Free Saturday Night by Caroline B. Cooney

had gotten donated for the evening. “Come sit with us after you get some food.”
    “I’m fine,” said Anne quietly, just to Beth, and Beth had the strangest sensation of having been given some sort of message.
    “Here’s your plate,” said Gary, handing her a small paper one with a Thanksgiving-type design of turkeys and cornucopias and a dark orange napkin. She glanced back at Anne, but Anne’s back was to her now. It must have been the light, thought Beth. This is my night to fall into fantasies that mean nothing.
    “Thank you,” she said to Gary. What is Gary thinking? she wondered. Is he trying to figure out why I’m here alone? What is he planning for his evening? Why did he come alone—he of all people? Am I, Beth Rose Chapman, really going to sit out the dance with Anne Stephens, Con Winter, and Gary Anthony?
    Gary took her arm—she who had never had a boy escort her anywhere, ever—and they walked back to where Con and Anne were sitting. It took real juggling on Gary’s part to manage his plate, his drink, and her arm. All that waitering at his father’s restaurant, she thought, but she didn’t kid him; she had no idea what Gary would consider amusing.
    Anne was grateful for the food. If she couldn’t hang onto Con, at least she could hang onto a plate and a plastic cup of cider. She watched her fingers, and the fingers seemed very calm considering the position their owner was in. I’m falling apart, thought Anne. It’s going to hit me right now, right here, in public.
    She looked at Con, and he looked away instantly, saying, “Here comes Gary. Doesn’t Beth look fantastic?”
    “Lovely,” said Anne mechanically.
    Where do you stand, Con? she thought. With me … or away from me?
    She felt no particular need to return Gary’s smile. Gary was an unusual person, Anne had always thought. He drifted. Friendly, yes, to everybody; she thought if she were to mention any name at all, Gary would say, “Oh, he’s a friend of mine” and mean it. But nobody attached themselves to Gary; not male friends, not girlfriends. Gary kept more distance between himself and other people than anyone she had ever known. And yet he was totally likable.
    Maybe he’s wiser than I, thought Anne. If I had kept a little more distance between Con and me. …
    She stared at Beth Rose. Beth had a transparent otherworldly aura, as if she had stepped out of some other existence to join them. Where did you come from? thought Anne giddily. Let me go there, too. Maybe it’s safe.
    The boys talked college football.
    Their words were so much babble to her.
    Babble. Babies babbled. What would a real-life baby be like? Instead of senior year. Instead of a life of her own. This other little person’s life. A person who would be around for eighteen years. I’m not even eighteen yet, thought Anne. I’m seventeen. I’ll have to take care of this person longer than I’ve even been alive.

Chapter 8
    W HEN KIP AND RODDY arrived at Westerly High, the doorman opened the passenger side to escort the girl in while the boy parked the car and got soaked running back. Sopping wet, but still impressive in his uniform, the doorman was surprised to find Roddy when he whipped open the door. He looked at Kip, whose long gown was still pulled back over her knees so it wouldn’t tangle when she shifted. “Perhaps your passenger could park the car for you, miss,” he suggested, “and I’ll walk you indoors.”
    Kip thought, Well, I certainly hired the right man here. She started to get out. Roddy said weakly, “Except that I can’t drive a car with manual transmission, Kip. Both our cars have automatic.” He gave her a pitiful smile. “Otherwise I’d be glad to.”
    Too stupid even to drive a real car! thought Kip, loathing him. She, who was usually the first to sympathize, the first to offer comfort, ignored the misery on Roddy’s face. Tonight she felt she could safely hold him responsible for all her own woes. “That’s all