It was Saturday night, and I don't think any of us had ever anticipated a party as much as this one. The key was to have as few cars on the road as possible. That wasn't a problem for me. I didn't have one. That was another box I had failed to tick I suppose. Of course, there were others without cars, even in the elite group. They just had better ways of not broadcasting it. In other words, if you were popular enough for whatever reason, they just overlooked that fact and you rode with them. In a way, I suppose that's how I was with Lynn and Reagan, and I was damn lucky for it.

Lynn parked her shiny yellow and black jeep at the top of the driveway at Reagan's house to stay there all night. It was less than a year old and already one of her trademarks. We probably should have taken her jeep with so many to pick up, but again, the trick was not to seem obvious. Reagan's dad had just moved them into this larger house. It was a new two story with an attic on top of Reagan's room she got to use to hang extra clothes and store shoes, and they also had a pool in the back. Her mom decorated like a professional. The place was gorgeous.

Cynthia had frosted blonde hair and crystal blue eyes like Reagan. She wore black eyeliner like the woman on the show our mom's used to watch, Dynasty, and we had never seen her without her false eyelashes on. People often suspected she had gotten work done, but the truth was, she was just that pretty. She and Reagan had that doll-face gene. She really didn't need the eyelashes and all that make up. When Reagan got mad at her she'd pop off and tell us about how her mother had been nothing but a poor hick from Arkansas before she met her dad, and she'd been climbing ever since.

We wanted to think she exaggerated, but the evidence was all around us. Large, framed pictures of a six-year-old Reagan in a rhinestone covered twirling costume posed with two batons, a literal foreshadowing of JonBenet Ramsey. A beauty pageant win each year marked her age and decorated the hallway, the way most parents would represent your birthday or your height on the wall.

One picture always startled me. It was the first one. A four-year-old Reagan with long platinum blonde locks crowned in a pageant dress with a banner across it that read, BEAUTY. Reagan and I had met when we were four years old at that pageant. That's how our mothers were acquainted as well. She won "Beauty" and I won "Talent." I must have looked like the Arkansas hick next to the miniature blonde bombshell.

My brown hair was curly when I was little and the ringlets that surrounded my head hadn't dropped, grown, or straightened very far past my ears, and my brown eyes were larger than my face. The comic relief as a poor man's brown-headed, brown-eyed Shirly Temple.

I didn't continue in pageants much longer. It was the early 80s, it's just what you did back then. I think meeting and competing that young had given Reagan and I an understanding and a sense of normalcy about what went on at Pure Pines.

Jessie, that trumpet player for example, he wasn't just a hot stoner who liked to headbang to heavy metal and terrorize the jocks with the threat of his charming-emo personality taking their girl... That was just the one thing he had going for himself on his own. The rest was going to state or whatever it is past that on trumpet. The guy was a musical genius. Local band directors used to follow him around at All Region as if they could scout at the high school level.

It was so odd, this set up to push us as if they were preparing us for something greater beyond Pure Pines, yet this reverse logic that Pure Pines was the best. If it was so great, why did they want us excelling past it? None of us, however, minded that part. It was the only motivation to complete their impossible tasks... the chance to put as many miles between us and this place as we could.

Maybe they had to maintain the perfection part for the people who went through the program and didn't fly the coup. The one's that bred more little Palominos that looked just like them and lettered in the same sport they once did. Maybe that's what the contradiction was for.

Ninety percent of our class knew how to read and could count to a hundred before we started kindergarten. Some of us could count in Spanish as well and had learned words like milk and apple in both Spanish and sign language, and most of us could write in complete sentences. It was simply expected. My mom did not receive child support from my deadbeat dad, that's what they called those back then. If you got a divorce and the dad couldn't hack it or stick around, and especially if he broke the law and didn't pay child support from the custody agreement, he was a deadbeat. By four years old, I knew how to swim and dive. I could do a back dive as well.

My mother, who didn't like to get wet or play in the water taught me, well made me, but it scared me. I was always afraid I would over aim and hit the side. I had been in multiple beauty pageants and had several talent acts, had my first tap, ballet, and twirling classes, had tiny black ballet shoes as well as some mom spray painted gold for a recital, two different pairs of tap shoes and two batons. In addition, my mom paid for a private school the year before I attended kindergarten. I was one of the one's who could count to a hundred in Spanish as well and sign milk and apple. My mom made sure I had the best for school, and if she couldn't achieve something, my grandparents made it happen for me.

I still have vivid memories of Vacation Bible School at church as well as playing with the neighborhood kids across the street, and blackberry picking in shorts and flip flops with my boy cousins who did not warn me to wear jeans. The only thing I can surmise is that I had summers off, and that must be when my mom worked two jobs to pay for all the other stuff.

I didn't pretend to know Cynthia or what it must have been like for Reagan, but I certainly understood. As much as I know how much our mothers loved us, there was something Pure Pines bred and brought out in everyone, and there was a hint of it in what motivated them. It was the same double standard the faculty at school facilitated: education, merit, tradition, values, safety, achievement, and status. Social status. It was an expectation that would not be ignored. Keep your grades up and don't get caught with your pants down, but do be a part of whatever gets you votes. If you can't impress your peers, how can you expect to make your mark on the rest of the world... seemed to be their logic.

