Free The Taming of the Drew by Jan Gurley

would be the least of my worries. Probably. But there was no talking to Mr. Gremio when he was like this. “I’m going to a dance tonight,” I said, hoping that would end the discussion.
    “I’m warning you,” he said, “if you’re falling in with a bad crowd, I’ll start assigning you Saturday night shifts. That’ll put a stop to your shenanigans. You better watch your step, missy.”
    I sighed and slapped a six-pack of chili-dogs into a Family Carrier. Like all my friends, I worked at the one place where I could find a regular Saturday morning shift available. Working on school nights made homework impossible, and even if you didn’t have a social life, working Friday and Saturday nights made you feel like a serious loser. All of my friends worked the same kind of Saturday shifts I did.
    Which is why I was surprised when the Greenbacks started showing up 45 minutes before my shift was over.
    Hot dog steam coalesced into the shape of Gremio at my elbow. “Don’t even think about stealing dogs for your friends,” he said. “I count them, you know.”
    I pinched a broken-in-half hotdog with my tongs and raised it so that he could see the exploded end curling out like a poisonous flesh-flower. “Does this count as 0.6 or 0.7 of a dog?”
    I expected him to say something like, “Get smart with me, young lady, and you’ll…you’ll…”
    Instead he flicked a glance at the amputated dog and said, without hesitating, “0.67.”
    Okay, now that was just scary. I took off my apron and sped out of there precisely as the second-hand nailed 5 o’clock.

    ***

    “Don’t be angry at Tio,” said Viola.  
    We were crammed into my thin-walled bedroom, Greenbacks standing in a circle around the twin bed that took up all the space.
    “I’m not angry,” I barked at Viola. Ever since I’d made the deal with Mrs. Bullard yesterday, something hard and afraid stuck inside me, a cold rock in my chest.  
    Helena said, “Kate, Tio should have told us. Besides, we won’t tell.”
    Viola said, “Cross our hearts and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.”
    Somehow, the graphic nature of that childhood rhyme sounded downright creepy coming out of Viola’s mouth. There was a moment of silence while we all contemplated the image.
    She added, “Or, instead, maybe, you could give me a wedgie?”  
    As I laughed, that rock of fear in my chest vibrated, then crumbled, until only a smear was left. I smiled at Viola and felt like crying at the same time. “All right, you got a deal.” I looked around the room. “Anyone talks, it’s wedgie-time.”
    I must have contaminated the others with my stiff, cold fear because the minute I made the wedgie-threat, everyone let out a gush of air, like they’d been holding their breath without realizing it. My bedroom erupted in chatter.
    Helena clapped her hands. “People! People! There’s not much time here and we’ve got a lot to do!”
    “Listen,” I said over the dwindling talk, “I appreciate the support, but you don’t all have to stay to help me get ready.”
    Tio and Gonzo looked confused, then horror-struck, like the idea that they’d help me get ready for a school dance was appalling. Everyone else shifted in place, like I’d said something wrong, but no one wanted to explain.
    Phoebe said, “We’re all going.”
    “But…but…” If you don’t understand Legacy High School's social scene, you probably don’t understand the shock-terror effect this announcement had on me.  
    The way it works is that certain kids actually take a class, one period a day, called Leadership. They even get academic credit for it, and a grade (an A).
    Leadership is always Uni students. But you can’t be merely a University student — Leadership is for the truly popular University students with enough money to bankroll major activities and moms who can devote themselves full-time to fund-raising, bulk purchasing, and decorating for those activities. If you wanted to be hated on