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For the next hour they talked abuot what they would wear to the dance, rehashed the latest summer rerun of The Mod Squad, and gossiped about teachers, espeically Mr. Petersen, the trig teacher they were scheduled to have next year, who, it was rumored, had terrible breath. Yes, she had finally "arrived." She wasn't just looking in anymore; she was in the middle of everything. More than that, she sensed that other girls were starting to envy her. Envy her. Well, why not? She had popular friedns, she had won the lead in the school play, and now she was going to the homecoming dance with a boy she really liked.
"Oh my God, I've got to go," she said with alarm as she looked at her watch.
"It's only 10:15," Julie said. "Don't be a deadbeat. There's no school for another-"
"I'm not even supposed to be here. My mom's probably calling the police right now."
She stood up and pulled her windbreaker on, catching her long blonde hair in the collar. In one smooth motion, she lifted her hand behind her neck, grabbed her hair like a cord of rope and lifted it free, so that it fell over the outside of her jacket.
"I'll see you guys," she said, slapping her share of the bill down on the table.
They toasted her with their half empty milkshakes.
"You won't forget us when you become a star, will you?" Linda teased.
She dipped her head and shook her hair with the melodramatic gestures of a silent movie star. "Of course not, my darlings."
Laughing, she swept past the cashier and out into the cool ocean air.
Later that night, much later, her parents received a telephone call. From a man. He didn't give his name, but he said he had a message for them. From their daughter. He gave them the message and abruptly hung up. And then nothing.
For thirty-two years.
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