“Jillian,” Julie calls again as she stands and makes her way down the metal stands, the other girls following closely behind.
Seven in all, flowing hair, bouncing boobs, and pink lips, come my direction.
“No way.” I hear one of the others say as I take a step toward them.
“Yes, that’s my sister, my oldest sister,” Julie clarifies.
Their voices are lost to the late afternoon breeze rustling the baby leaves. I choose to take a few stepscloser. Somewhere between the metal stands and parking lot we meet, Julie rushes forward with an awkward hug. Beneath my touch, I feel her bones. As she steps back, I decide the push-up bra is giving her an illusion of rounder breasts.
I’m about to ask if she’s cold in short shorts and tank top. Before I can speak, she does, “Oh my God, Jillian, Mom said you’re here. I didn’t believe it.”
Despite the cool change in the air, Julie and her friends are all dressed alike, showcasing their lean legs, small waists, and round breasts. The earlier sun left their shoulders and cheeks kissed with pink.
“Hi. What’s going on?” I ask.
Seven sets of eyes peer around at one another and back to me.
Julie shrugs. “Watching the guys horse around until it gets dark.”
“What’s happening after dark?”
The girls giggle in unison until Julie flashes a look of shushing disapproval.
“Oh, you remember what there is to do around Blue Gil,” a blond with heavy eyeliner says a bit bashfully.
“I don’t remember there being a whole lot,” I say.
“McKenna’s barn was torn down last year,” the girl with black hair volunteers. “But the farm is still there. Back by the pond is far enough away from the road. There’s going to be a bonfire” —the other girls turn to her, but she continues— “there tonight for Coach.”
“How about,” Julie begins, “we tell our parents we’re staying with you? Mom said you’re staying at Stark Lake.”
Oh. Of course.
“That’s not a great idea,” I reply. “I don’t think the way to welcome myself back to Blue Gil is as an alibi for half the girls in the graduating class.”
“See,” the girl with black hair says. “I told you she wouldn’t help.”
“Come on,” Julie says, tilting her head and pouting her painted lips.
When I look away, I see the boys have stopped their game and are looking in our direction. “It looks like the guys miss their audience.”
Julie shrugs again. “We’ve got tonight covered. It’s going to be dope. You can still come out to the bonfire, Jillian.”
I half expect her next request to be for me to bring alcohol. Instead, she offers. “There’re a lot of hot older guys in town. You might know them. Or they might know you.”
My gaze narrows. “It’s been a while. I doubt anyone remembers me.”
“That’s not what we’ve heard,” a lighter blond says.
I want to ask what they’ve heard. Instead, Julie continues. “Anyway, people came from all over for the funeral. Word is there will be a few kegs of brew, Skittles, and plenty of blow at the bonfire. I’m sure it won’t be a banger like parties in California, but it’s big for Blue Gil.” Her lips curl upward. “And how often do you get to party with your little sister?”
“Yeah,” the one with the eyeliner says, “show us how it’s done.”
“How what is done?” I ask, wondering if they’reinsinuating some great power I have to party and entice men. Looking at the seven of them, I would wager they’ve all had sex more recently than I. When they don’t answer my first question, I ask, “Is that really how you want others to remember you in Blue Gil?”
The dark haired girl laughs. “No one will remember. That’s the point. It’s to remember Coach and forget that he’s gone” —she elbows Julie— “you get what we mean.”
Instead of answering, I smile. While listening to students and graduates alike talk about Coach Gilbert could be insightful, the possibility of contributing to the delinquency of minors is reason enough to stay away. The possibility of seeing my sister and her friends’ sexual exploits seals the deal.
