Free Playing Nice by Rebekah Crane

girls' pants in public. Everything about this party feels awkwardly open. No one seems to care what other people think, and I don't know whether I want to embrace it or run screaming into the dark.
    I find Lil standing on the bank of the lake, talking to a guy I don't know. Her gold shirt shimmers in the moonlight and almost reflects on the water. It's the first time I've seen her actually bright. I watch the scene for a second, trying to decide if I should politely interrupt or wait for their conversation to be over. My mom always says I need to be better at picking my moments.
    The guy leans into Lil's face, kissing her on the cheek. At first, I'm jealous. Even Lil, Mrs. Grim Reaper, the goddess of night, emo-goth-hate-the-world chick, gets kissed. WHY? Am I lacking a gene or something, maybe a kissing chromosome doctors haven't discovered yet, and I'm destined for a spinster life like Jane Austen and Queen Elizabeth? I'm about to turn around and wait for Lil on the picnic bench, but then I realize that the cigarette in her hand looks weird, like her fingers are having a hard time holding on to it.
    Then Lil smacks the guy's face away, and I freeze.
    "Get the hell away from me, Grandpa!" Lil yells, her shimmery shirt blowing in the breeze off the lake.
    But he doesn't. He grabs her around the waist and pulls her hard to him, this time kissing her mouth and neck and shoving his hand up her shirt. It isn't nice, but forced. He even pulls her hair. When Lil's cigarette drops from her hand, I know she's in trouble. I don't know Lil well, but I do know she loves to smoke.
    I walk up to them, a weird fluttery feeling in my stomach, like an internal motor propelling me forward even though my mind has no idea what I'm doing.
    "I want to go home now," I say to Lil, practically stomping my foot into the ground.
    The guy holding her drops his arms and looks at me. He has a creepy goatee, one that's pencil thin, and black eyes. I stand with my two feet in the sand, knees locked. I want to appear strong, so he won't try to kiss me the way he did Lil.
    She looks at me with glazed, bloodshot eyes.
    "Well, if it isn't the nicest person in Minster High." She slurs her words together so they sound like one big word.
    "I want to go home." I say the words again with more force, so Lil knows she doesn't have a choice and the guy next to her will leave.
    "I think she wants to stay with me," the guy says, grabbing Lil's arm and tugging her close to him. Lil barely reacts, slumping into his side, her head bobbling like it's on a stick. It's so not like her and I think in this moment I know Lil better than I thought because never once have I seen her take a single step that she doesn't mean. And I don't like the way the guy holds her arm, like she might have a bruise tomorrow from his strong grip. I stomp over and yank her away.
    "She's my ride and I have a curfew. Clearly you don't because you are, like, 35. I suggest you find someone else at this party as geriatric as you and make them kiss you." The words come out smooth and steady without me even thinking. A verbal punch in his slimy gut. I pull Lil away from the side of the lake, making sure to keep my back straight. Posture tells a person exactly how you feel about yourself.
    Even though I don't know how I feel right now. My body is floating above me in a panicked, excited way.
    It's hard to get Lil's feet to move; she's all gimpy and heavy, so I hook my arm around her waist and use everything I can muster to hold her up. I heard once about a kid who picked up a car when his mother was stuck underneath it. They say he was able to do it because of adrenaline. As I walk away, that's exactly how I feel. A hot rush of something I'm not used to is coursing through my veins. I don't stop walking until we are at her car.
    Grabbing keys out of Lil's pocket, I unlock the door and plop her into the passenger seat. "Are you okay?" I finally ask, out of breath, my arms shaking from fatigue and nerves.