Drama was the last class of the day, and Ruthie remembered exclaiming happily over this fact with Amelia last year when they'd been planning their schedules, because they lived more or less in the same direction, and they could walk home from school together, or detour over to Elm Street and stop in at Starbucks or the ice cream place if they wanted.

Therefore it should've come as no surprise when Ruthie felt Amelia's hand on her shoulder as she angled across the parking lot under the hot sun and headed for home.

"Ruthie, wait up," Amelia asked, her voice blending into the relaxed mix of sounds that descended on a school after the last bell. 

Ruthie shook Amelia's hand off her shoulder and kept walking.

"Ruthie, please! We've been good friends for a long time."

Ruthie heard the words and turned around.

"Are you kidding me?" she asked, two spots of red appearing on her normally very pale face. "You're trying to get me to talk to you by bringing up our friendship?"

Amelia looked around to make sure no one was watching them, and smoothed her blonde hair back over her shoulder.

"See, that's your problem, right there," Ruthie continued. "Even now, when you're supposedly wanting to discuss our deep and lifelong friendship with me, you're worried about people watching us, and how you look to them."

Ruthie stepped closer to her friend. 

"I don't give a shit how I look to anyone," she declared, her voice loud and piercing.

Amelia flinched, and once again, looked around to see who was watching or listening.

"You know why?" Ruthie continued. "Because I haven't done anything to feel guilty about!" she practically shouted.

She whirled and continued walking home, her backpack with the Hamilton logo on it banging against her back with every step she took.

"Ruthie!" Amelia hurried after her friend. "Please, Ruthie. I'm sorry, I can't help but worry a little about how I look. I wasn't born with a gorgeous face and body like you, you know? I don't have perfect bone structure and hair that always looks like I just came from a salon, either."

Ruthie took a deep breath and stopped, turning to face Amelia. She looked into her blue eyes for a beat before asking, "Okay, fine. What do you want, then? What?"

"Well," Amelia stammered, "I don't know, I guess I was just hoping we could talk, you know? Today was awful, Ruthie! Linda, Pepsi, none of them would say word one to me. When they saw me, they just looked right through me, it was like I wasn't even there!"

"Boo-fucking-hoo, Amelia," Ruthie retorted. "You have all those other guys, Brett's gang, Lauren, Paige, Brenna, Shane, Leroy?  As far as Pepsi and them, what did you expect? They're my friends, and you stole my boyfriend!"

"I did not!" Amelia responded, eyes flashing. "You guys broke up! That's what he said, that's what you said, too! Were you lying?"

"No," Ruth responded. She motioned with her head that they should at least move to the shade of some of the trees that were in the parking lot, which was already nearly empty. They could hear the whine and whiz of the cars that were using nearby highway 99. "But it hadn't even been a day, my god!"

"But, Ruthie, you know how popular Brett is, he has girls lined up around the block wanting to date him," Amelia objected. "Come on! He's hot, he has his own truck, he plays football, he's eighteen already, he's really popular and he's friends with all the best people--" Amelia shrugged. "I'm not like you," she said again, by way of explanation. "People don't just automatically like me and want to be with me. I'm not just smart and beautiful and popular like you--"

"Oh, Amelia," Ruthie interrupted. "You're such a pretty girl. And you're so smart. Can't you see how wonderful you are?"

 But Amelia was shaking her head. "This might be my only chance to be with someone like Brett," she went on. "So when he called me what did you expect me to say? Let me check with my best friend first?"

"When he called you?" Ruthie repeated.

Amelia nodded. "He called to see if I wanted to go for ice cream and to see a movie, and he said you guys were through, and he'd been wanting to go out with me anyway."

Ruthie sighed.

"You know why we broke up?" she asked, wiping her forehead with the corner of her shirt.

Amelia wouldn't make eye contact with Ruthie, but nodded her head. 

"I don't get that at all, Ruthie," she finally said. "Like I said, Brett's hot, and it's not like it's a big deal or anything. And it's not even like he won't use a condom, like some guys, you know? He's really nice about it, and it can sometimes be kind of fun, kind of nice. It's really not so bad." She took a step closer to Ruthie and lowered her voice. "Brett said you wouldn't even blow him, that you wouldn't even give him a hand job. Is that true?"

"That's none of your business," Ruthie said, looking her friend in the eye.

