righteous indignation and marched over.
    “Leave the freaking retard alone, guys!” She said.
    “We’re just having some fun, Cynthia. Chill out. Hit the bum, get a stuffed animal! I got a can with your name on it...” The guy, some senior whose name she couldn’t place, finished in a sing-songy voice, rattling a crushed Bud Light can at her.
    “Oh, does it say ‘slut’?” one of the girls asked to more laughter, which Cynthia ignored.
    “Karma’s a bitch, boys,” Cynthia said.
    “Don’t believe in karma,” a tall, square-headed blonde said and took the can, lobbing it at the homeless man. “But,” he looked around the bed of the truck, “we’re out of cans. Perfect