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A vision in pink and lace came down the steps from the gym floor and sat down beside me. Melba June Monroe, an eleventh grader, looked me over. She was a pretty girl. I had always liked her. "Hi, Sonny," she cooed. "Boy is my date boring. I don't even know where he is. Why is a tough little rocket boy going stag to the formal? Do you wanta dance?"
I wanted to dance, and I wanted to take her home in Roy Lee's backseat afterward. Did both, as it turned out. Rocket-boy fame.
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