All the sneaking around to get to the party of the year... If I thought about it, Reagan probably could have walked right up to her mother and said, "We must go to a house party. There will be no parents there, and plenty of underage drinking. People will lose their virginity, and some will just get high, but we won't drink and drive. The Tomlin twins are throwing it at their mini mansion. If we don't go, we will lose some of our social status and be less popular with the in-crowd. Is this all okay with you?"

She could have delivered that speech, and I'm willing to bet Cynthia would have helped her do her hair and told us she just put a fresh tank of gas in the car. But no, we had to do it the hard way and keep appearances up.

"What time are we picking those bitches up again?" Lynn asked as she handed me the smokey plum lip color out of her make up bag she thought would be better with my shirt.

Reagan leaned into the mirror curling her eyelashes, and mumbled, "Should we just not and say we did?" She was back to her old self. Nothing like a party to get Reagan's juices flowing.

"Can you imagine their faces Monday at school if we played dumb and pretended we drove by and waited, but never saw them." I saw the moment clearly in my head.

"Damn. That's how you do your friends? You do you, Boo." Lynn jokingly swiped her lipstick back.

"Oh, don't act like you haven't thought about it. We're the ones taking the biggest risk here. It's Reagan's getaway car, and when have these girls ever done anything like this for us?" I suddenly had a backbone again and appeared to be taking a stance.

"Reagan, she's getting political on us, and it's about to be a party."

"Lynn's right July. We're going to pick them up as planned, in my car, and we're going to get them to the party simply because we are better at it, and everyone is expecting to see us. I'm not sure they can bank on the same."

Reagan smiled at the truth in what she said. Lynn reached over to high five her above my head.

"Remember last year when Hanna didn't get to come because her mom caught her sneaking out the window? Brooke and I had to go all the way back and get her and got caught too." I was glad I had examples to remind them.

"Oh, I remember clearly," Lynn shot back. "I was the one stuck with Devin the rest of the night and she threw up in the back of my jeep when I drove her drunk ass home."

I looked at Reagan funny. "Where were you?" Reagan looked down a second pretending to let her mascara dry.

"Oh, that's right. You had already gotten a ride!" I tried not to be too sarcastic.

"I let him drive me home. That was it. He was still with that whore, so he was of no use to me. You both know I don't share. He stopped by the party, I let him drive me home. That was all." Reagan ended the discussion.

"How do you just stop by a party you weren't invited to?" Lynn pushed the issue.

Kane Frater was our age and an elite from the larger school in the town over, Prairie. We didn't play them in sports, they were 4A school. We did go to their town a few miles away for almost everything else. Reagan had met Kane out at teen night in one of the clubs in the largest town over for all of us. I guess he saw something from our side of the piney woods he liked.

She gave him her pager number. Yes, Reagan had a beeper just like a drug dealer. Contrary to the true statements above, I stand by regarding Cynthia, she was also an overprotective mother. An oxymoron, I know. The pager was so she could keep tabs on Reagan at all times.

Kane looked just like Jonathan Brandis, a 90s heartthrob from back in the day. He had the same kind of charm and alternative thing our Jessie Hines had, only combined with Prairie's popular prep status. He was with his long-term girlfriend, Candice, someone we had never met but heard about through the grapevine. Apparently, she was a dirty blonde self-destructive nightmare, daughter of a coach in Prairie who didn't quite have it together as well as Reagan did and wasn't nearly as pretty. She just held all the social pull in their school group. These boys sure did have their types.

Kane was attractive, we had to give her that, and his personality very unique. You almost felt sorry for him being stuck with that awful Candice chick, until you remembered he obviously had free will to do something about it. We didn't hear too much about the infamous Kane. It was an off and on thing between fights and break ups with his steady girlfriend. Reagan didn't give anything away to make her look stupid, but we did witness it ourselves on occasion, like the night they met. Ever since then, Lynn and I were painfully aware that it could become a "Kane night" almost every other time we went out with Reagan.

That was the best example of her destructive personality. If she had chosen to shit where she lies and mess with someone else's guy here in Pure Pines, we could have handled it better and almost helped her. But that was the thing about Reagan. Go big or go home, baby. She wasn't about to infiltrate herself in front of these small townies like Devin Scott and her minions. If Reagan got caught, it would be on a larger scale, and she'd go down in a blaze of glory, just to prove she did it better than them.

I had no idea what to expect at the party that night. When Reagan's beeper went off and she announced it was Adrian saying he was going to head over in an hour, I got an overwhelming rush of fear and anticipation, as well as the depression I had recently become acquainted with since school started this year.

