The Bitch Posse by Martha O'Connor Read Free Book Online Page A

snow flings itself onto my windshield. I press my cigarette to my lips, the Smiths’ “How Soon Is Now?” streaming from the car stereo. Morrissey wails, and I pull the smoke in hard, burning away the fight at home. It’s not a part of me, it doesn’t matter. I turn up the music because there’s just something about Morrissey, how you know his heart is breaking, how you want to reach through the music and give him a hug. And I know just how he feels, aching to be loved and being disappointed every. Fucking. Time.
    Tonight the Bitch Posse, Cherry and Rennie and I, are meeting at the college to hook up with some guys from the People’s Think Tank who hang out late nights in the Student Union smoking, drinking coffee, and debating politics. A year ago I would’ve been cruising Greek Row with Pammie McFadden and Debbie Ridgeway, but last year Iwas fluffy and stupid. Or I pretended to be. Besides, unlike the Greeks, who in my experience subscribe to the bang-’em-and-forget-’em philosophy, the People’s Think Tank guys actually call the next day. Sometimes they even want to hang out for coffee or go see college bands in the basement of the Psych Building. Of course, I’m no brain like Rennie, no debater like Cherry. The truth is that Brandon’s uncomplicated and unneedy, and he looks good next to me, and I’m the kind of girl who needs someone next to her.
    I pull into a parking spot. Man, it’s icy. I push away the memory of swearwords, screams, the constant and never-resolved fight over Callie. The scene’s predictable, every movement choreographed. Dad suggests, for the millionth time, bringing Callie home. Mom, for the millionth time, says no and launches into a long list of reasons it’s a bad idea. Dad pours a scotch and soda that’s mainly scotch. Mom turns on the television and mixes a screwdriver. Dad tells Mom,
Barb, you’re being selfish.
Mom says,
Fuck off, Rich.
The drinks pour again. The voices get louder. I put on my coat, swipe a bottle of anything from the liquor cabinet, grab my mittens, and get the hell out.
    I wait for the song to finish and pull my backpack off the passenger seat. Cherry’s truck is three spaces away, thank God. I hate being the first one here, because usually the People’s Think Tank guys want to know our opinions on world events. Rennie knows way more than me, and Cherry can bullshit her way around any subject, but I sit there like an openmouthed fool. Which is fine if all three of us or even two of us are here—I can be the pretty, mysterious one—but last week I was alone for twenty fucking minutes before Cherry and Rennie showed up, and Brandon asked me my opinion of the situation in El Salvador. The only thing I could think of was a line from a Peter, Paul, and Mary song that Mom likes, and I actually fucking blurted it out! Actually forced my lips around this bullshit about the breezes blowing in El Salvador. Oh, my God! What anidiot! They thought I was making a joke. Brandon even said, “You’re damn cute, Amy.”
    Yeah, it’s weird, my parents. They used to be hippies, I guess. According to pictures. Mom always says,
Stand up for what you believe in, Amy.
    But I don’t believe in anything. Not anymore.
    At least that El Salvador thing turned out okay. Brandon and I had a pretty good time in the back of the Mustang later, the heater running full blast in the parking lot, Morrissey making love to me with his voice (yeah, he’s gay and depressed, but he wouldn’t be either of those things if he knew
me),
the clicks of Brandon’s kisses on my neck interrupting the music. I let him take my top off, and tonight, if he wants to, I’ll let him do more. That’s just the kind of girl I am.
    I get out of the car. The icy wind whips around me, roars in my ears, scorches my cheeks.
    I’m not sure, exactly, what I thought I’d change by hanging out with the Bitch Posse. I’m still the same old Amy, still cruising for guys, still hoping to get laid. They just have