Style | Dallas Winston

Chapter Sixteen

"But I stay when it's hard, or it's wrong, or we're making mistakes. I want your midnights"- New Years Day, Taylor Swift

{TW: Themes of SA}

1965. New year, new you. Out with the old and in with the new. It didn't feel like 1965. It always seems to take a month or so before it actually feels like the next year. But then again it was still December 31st, 1964.

Maeve was having trouble thinking of a new year's resolution. It was the time for making promises you couldn't keep. Smoke less? No. Exercise more? Hell no. Not that she thought she was perfect by any means, but come on, did anyone actually follow their resolution the whole year?

The smell of Gardenia lilies from the candle she was burning mixed with the cigarette smoke and wafted through her room. Her room always smelled the same, candles and cigarettes. Sometimes, when she had been smoking for a while, not even the overpowering scent of cheap vanilla perfume managed to cover it up.

The snow had melted a few days prior, leaving the earth wet and soggy. In December, the cold brings promise. Promise of festivities and nostalgia, promise of snow and magic. But now that Christmas was over, it was just cold. The kind of wet cold that seems to seep into your bones, spreading through your whole body, making you want to go back inside and crawl back under your covers. For some reason, the "new beginning" felt more like a dreadful ending to her.

But today she would not crawl back underneath her covers, because today was about more than just new beginnings—it meant fireworks, and wild parties. Now that Santa had come and Jesus was born, no one was particularly concerned about being on their best behavior. Everyone in Tulsa would be partying–but the greasers? We did it best.

Angie stopped by yesterday once she knew that all of Maeve's relatives would be gone. Christmas was never a big thing in the Shepherd house. She was sprawled out on Maeve's bed, painting her nails a deep red color, her feet in the air behind her.

Angela always had the best gossip, getting the girl drama from Evie and the girls at school, and getting the gang rivalries from her brother and his friends. Of course most of it was trivial disputes—guys always acted like girl drama was so immature, as if they were any better. It was always "he gave me mouth," or "he was checking out my girl," and then their friends got involved and it became a whole thing. The only difference between the two is that girls don't feel the need to hit each other over it (for the most part). Yet we were the emotional ones.

One thing that she mentioned that did peak Maeve's interest was that there would be a greasers-only bonfire party on New Year's Eve. Fireworks (a bunch of teenage boys setting off explosives) and drinks (alcohol for said teenagers) included.

According to her, everyone on the east side was going. It was bound to be a big thing. Maeve wasn't too big on parties–if her friends were going she would too–but she had no interest in being packed in a room with a bunch of touchy, sweaty, drunk townies. But this was bound to be better than one of Buck's 'half off beer' parties.

"You know, I bet Scott will be there,"Angela said, pausing doing her nails to give Maeve a smirk.

She rolled her eyes. "It was just one kiss Ange, I doubt he even remembers my name."

"Oh he remembers your name alright."

"What does that mean?" Maeve knew that boys loved to talk about how far they went with a girl, it didn't matter if what they said was true or not, it could ruin a girls reputation all so easily.