Right and Wrong

[Written for a livejournal challenge to begin a story with the sentence, "It's hard, sometimes, to see the difference between something good and something bad."]

It's hard, sometimes, to see the difference between something good and something bad. The first time she noticed me, she was helping Regina Del Ricci pick up the contents of her purse after some kids yanked it off her shoulder. She came right up to me, put her hand on my arm and said hello. I just blinked. She laughed and pulled me into the girls' room to smoke. No one pulled me anywhere. So through third period and all of lunch, I listened to whatever she had to say, about the school, the kids, her real Dad, her ex-boyfriend and her favorite band. I let the cigarette smoke burn my lungs as she brushed her blonde hair. My own reflection dull and poorly groomed, I kept my eyes on her. I tried to laugh in the right places and roll my eyes knowingly. And when Regina said we'd stolen her cigarettes, I called her a liar.

But it's nighttime now, and I can't see her shining hair. All I can see is the black outline of her, urging me forward. We are huddled nervously behind a juniper shrub, itchy but invisible. Her arm brushes accidentally against my thigh and gives me strength. I lick my lips and move up anxiously, crouching under the open window. I place my palms on the window ledge and with a soft grunt I push myself up. I kick one leg silently into the dark square, then the other. When I look back, the stars illuminate her smile for me, and I let myself down onto the crushed carpet. The room is quiet except for the hum of the clock. My eyes adjust before I creep over to the dresser and see them, glinting at me like the beginning of sin, right where she said they would be. I stuff them into my pocket and return to the window. It is her car we speed away in. She says it's hers, and I press my back into the seat as she revs the engine.