"Oh, Mary Jane's folks would fix it up. They've got piles of money.
Anyway, she's got something. A diaphragm."
"Everyone has a diaphragm."
"Not that kind, dummy. It's birth control."
"Oh." As always, Emma was ready to defer to Marianne's greater
knowledge.
"You put it in, you know, inside the sacred vault, with jelly and it
kills off the sperm. You can't get knocked up with dead sperm."
Marianne rolled over to yawn at the ceiling. "I wonder if Sister
Immaculata ever did it."
The thought was enough to bring Emma completely out of the dumps. "I
don't think so. I'm pretty sure she bathes in her habit."
"Holy hell, I nearly forgot." Marianne rolled again, and digging into
the pocket of her rumpled uniform, pulled out a half-pack of Marlboros.
"I struck gold in the second-floor john." She scrambled up to search
through her underwear drawer for a pack of matches. "Somebody had them
taped to the back of the tank."
"And you took them."
"The Lord helps those who help themselves. I helped myself. Lock the
door, Emma."
They shared one, blowing little puffs of smoke out the open window.
Neither enjoyed the taste particularly, but gamely dragged on. It was
adult and sinful, two things both of them craved.
"'Rvo more weeks," Emma said dreamily.
"You're going to New York. They're sending me to camp again."
"It won't be so bad. Sister Immaculata won't be there."
"That's something." Marianne tried to adopt a sophisticated pose with
the cigarette. "I'm going to try to talk them into letting me stay with
my grandmother for a couple of weeks. She's pretty cool."
"I'll take lots of pictures."
Marianne nodded, thinking further ahead. "When we get out of this
Village or L.A. Someplace cool. I'll be an artist and you'll be a
photojournalist."
"We'll have parties."
"The biggest. And we'll wear all kinds of gorgeous clothes." She held
out the hem of her uniform. "No plaids."
"I'd rather die."
"It's only four more years."
Emma turned to gaze out the window. It was hard to think in terms of
years when she wasn't sure how to get through the next two weeks.
ACONnNENT AWAY, Michael Kesselring studied himself in cap and gown. He
couldn't believe it. It was finally over. High school was behind him
and life was just around the next bend. There was college, of course,
but that was a summer away.
He was eighteen, old enough to drink, to vote, and thanks to President
Carter, had no military draft to interrupt his plans.
Whatever they were, he thought.
He hadn't a clue what he wanted to do with the life that was ahead of
him. His part-time job at Buzzard's Tee Shirt Shop was mainly for gas
and date m4oney. He had no intention of spending his life