Free Saturday Night by Caroline B. Cooney Page A

right, Roddy,” she said rather nastily. “I’ll get soaked walking back and we’ll be a matched pair.”
    Naturally the only parking place left had puddles on both sides. Kip stepped out into two inches of cold water, ruining her satin slippers. She was so disgusted she almost didn’t bother to lift her long skirt, either, but at the last second conceded she didn’t want to ruin it, too, so they ran together through the puddles, Kip holding her skirts very high.
    But once inside, her spirits lifted slightly. They’d run into two other couples, who entered the parking lot by the back and had not known there was a doorman in front, so all four of them were soaked, too. Laughing the way people do when they share a misfortune, the girls fixed each other’s hair, commented sadly on the state of their shoes, and the boys wiped themselves down as if they’d come from showers, and rolled their eyes at each other.
    And nothing could have been more wonderful than walking into what only that morning had been a mere school cafeteria.
    Every inch of it was Kip’s—and every inch was perfect. Kip got tears in her eyes looking. The band was playing, the decorations were perfect, and perfectly lighted, the food was being gobbled, and everybody looked happy and beautiful.
    “Kip!” exclaimed Roddy. “You did a grand job.”
    Yeah, she thought. Too bad I couldn’t arrive with somebody grand as well.
    They followed the scarlet runner she had installed just that afternoon. Every single couple they passed broke away from whatever they were doing to compliment her on the fantastic job she’d done.
    “Oh, Kip!” came the cries. “Wonderful! I’m having such a good time!”
    “Kip! It looks so terrific. You did such a good job!”
    “Kip! If you hadn’t agreed to chair this dance, the administration wouldn’t have let us have it again this year. It’s because of you we have this at all!”
    Kip bloomed.
    She no longer felt wet and scraggly and worthless. She didn’t even feel angry at Roddy for being alive. She felt proud and happy, and when she glanced his way, he was smiling timidly at her, as if they really had something in common and had come together as willing dates, not a pair of last minute losers.
    Anne Stephens kissed Kip on both cheeks. Anne did things like that. She always seemed so much more secure and sophisticated than anybody else. Kip felt it was having Con around that did it. With a person like that at your side, week in and week out, you could cope with anything. “Lovely work, Kip,” said Anne, in her mellow voice.
    Kip loved Anne’s speaking voice, “I know I’ve told you a hundred times, Anne, but you have to go into radio or television with that voice and your looks.”
    To Kip’s surprise, Anne didn’t answer. She looked oddly bitter and frantic and she simply walked off.
    “That was odd,” Kip said to Roddy. Roddy said, “What was odd?” and Kip realized Roddy had seen nothing amiss; in fact he was looking after Anne dreamily, as one half in love. Oh, you fink! thought Kip. Even you have to dream of somebody better!
    “Let’s get something to eat,” Roddy suggested.
    Kip was always ready to eat, and anyhow, since she’d ordered all that food, she needed to check out the quality. They walked toward the barnboard shed, where junior high boys were lugging in more cases of soda, and bringing hot trays in from the kitchen—and there stood Molly Nelmes and Christopher Vann.
    Kip had never liked Molly. Molly didn’t buy candy bars when the school band was raising money for new uniforms; Molly wouldn’t take an hour to sell school pins when the basketball team was raising money for summer basketball camp scholarships; Molly wouldn’t sign the petition to get the student parking lot resurfaced. She wouldn’t even raise her hand to vote during student government meetings because she skipped them and went shopping instead. Molly never got in trouble, either, because the principal was a