CHAPTER FIVE
Rock Lobsters
"Maggie, get out of the car." "I can't."
"Please--" "What's wrong now?" Walt asks. "I need a cigarette." Maggie, Walt, and I are sitting in Maggie's car, which is parked in the cul-de-sac at the end of Tommy's street. We've been in the car for at least fifteen minutes, because Maggie is paranoid about crowds and refuses to get out of the car when we go to parties. On the other hand, she does have the best car. It's a gigantic gas-guzzling Cadillac that fits about nine people and has a quadraphonic stereo and a glove compartment filled with her mother's cigarettes. "You've smoked three cigarettes already." "I don't feel good," Maggie moans. "Maybe you'd feel better if you hadn't smoked all those cigarettes at once," I say, wondering if Maggie's mother notices that every time Maggie gives the car back, about a hundred cigarettes are missing. I did ask Maggie about it once, but she only rolled her eyes and said her mother was so clueless, she wouldn't notice if a bomb blew up in their house. "Come on," I coax her. "You know you're just scared." She frowns. "We're not even invited to this party." "We're not not invited. So that means we're invited."