"He also said that you wouldn't even let him touch you, like, anywhere, even after you'd been going out for months," Amelia went on, her voice hushed. "How could you do that? Especially to a guy like Brett? I mean, he's an athlete, Ruthie, he has needs, you must know that. It's not healthy for you to treat him like that."

Ruthie just stared at Amelia. "Who told you that?" she finally asked, shaking her head. In all their years of friendship, she'd never heard her best friend talk like this.

Amelia just looked at her.

"You know what? I don't even want to know," Ruthie finally said. "Can we just agree to disagree? I mean, whatever, really. You have Brett now, so please, just be on your way. I'll tell the guys to wave when they see you, okay? Bye."

Ruthie shouldered her back pack and set off across the parking lot once more, hoping Amelia would stop following her. 

By the time she got to the overpass, she could no longer hear her footsteps, so she knew her friend had given up.

Ruthie heaved a sigh of relief and crossed the freeway, looking forward to entering her cool house and having a cold drink and some cuddle time with her cat. She'd have the house to herself because Dad had to be at a deposition this afternoon, she remembered.

As she came down from the overpass, she heard the honk of a familiar truck.

Fuck.

"What do you want?" she asked Brett, who had pulled up alongside her.

"Get in," he said through the rolled down window.

She could feel the cool air flowing toward her, and it was enticing, but him being in the same space definitely was not. Ruthie could remember all too well the nights after the movies or the bowling, he'd start trying to maneuver her into doing something she didn't want to do, or he'd start trying to take her shirt off, or some other thing Ruthie just couldn't stomach.

"I'm fine out here," she answered, hoping she didn't look too sweaty.

"Ruthie, come on, it's a hundred five out there right now," Brett argued. "Just get in the motherfucking truck, just for a couple minutes, please. I just want to talk to you."

Ruthie looked at him. He'd obvously just finished physical ed, because his dark hair was still wet from the shower. His brown eyes, which had looked so appealing, like puppy dog eyes to her before, now just looked petulant and demanding.

Ruthie shook her head. "I'm fine, thanks," she answered.

"God dammit," he said, obviously frustrated. He finally turned off the engine and got out.

"Hotter than a fucking brick oven," he muttered as he came around to stand on the sidewalk next to her. "Can we at least stand in some shade?" he asked.

"Sure," she answered with a careless shrug, following him to the shade of the Mussman's huge crepe myrtle. It was in full, riotous bloom, and had gorgeous lavender blossoms all over it.

She turned to him, arms crossed, the same way she had to Amelia a few minutes before in the school parking lot. She wondered in passing if he knew about that conversation, and finally decided that he didn't, he'd probably driven straight to this side of town after his shower.

"So? What do you want?" she asked, shaking her hair back.

"Wow, still mad, I guess," he said with a little grin. "You look really good today," he added, gesturing at her outfit. "Good choice for the first day of school."

"Thank you," she replied. She'd chosen a gray and pink checked sleeveless shirt with large mother-of-pearl buttons, and a gray suede skirt, with strappy sandals. 

Brett was always fast and loose with compliments, though he rarely meant them. Ruthie knew if she asked him tomorrow what she'd been wearing today, he wouldn't remember.

"I just wanted to tell you I missed you today, baby," Brett said, taking a step closer to her.

"I guess you shouldn't have broken up with me, then," Ruthie answered, taking a step back to compensate. "And don't call me baby, I'm not your baby anymore."

Brett drew his eyebrows together and reached out a hand to stroke Ruthie's arm. He could barely reach, so he took another step closer, and put his hand on her shoulder.

"God, you have such beautiful skin," Brett said, his voice smooth in the afternoon heat. "I love your skin, it's like caramel, you know? I've said that before, right?"

He had. Caramel, honey, all that good stuff, right before he asked her to take her shirt off.

Ruthie took another step back, and stepped into the crepe myrtle, where it promptly shed its blossoms, which looked like they were made of bits of crepe paper, all over her. 

Great.

"Oh no, babe! Here, let me help," Brett said, stepping forward to brush the blossoms from her hair and body.

"No, Brett, I'm fine, please, just leave me alone," Ruth said, her voice firm. "Have you said what you wanted to say?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Brett responded. "I wanted to say that I miss you, babe, so much."

"Well, like I said, that's irrelevant, because you broke up with me, and you're now dating Amelia, so we'll just have to leave things as they are, okay?" Ruth said, folding her arms and looking up at Brett. She tried not to notice his broad shoulders and nice body in general.

Brett sighed and nodded, conceding.

