Tag Along by Tom Ryan

giant blond hairdos and tight leather pants hanging off guys with slicked-back hair and denim jackets with the sleeves cut off. In my imagination they built bonfires and passed around bottles of whiskey before choreographing elaborate dance routines under the moon.
    When I got a bit older, I overheard my brother talking to one of his friends about a party at the Ledge, and it occurred to me that if it really was a place where bad things happened, Brad was one of the people responsible. By the time I reached high school, it was clear that the Ledge was just a place where pretty much every teenager in my high school went to party.
    Except for me. I’ve never been to a Ledge party, and I know I’m one of the very few people in my grade who hasn’t. Even Bethanne goes sometimes. She’s tried to convince me to tag along, but I’m just not interested. The occasional house party is okay, but hanging out in the woods with a bunch of drunk people isn’t my idea of a good time. I’d rather stay home and read.
    Although I’ve never been there, the trail is easy enough to find. I’m amazed at how much garbage people have dropped along the path. Every couple of feet, a beer can or fast-food wrapper has been dropped on the ground or thrown into the bushes. I haven’t gone very far before the trees thin and I walk into what must be the quarry. It isn’t very big or impressive, just a gravelly area that’s been cut into the side of a hill. Some beat-up old chairs and a couple of milk crates have been dragged into a circle around a charred hole in the ground. The hole is full of even more garbage, which is blackened and melted.
    I walk around and check the place out. The bottom of the wall is covered with lame graffiti, stuff like Karl loves Marla and GRHS Grads of ’ 95. I obviously haven’t been missing much by staying away.
    I don’t know what I’m doing here, but I take a seat on a milk crate anyway.
    Maybe if I was the kind of girl who thought it was fun to party at the Ledge, who was able to smuggle booze into her room without getting caught, who hasn’t always listened to her mother, I wouldn’t have to chase Justin. Maybe he’d be the one chasing me.
    Then again, I did jump out of my bedroom window. I did make a mad escape from Terry Polish’s house. Besides, it’s stupid to think that the best way to get a guy to like you is to act like an idiot.
    My cell phone rings and I pull it out. Mom, for the millionth time. I turn off the ringer and shove it back into my pocket.
    What’s the use? I’m not going to change anything by staying out all night. I’m just making my mother angrier the longer I stay away. I’m about to walk home and face the music when I hear voices.
    I don’t know what I’m expecting. Maybe some college kids home for summer break and looking for a trip down memory lane. I can tell you what I’m not expecting: Paul York, some sullen girl I’ve never seen before and Roemi Kapoor in a full tuxedo with purple-satin accents. In the complicated social scene at Granite Ridge High, Roemi Kapoor and Paul York are not what you’d call best friends.
    â€œAndrea?” says Roemi as they push through the bushes and into the clearing. “Why aren’t you at prom?”
    â€œLooks like I should be asking you the same question.” I point at his outfit.
    â€œYeah, no kidding.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s a tragic story. I don’t really wanna talk about it. This is Candace, by the way,” he says, pointing at the new girl. “She’s me and Paul’s new best friend.”
    I look at Paul. He shrugs slightly and gives me an embarrassed smile.
    â€œHey,” I say, holding out a hand to the new girl. “I’m Andrea.”
    She has a backpack hanging over her shoulder by one strap. She stares at my hand and then shifts the weight of her pack to reach out and shake.