The Brat Pack

They sit in silence. Mrs. Reynolds looks a mess. Her hair, unbrushed, sits in a bun on her head. Black rings circle her eyes. She has lipstick on her teeth. She hasn't changed her clothes in two days. A cigarette hangs between her lips.

Next to her, Allison Reynolds stares ahead at the road, watching the other cars pass by and wishing she was with one of those families instead. She swallows a lump in her throat.

"I met a boy," she says quietly, turning to glance at her mom. Mrs. Reynolds pays no mind.

Three more minutes of silence. "Did you?" her mother croaks.

Allison nods, even though her mother doesn't see. Even though her mother doesn't care, tapping ash from the cigarette out the crack in the window.

"He's athletic. On the wrestling team. And he understands me. And he seems to care. He's got a nice smile, and a nice laugh. And perfect blond hair, and beautiful eyes that smile when he does."

Her mother still says nothing. The wind blows, sending bits of ash onto Allison's long skirt. Her mother pulls in front of the sidewalk, putting the car into park and inhaling deeply.

Allison brushes the ash to the floor as she swings the door open, throwing her bag over her shoulder and slamming the door. She looks into the car. Her mother pulls away.

Allison starts down the sidewalk, reaching her hand into her black bag and feeling the smooth fabric of the patch she pulled from Andy's jacket on Saturday. She talks to herself as she walks.

"I'm gonna marry him one day," she whispers, "and we'll never, ever, end up like you and Dad."