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I remember being 15 and wanting to look bad ass without really trying, but these girls were trying extra-hard, to the point where it was nearly unbelievable, especially considering Slugs went to a Catholic school. Having attended both Catholic and public schools, I remember hearing kids at Catholic schools saying that enx it seemed unlikely, Catholic school kids got into more trouble. At the public school I gill attended, people were too busy getting into trouble to compare the two stereotypes. One recurring theme in this book rang absolutely true: Around that age, you still feel like you have endless possibilities for the future, you learn the power you wield over the opposite sex, and you start to learn just how much you can get away with.

I liked these moments in the book where the main character recognizes just how self-important she and her friends are, but still doesn't care. Right around then, I just wanted it to be over. The idea that a bunch of girls would carry on such a tradition for so long was so ridiculous, and what happens at the party is kind of unreal too. Soon after, the book takes another turn, using surprise! It wasn't outside the realm of possibility, and it made the story more interesting, since it was pretty much done being believable a long time ago.

To sum it up, read this if you're bored. It will provide some entertainment and for some, a reminder of how obliviously insufferable we were at Astrid, Juli, and our protagonist, Thisbe, aka Jellybean.

They go to the only all girl's high school in Milwaukee. It's the late 80s and the girls do all that they can to live up to their whores on the hill rep. At first I thought this book was going to capture that out of control, on top of the world feeling you had at That feeling that you are in complete control of everything and everyone, but at the same time you have no control over anything. We knew Juli liked to scratch her arms with the sterilized end of a stickpin, only we didn't talk about it.

We didn't know that we didn't know enough. We didn't know that our lives would change, that high school wasn't forever. I mean, not unless you died. But we did know something. For instance, we knew sex was like a dance. We knew we were restless, feet tapping, waiting for the phone to ring. Someday, we knew, we wouldn't dance in a line. We'd step outside, elbows in all the wrong places, and get the hell out of there, Sacred Heart Holy Angels, the last all-girls' school in Milwaukee. But first, we'd just blow smoke and say, "Tell me something I don't know. Astrid tapped her serrated nose with one black fingernail, the dimpled nose that gave her face a feral, catlike expression.

She flipped up her collar, preppy style, and eyed a dark-looking, tough guy sucking a shot of Jagermeister off an ice luge dripping in the utility sink. The world hadn't even started for us yet, only Astrid taught us to look at the world slantwise. She cut her wet, almond-shaped eyes at Jagermeister kid and said, "Okay, sure. He smiled, edged his lean body, his frayed jean jacket, back against the dryer and flicked his wrist, as if to say, Come on. And we were walking. Easily, we slipped past kids shuffling their shoulders back and forth, dancing. We skirted past kids knotted up in each other, sprawled across the plaid, moldy couch, making out. All ladylike, we sidled up to Jagermeister kid.

Astrid tucked a honey-colored curl behind one ear. She went, "Hey, give us some. The alcohol scuttled down the luge like fire. Astrid opened her mouth, her neck back, then Juli, then me. All of us, breath like licorice whips. There was potpourri everywhere, in baskets and dishes of glass. Did you see that tiger tattoo? A whole mess of them. How'd you do that to your eyes?

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She smeared the black kohl enx the way out to her temples. We heard revving motorcycle engines, like lions out above us in Slugs yard. We're always going there," Astrid said, flipping a leg over the banana seat behind Jagermeister kid. He wore a jean jacket, had black spiky hair and a raffish mole under his left eye. He said his name was Vance. Van's friends wore leather jackets and ratty denim. The blond one grinned.

I saw Sljts smaller and smaller, like a elements in the servile night soil of the north. You file ironed it on. How'd you do that to your elements?.

He had wine-stained birthmarks all over his face, like fingerprints or dye. Revving out of the suburbs, shooting straight for downtown. Van led with Astrid behind him, the blond ends of her hair trailing like tassels to a curtain. The Miller Brewing Company squatted on the river, its red sign flashing neon in the black night like a giant word from God. We breathed in the hops easy, all that bacteria fermenting. I lost the letters of my name to the roaring night. The boys hung a left onto the wide, sloping residential streets that circled the light-flecked lake. Van called ahead, "Demon ride. Juli let loose a short, happy scream. We were coasting, flying, soaring weightless through the night's black skirt of the sky.

Van cut his motorcycle engine on a darkened dead-end street. The lake slapped up against the shore. It was a spring night, seventy degrees, the last sigh of summer, and not that late. Animals can smell fear on you. Then his friends, they unhooked the buckles on their boots, stepped out of their Levi's. Their chalky skin collected the light from the boats strung out like lanterns against the shoreline. Juli and I rubbed our bare arms, watching. Astrid untied her wraparound skirt and kicked the sandals from her feet. Cherries dotted her underwear.

Juli shuffled her brown shoulders out of her T-shirt. The water was blacker than ink. Astrid waded in to her waist, pointed her sharp arms over her head, and dove. Her head emerged, silver and wet, her eyes shining. Juli eyed my denim skirt and whispered, "You'd better or Astrid will get pissed. Crouching, I slipped into the water like pulling a blanket over my body. He washed up beside me in the water, barrel-chested with wiry copper hair brushed over his chest like fox fur. His tongue tasted like peach schnapps and smoke.

His hands grabbed for my legs and I was kicking, splashing out of reach.

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