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Linnea seethed.

Tanya’s laugh was disbelieving. “Sunny, who’s going to vote for you, then?”

Sunny’s breezy giggle spilled into her words. “Duh. Like I don’t care!”

A voice broke through their chatter. “Ulla!” It was Wiley. He pointed an empty bottle at her, dropped to his knees in the dirt, and dramatically spun it, the bottle kicking up dust. He stopped it to aim directly at Ulla. All the girls cackled and egged her on.

Linnea expected one of Ulla’s snarky replies, an exaggerated eye roll, the cool shrug. But instead, she moistened her lips and said, “Sure, why not?”

Wiley hooted amongst the crowing of their peers, and in false seriousness said, “Change in rules.” He pulled Ulla toward the cornfields. “Kissing is in private.”

Ulla followed him, leaving the trail of ruckus and catcalls behind.

Sickness crawled through Linnea’s belly. More classmates joined the circle of girls that Ulla had vacated. JJ sucked on Tanya’s neck while she continued talking.

Everett was with Cal LaFore, another star football player second to JJ, and a consortium of other athletes. He looked like he was conducting a meeting, animatedly waving his bottle of Michelob. Everett could’ve easily been cast as the sidekick to the football players’ brawn and popularity, and to Wiley’s wiles. But he was the puppet master. In the yearbook, opposite to JJ’s five-sport resume and Ironman club membership, Everett would be voted as the “Most Likely to Succeed” and the “Next President of the United States.” But under “Extracurricular Activities,” they couldn’t list the amount of time he spent crafting his outer Miami Vice image, schmoozing the teachers with his flashy grin and less than subtle use of flattery to achieve straight As. He made it a point to always ask Mr. Culvers, the American History teacher, about his elderly mother’s health. And if hopelessly frumpy Ms. Porter knew that people thought she looked like Linda Evans. Rumors of Everett being the main source of booze, acquired with his fake New York ID, would be dismissed by school faculty. He’s such a nice boy.

“Should we spy on Wiley and Ulla?” Patsy hissed to the group.

“Gross. No.” Sunny giggled, taking a sip of her beer.

Linnea started plotting her getaway. Who could take her home? Should she ask Everett?

Ulla and Wiley emerged. Ulla was thumbing her lips and taking sips from her cup. Wiley, with a loopy satisfied grin, shadowed her.

Linnea tugged Ulla aside and admonished in her ear, “What did you do?”

She glanced at Linnea’s lips before addressing her in the eye. “I had to see for myself what I was apparently missing out on.”

“Hey, Ulla.” Tanya batted her eyes theatrically at Ulla and sucked her thumb before popping it out of her mouth.

The girls shrieked.

Ulla shrugged at Tanya. “Maybe.”

The laughter doubled.

“Swallow or spit?” Debbie asked, taking her last cigarette pull before tossing it into the dirt.

Ulla smirked.

Linnea fumed. Everett joined and lobbed an arm around Linnea. She gagged and covered her mouth. The earlier heat from the claustrophobic, cigarette-clouded car grew to hell-like proportions. “Everett,” she whispered. “I kinda . . . I don’t think . . . ”

“Are you sick?” He placed the back of his hand on her forehead.

She nodded, dopey-eyed.

He fished his keys out. “C’mon. I’ll take you home.”

“Really?”

“Of course.” He kissed her cheek. “I hope you didn’t get me sick.” But he winked when he said it.

Everett addressed the group. “Be right back.”

Ulla and Linnea caught one another’s eyes.

Be right back?