A flood of emotion ran through me... That chunky little drill team freshman who wasn't at the game and missed the epic movie moment in the stands that should have been her right-of-passage to see. My freshman year when Devin screwed me and she and I walked in to find Corey, the object of her affection and my set up back with his girl Lindsey. My old friends in their varsity cheerleader uniforms walking down the track without me, then him... When Adrian's face settled on mine, and the way it felt when his hand grazed mine and he whispered my name just the day before. Other than the flutter of butterflies, the rest of me calmed down and I looked up just in time for Reagan to throw me a dress and motion Lynn out the door with the family cat.

We were in our pajamas as part of the first step of the plan. We had gotten undressed and eaten a late-night snack of toaster strudel with her mom, only to excuse ourselves to go watch a movie in Reagan's room, which would really be us getting dressed for the party. Leaving our pajamas on we started with our makeup, knowing there was a strong chance her mother would come up to check on us. Lynn hadn't washed her make up off from earlier yet, so we sent her down in her pajamas with the family cat.

"Hey Cynthia." Lynn found her dozing off on the couch, false eyelashes, and all. "I think this one is missing it's momma."

"Oh, come here Mr. Alabaster, snowball baby poof tail." Cynthia cooed at the cat offering every nick name in the book as we watched Lynn operate from upstairs. "Thank you darlin.' I'm about to head to bed. I'll keep this one in our room so he doesn't scratch at the door and bother y'all all night. He's just a little ladies man with a poofy tail, aren't you, Alabaster baby." She went back to the fat fluffy white cat that looked like the one on the Fancy Feast commercials.

"You girls knock if you need anything, and don't stay up too late, you'll burn tomorrow!" She threw an arm around Lynn and pinched a dimple on her cheek.

"Good night." Lynn awkwardly half-hugged her back, and then bent down to love on the cat in her arms. Lynn hated cats, but she was a pro when it came to Cynthia. Reagan and I were terrified of her mother. She could see right through us and always called us out.

Lynn yawned as she walked slowly back up the steps toward us. The downstairs bedroom door closed behind Cynthia and Lynn's hips started shaking vigorously to each side in a mock Hula dance until she landed in front of us on one knee with jazz hands.

"Get up turkey! I whisper shouted, we haven't gotten out of the house yet!" It didn't take long to get dressed after that. We were high on adrenaline. I wasn't going to wear the slip dress Reagan tossed my way, and she knew it. It was automatically going to be way tighter on me, and if I knew her at all, entirely too short even for me who was in fact shorter than her. I squeezed into some Calvin Kline's, I was grateful that zipped, threw on a black belt, and set myself up for any top Reagan recommended. Set myself up was the key...

She handed me a dark purple long sleeve body suit. It only had a Brazilian half-butt in the back and alluded that it was a thong if your jeans rested too low on your waist.

"What the Hell?"

"It's a throwback, and just trust me. Go put it on with those jeans and you'll see."

"A throw back to when, 1993, or 86'? It looks like what that actress wore in Crocodile Dundee!"

"Just put it on July." Lynn chose a side. "And take your underwear off. The whole point of the body suit top is not to have an additional panty line." Lynn was happy to explain.

I went into the bathroom and took off my jeans to contort into the literal onesie.

"Gross. It  goes up my butt crack. I hope this thing is clean."

"Is it?" I heard Lynn's aside to Reagan through the door. It sounded like Reagan threw a pillow at her in response.

Once I figured out the mechanics via where it snapped at the crotch, I was able to peel into it from the waist up. It was understated material, soft to the touch but perfectly fitted for style and shape, and it was a gorgeous color of deep purple. A dark plum, the same as Lynn's lipstick. I had to wonder if they didn't plan it.

The body suit neckline was rounded but dipped down to three small white buttons at the bust that gave the illusion of a Henley, but on a feminine build. I didn't dare unbutton any of them. The fitted neckline already acted as an automatic push- up bra. I wasn't sporting cleavage or anything, but if you looked at me from the side, you could see two obvious mounds without using any imagination.

I slid my jeans and belt back on and looked at the final product. Lynn had flat ironed my hair for me and it looked crazy better than when I simply blow dried it straight on my own. This was a great color for dark brown hair, I had to admit. When I turned to the side I noticed if I raised my arms or moved a little you could see the top of the thigh-high body suit rising above my belt and jeans...

"I can't wear this like that!" I flew out of the bathroom pointing to my exposed hip.

"Wow! YOU LOOK HOT!" Lynn completely ignored my valid concern.

"Shhh! You'll wake my parents up, and yes, you absolutely will wear it. That's how it's supposed to go." Reagan slapped the back of my hand hard, that was pointing to my hips, then covered my mouth so I wouldn't scream. "Let's go!"

Lynn had on dark navy designer corduroys and a cropped baby blue cashmere sweater She looked so stylish. Reagan threw on the dress she originally laid out for me, and it was way shorter than I suspected.

"Wow. Why don't you just wear our drill team uniform?" I couldn't withhold the sarcastic suggestion.

"What's wrong with this?"

"You'll freeze to death!" I stated the obvious.

"So will your tits and hips and Lynn's midriff. Now let's get out of here while we're still young!"