"I got it. I'll go," he said. "Aren't you even going to hug me goodbye?" he asked, looking at her hopefully. "Come out from under the bush and hug me, Ruthie," he entreated.

Ruthie shook her head firmly. "Please, just go, Brett," she told him. "I'll see you at school tomorrow, okay?"

He finally nodded again, got into his truck, and drove away, honking twice as he pulled away from the curb.

Once Ruthie was sure he was really gone, she took her backpack off and reached up to where her hair touched the branches of the crepe myrtle, and began to pull at her crazy curly hair. She hadn't wanted Brett to know, because it was so undignified, but the truth was that when she'd walked backwards into the tree, she'd immediately become completely ensnared in its tiny, bloom covered branches.

Shit.

She could tell she was going to be here a while, trying to get herself out of this. Please god don't let anyone she knew see her while she was doing this. 

As she unsnarled her hair from the branches, she tried to remember if she had any scissors in her backpack. She was pretty sure she didn't.

Dammit.

She considered calling someone, but she knew that Pepsi was watching her brothers, Linda was at work, and Gordon was at some appointment.

She was on her own.

She twisted some more of her hair, but she couldn't tell if she untwisting it, or twisting it more, if she were going to be honest with herself. She really needed to be able to see what she was doing. And sometimes she felt like she was retwisting hair she'd already untwisted. 

She wondered if she should've asked Brett to stay and help her. She knew that if he'd just done it, right at the beginning, it wouldn't be this bad. This was like tangled yarn, that wasn't so bad at the start, but got progressively worse, the more you tried to untangle it.

Ruthie wondered if the Mussmans were home.

"What in the hell are you doing, if I might ask?"

Oh no.

It was surly angry crying Elliott.

"My hair got tangled in this crepe myrtle and I'm trying to untangle it," Ruthie replied, as if it should be obvious to anyone.

She turned to find him regarding her with that insouciant grin on his face, standing in that slouchy way, hands in his pockets.

"Well, okay then," he responded. "I was going to offer assistance, but since you so obviously have things well in hand, I'll just be on my way," he said, and Ruthie could hear the laughter in his voice.

"Stop," she said, cutting him off. "Please, just stop being an asshole for one minute and help me, please." She glared at him. 

"An asshole?" Elliott repeated.

"I can call you a wanker if you prefer," Ruthie replied.

"Goodness, you were so much nicer to me at school," Elliott said, his smile returning to his face. He smoothed his pony tail back. "I have to ask, I suppose: Are you schizophrenic? Or are you one of those many American teens who suffers from ADHD?" He looked at her with polite interest.

Ruthie took a deep, calming breath. "You're right, and I'm sorry for being so rude. I shouldn't have called you a name. Would you please come and help me?"

"Sure!" Elliott replied. He put his backpack down and sauntered over, amiability and goodwill written all over his face.

Ruthie bit her lip and grimly hung on to her temper.

Elliott reached over her head and went to work on her bountiful, curly hair.

"So, erm, what color would you call your hair, exactly?" he asked, and that was when Ruthie realized how close his face was to hers. He was three or four inches taller than her, and he was so close she could feel the warm puffs of air he exhaled when he talked on her face.

She carefully looked up at him as she answered. "Uh, it's kind of brownish-orangish-blondish-red," she said. He was almost too handsome to be real this close up, she saw. His skin was very white, his cheekbones very pronounced and high, like a model. He didn't seem to have much in the way of facial hair, just like she'd noticed in drama class, so he obviously shaved regularly, and his eyes were a beautiful blue-green, the elusive, unnameable hazel. Brown hair sprang away from his temples and was pulled neatly into the ponytail.

He looked down at her and smiled as she spoke, though she could feel his busy hands in her hair, working to separate her from the beautiful tree with its purple blossoms. His hands in her hair was actually kind of nice.

Kind of hot.

"Brownish-orangish-blondish-red?" he repeated. "I guess that about covers it," he agreed. "It's quite lovely," he said. "I hope you don't mind my saying that," he added, and she could see the slight flush around his collarbones, and how it crept slowly up his neck, as that part of him was right in front of her."I mean, I hope that wasn't too forward of me?"

She shook her head, just a little. "No, that's okay," she assured him.

"There!" he said a few minutes later. "All sorted."

Ruthie immediately stepped away from the tree, before it could treacherously grab her hair again.

"Good thinking," Elliott said when he saw her.

"Hey," Ruthie said quickly, before she could lose her nerve. "You want to come over?"