Free Saturday Night by Caroline B. Cooney Page B

typical male who responded to her charms just like all the other boys.
    As for Christopher, Kip had worked with him when she was a sophomore and he a senior. Christopher had a lot going for him, but he had a real tendency to take credit for the work being done by his committee. In Kip’s opinion, when Christopher applied to college, half his application was lies. He hadn’t done much; he’d just been there and taken credit for it. But how was a college to know? Even most of the kids didn’t, because Christopher was such a glad-hand politician they thought he was working, too. Only the really hard workers like Kip knew he was half real, half cheat.
    And tonight … wholly drunk.
    For a moment Kip was scared. Could he have gotten drunk here ? If there was so much as a whiff of liquor at this school there would never be another dance as long as she lived.
    If those two slobs sneaked booze into my dance, I’ll kill them, she thought. She had a quick sip from each punch bowl, but no. One was a ginger ale and sherbet mix, the other spiced apple cider. Almost everybody was having soda, though.
    The first thing Kip said to them was, “So, Christopher, what are you doing home from Harvard?”
    “Slumming,” said Christopher promptly.
    Molly laughed.
    Kip flushed. Her dance was a slum compared to a Harvard dance—was that what he meant? Now when she looked at her beautiful decorations, they seemed very amateurish and spotty, and they embarrassed her.
    To Roddy, Christopher said, “Who are you, kid? You look sorta familiar.”
    Next to Christopher, Roddy did look like a kid—scrawny and unformed. However, Christopher was getting heavier. Kip debated saying so out loud and decided against it.
    “This,” said Molly in a lazy drawl, “is my little Roddy. When I don’t have anything else to do, I go out with him. Remember? He was hanging around me at the Pou-Belle?”
    This was so clearly true, by the way Roddy flushed and hung his head, that Kip wanted to smack them both. Why did Roddy cringe like that? Why didn’t he stand up to Molly? He should laugh at her, or shrug, not dwindle into a puddle.
    Christopher laughed, loudly and drunkenly. “He’s really the bottom of the barrel, Molly. Thought you could do better. Look, there’s even a barrel over here. We could toss out all those stupid apples and stuff old Roddy in and see if he falls to the bottom.”
    “He will,” said Molly with conviction.
    Roddy wilted even more. It made Kip furious that she had to be the one who talked back to Molly. “You don’t exactly rise like cream to the top, yourself, you know, Molly,” said Kip sharply. “In fact, if I had to define where you stand, I’d say that—”
    “Let it go, Kip,” said Roddy, touching her arm. Not taking it, no—nothing so forceful.
    “You’re going to let her talk about you like that?” demanded Kip.
    “Just drop it, okay?” mumbled Roddy. “People are looking at us.”
    “At us , maybe,” said Christopher. “ You they don’t even see, Roddy.”
    In a last desperate effort to remove himself, Roddy said, “Let’s dance, Kip.”
    The last thing she wanted to do was dance. She wanted to throw Molly and Christopher out. She glared at Roddy, and now he cringed from her . Kip turned her back on Roddy. Her skirt swirled noisily, adding a flourish of sound effects to her gesture. She stalked away from all of them.
    “Great dance, Kip,” said a voice.
    She managed a smile, and looked up, trying to keep her anger at Roddy, Molly, and Christopher off her face.
    It was Gary.
    Only the handsomest boy she’d ever had a crush on. A flush of delight came to Kip’s cheeks. Gary had an elusive style. Nobody quite knew where he stood, only that it would be nice to stand there with him. Kip’s heart raced. “Thank you,” she said, thinking, we could dance. Oh, Gary, ask me to dance!
    His arm circled another girl.
    It was—Kip stared in disbelief—it was Beth Rose Chapman.
    She almost said out loud,