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"Hmmmm …"

"Hmmm … what?"

"If you wanna come correct, why are you slummin’ with Bridget, Manda, and Sara?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, even though I knew.

"You hate them."

Another one of Hy’s humdinger zingers.

I laughed. "It’s that obvious, huh?"

"You can’t play me," she said, shaking a Wu-Tang CD at me for emphasis. "You’re rollin’ with girls you hate because you’re afraid of being alone."

I started getting really sad. If Hope were still here, I wouldn’t have had to make that choice. Together, we would’ve broken free from the Clueless Crew. But without her …

"Is that it?"

There was only one answer to that. And if I’d said it out loud I swear I would’ve lost it right then and there. Hy didn’t make me.

"Girl, stop trippin’. You’re dope despite being born and raised here. You’d be down with me and my peeps."

I considered this for a moment, long enough to stop feeling sad and ensure that my words wouldn’t come out choked and teary.

"Bubble-gum bimbos," Hy said, laughing. "That’s the shiznit. You and I are better than that. And though I don’t know him, Scotty sees something in you, which might mean that he’s not an assembly-line meatballer."

"Maybe you’re right."

I had to say I found this conversation very encouraging and empowering. To hear Hy not only accepting me but aligning herself with me boosted my ego quite a bit. Maybe we will be friends after all. And I’m trying not to feel guilty about it. Being friends with her doesn’t make me any less of a friend to Hope, does it?

the twenty-eighth

I dreaded going back to school today, fearing Marcus Flutie fallout. But nothing happened. Marcus didn’t even sneeze in my direction. I’ve decided that his erratic attention means that he doesn’t have a malicious motive. His taunts didn’t have anything to do with me. He could’ve done it to anyone. I could’ve been anyone.

Anyway, Sara had more important things on her mind.

"Omigod!" she whispered with glee. "I had sex in Cancún!"

Marcus was a long-forgotten memory.

Hy and I got the lowdown at lunch. Apparently Sara and Manda spent the whole week lying about their age and getting inebriated college guys to buy them margaritas. I can’t go into all the dirty details of their seven-day ho-down because it’s too disturbing.

Here’s all I can say about our fair Sara’s deflowering: It took place on day six of their trip in Room 203 of La Casa de la Playa, an establishment that Sara’s and Manda’s frat-boy friends in a fit of cleverness renamed "La Casa de la Cucaracha." He was a Kappa Sigma at some school in Arizona and went by the last name of Bender. (Bruiser ’N’ Bender. Isn’t that precious?) He wore a condom. Upon climaxing, he paid homage to one of Mexico’s finest actors by yelling ¡Arriba! ¡Arriba! This tribute to Speedy Gonzalez was appropriate since the whole messy act took no more than two minutes.

Wait, it gets even more repulsive. Manda could corroborate Sara’s story because she was in the room throwing a freaky-deaky fiesta with Bender’s frat-boy buddy, Sherm "The Worm." (Insert tequila shot/oral sex joke here.)

They both think this is the coolest thing ever.

What’s truly pathetic is that Sara actually thinks that Bender is now her boyfriend or something. She knows he’s going to keep in touch with her. Manda isn’t helping matters by encouraging this fantasy.

"Why else would he have asked for Bruiser’s E-mail address?"

Hy and I couldn’t believe that they could be so oblivious to this, the most basic of post-one-night-stand face-savers. Then Hy decided to stir up some controversy by asking provocative questions. This is her most endearing quality.

"So does Bender know that you’re only sixteen?"

"Fifteen," corrected Sara.

"Fifteen," amended Hy.

"No," said Sara. "I figured I’d tell him the truth later."

"Hmmmm …"

"Hmmmm… what?" asked Sara.

"Well, technically, he raped you."

"WHAT?!"

"He was twenty-one. You were fifteen. That’s statutory rape."

"Omigod! No it’s not! I was drunk off my ass, but I wanted to do it."

"Doesn’t matter," said Hy.