for a moment, his mind flashing back across the more than twenty years that he had known Dolly. They had lived two blocks apart and met in eighth grade. The relationship was, to put it mildly, slow to grow.
It was instant dislike at first sight for both of them. She thought he was a boring, rigid, small-town jock. He thought she was skinny, stuck-up, and pretentious. For the first year after they met, they avoided each other like the plague.
The ninth grade wasn’t much better, but the cold feelings they had for each other began to thaw. She saw how he stuck up for his friends. He saw that the skinny girl was developing some major curves. Of course, so did every other boy in school. But unlike the other boys, Steve – Steven back then – was nice to her. He didn’t hit on her and didn’t make a big deal about her appearance. She liked that.
In tenth grade, Dolly made the first move. In the spring of her sophomore year, she dropped her books when Steve walked by. It wasn’t the most original strategy in the history of getting a boy’s attention, but it did the trick. He picked up her books and handed them to her. She said “Thanks,” paused, gave him an awkward, noncommittal look, and bustled off to her next class.
Two weeks later, they started talking during lunch. After another month, they had their first group date, at the Rivoli Theatre. He was still a little intimidated and didn’t attempt to put his arm around her. Dolly picked up the slack. She casually dropped her hand so that her little finger grazed his leg. Steve felt as though he’d been shocked by electricity. Two weeks later, they went out alone. That summer they were going steady. By the 4th of July, they were in love and inseparable.
Two years later, Steve graduated from Myrtle Beach High and went off to college in Florida. Dolly stayed to finish her senior year. Despite tearful goodbyes and promises to write, the distance had taken its toll, and by year’s end, both of them were dating other people. Steve graduated from college, served six years as a Marine officer, and then returned to Myrtle Beach to join the city police force.
Soon thereafter, he married a nursing supervisor from Georgetown and they had two children. Within three years, he was promoted to lieutenant. Three more and he rose to become chief of the detective division, but the long hours, late nights, and the stress of the job took a toll on the marriage, and the divorce was inevitable. Over the last half-dozen years, Dolly and Steve had crossed paths and exchanged pleasantries, but this was not one of those times.
As she sat in the sterile conference room, Dolly's drained expression reflected her shock. April had two previous brushes with the law, but this was the first serious one. The other two had occurred when April was living with Kenny. Both times she ran off with C.B. and his friends; both times the police found her and brought her back to Kenny’s.
Dolly understood why April would stay at Kenny’s place. She could do anything she wanted there. He didn’t care if she blew off her homework, stayed out late, hung out with strange kids, or drank alcohol. Knowing him, the jerk probably even let her smoke pot. But heavy drugs? she thought. And dealing them, too. When could this have happened? How could this have happened to my own daughter right before my eyes?
“She’s coming down from the meth now, Dolly. She’s probably feeling pretty anxious, even paranoid. Meth highs can last up to twelve hours. The side effects can include convulsions, high body temperature, stroke, irregular heartbeats, stomach cramps, and shaking. You need to get her to see a doctor and tell him what she’s on. She may be addicted if she’s been tweaking the stuff for a while. She definitely needs drug counseling. Maybe a treatment center. The doctors can tell you more.”
“Can I see her now?” she asked.
“Sure, Dolly,” Steve said. “Follow me.”
Dolly reflected on the long road she and Steve had walked since their meeting in eighth grade. He was always the straight arrow, the guy you could count on to be sober and drive you home if you drank too much at a party. Dolly was the one who longed for the bright lights and the one – as a teenager, anyway – who drank too much at the party.
Steve was the one with parents who made him do his homework. Dolly was the one who would do anything to escape the boredom of the trailer and her mother’s beer-guzzling boyfriends, whose names seemed to change every week.
Dolly could relate to April in at least one way. She had also run away from home several times, but with Dolly, it was always to seek something better, something nicer, something prettier. April’s rebellion was harder to understand. Dolly gave her love, care, affection, and attention. She couldn’t understand why April didn’t come to her when she was having problems.
Back in the holding cell, the situation was getting tense. “Where’s C.B.?” Wendy snapped. “He got us into this mess. Why isn’t he doing anything to get us out? I thought that was part of the family plan. We sell, he keeps us out of trouble or bails us out.”
April said nothing. Her eyes darted around the cell, looking for something – anything – to comfort her growing fears.
“My parents are gonna freak,” mumbled Wendy. “They’re going to beat the crap out of me. They won’t even let my older brother have a beer in their house, and he’s thirty.”
“I’m sick, man,” said Skank, as he shuddered and groped his way toward the stainless steel toilet bowl at the back of the cell.
“C.B.’s gonna take care of us, don’t worry,” April finally said. “We’re family. We're Skins. We stick together. We don’t judge family members. C.B. will help us. But for now, we gotta help ourselves. Like C.B. always says, we’re juvvies. They’re not going to do anything more than try to scare us. We won’t get any jail time. Maybe some probation and community service – pickin’ up trash in the city park for a couple of weekends – but I think we can handle that, don’t you?”
Weakly, Suzi nodded. Skank said nothing. Wendy said “Sure,” her eyes darting from one side of the cell to another, looking for the ghosts who were stalking her.
The clank of the skeleton key in the lock jerked the four teenagers into a single focus. “April, your mother’s here,” said the jailer. “She posted your bond. Get out of here.”
“Go to hell,” April yelled at the jailer. “I’m not going anywhere except with my dad. I live with him now, not with her.”
Dolly’s heart fell into her shoes. Where did this anger come from? she thought. “Come on, Honey. We’ll get you cleaned up and then we can talk about it.”
“Get away from me, dammit. I want to go to Kenny’s.”
“Kenny’s not here, April. He’s with his…well, he’s just not here. Let’s go home.”
“I’m not leaving my friends,” April yelled, defiantly.
“I can’t do anything for them, Honey,” said Dolly. “But we are going home now. Or do you want to spend the weekend here?”
April, weak from the drug letdown and lack of food, staggered and fell to her knees. “It’s OK, Baby,” Dolly said as she helped April to her feet. “I’ll take care of you. Let’s go.” The teenager took a last look at her cellmates and weakly raised her clenched fist to her friends in the universal sign of defiance.
After signing for April’s purse and its contents – minus the drugs – from the evidence locker, the two women made their way to Dolly’s car.
Good Lord Almighty, how’d she get to this point? Dolly thought. Then the memories of her own drug-laced teenage years came flooding back. Taking a deep breath, she focused her willpower on shoving them back into the dark place while she dealt with April’s latest crisis.
Oh, for a long, tender night with Ron tonight, she thought. But she knew that a romantic weekend getaway with her new boyfriend was out of the question for now. But still, she thought, a girl can dream....”
Dolly had just closed the door on April’s side of the car when the unmistakable rumble of Kenny Devereaux’s dilapidated, mufflerless ’83 Chrysler LeBaron convertible sounded