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

a different label, People’s Think Tank instead of Sigma Nu, Doc Martens instead of the Gap. But at least my friends are true friends now.
    I’m pretty sure.
    The snow’s a fucking mile high, and someone’s plowed a skinny pathway to the Student Union. I scoop up a fingerful of frosting with my mitten and let the flakes play over the yarn. As I toss the snow into the air, a bit sticks to my fingers, and like a little girl, I lick off the rest.
    When I push open the door I see Cherry, chatting with Sam and Brandon and the guy with dark hair who never talks, just sits there staring. I think his name is Kent. She sees me and waves me over.
    Sometimes I wonder what she and Rennie really think of me. In my old crowd, most of the girls hated each other’s guts, spread rumors, backstabbed. I was probably the biggest bitch of them all. But my new friends are more complicated, or at least they show more of themselvesto me. Rennie’s virginal, perfect, holy almost, saving herself for marriage, pouring her passion into her poetry and her acting. And Cherry’s hard, tough as nails. She’s been around the block a few times, but the only guy she’s let into her heart is Sam. They’ve been together since forever. They’ll probably get married or something.
    And then there’s me, flighty Amy. Half the time I’m convinced they’ll figure out who I really am and drop me.
    They haven’t yet.
    I hurry toward their table. Cherry’s probably high already since she has the coolest mom in the world. Her mom wants Cherry and us to call her Marian, and she doesn’t care how long Cherry stays out as long as she’s home by dawn. More than once she’s joined us in Cherry’s room to get stoned. And get this! Cherry doesn’t even have to buy her own pot! Her mom buys it once a week and keeps it in this little box in the kitchen. Cherry can help herself. How cool is that?
    “Hey, Cherry!” I call across the Union and join her and the guys. Brandon pushes his blond hair away from his face, and his gaze lingers on my breasts. If I was Cherry, I’d say something snappy like “I’m up here,” but I don’t have the nerve. I don’t care anyway.
    Cherry blows a couple smoke rings, then whooshes out the rest and drops her cigarette into the ashtray that’s surrounded by a flurry of papers advertising a rally about something I don’t have the energy to try to understand. “Hey, Aim. How’s it going?”
    I throw my backpack under the table and scoot a chair next to Brandon. “Are you stoned?” I peer into her eyes.
    “No, damn it. I don’t even have any on me. Are you?”
    “You disappoint me, Cherry. I’m not the one who has a pot dispenser in my kitchen. Brought some of this, though.” I unzip my backpack and show her the bottle of Smirnoff I’ve nabbed.
    “Oh, Aim comes through again!”
    Sam and Brandon are only twenty, and I’m assuming Kent is too, so a bottle of vodka is much appreciated among them as well and theyecho Cherry’s delight. Cherry slides her pack of Marlboros toward me. I pull out a cigarette, lift it to my lips, and light it with Cherry’s Zippo. The smell of lighter fluid opens my nostrils, and I have a strange impulse to push the flame closer to my face, to make it burn, just a little. . . .
    I snap the lighter shut and zip up the vodka for now. We’ll head down to the basement of the Psych Building and drink it later. Security types hang out at the Student Union, and getting drunk or stoned there is asking for trouble.
    In a way, Callie explains the numerous bottles of scotch and vodka that go out in the trash each week. The drinking bothers me less than the fighting. Hell, I’m no angel when it comes to booze, and they know that, God do they ever. Callie’s the angel. Her blond hair curls around her face, catches the light from the window, falls over her shoulders. She’s never had the chance to do anything wrong.
    Callie. Why can’t I stop thinking about her? Dad’s words to Mom are knives,