Backdated to August 1st
By golly, she was nineteen. Nineteen and on a tropical hunk of rock in the middle of the ocean. Then again, it wasn't all that grim- nIneteen wasn't that landmark of an age, anyway, and the island wasn't so bad when she wasn't playing fetus-babysitter or stuck in a month-long monsoon.
If she'd been home, they would have graduated by now - most of the Pink Ladies, anyway; it was doubtful that the T-Birds had gotten all their credits, and Frenchy would have to make up the time she'd missed with the whole Beauty School lark. Jan had planned to go off to Mount St. Mary's college, and Sandy would have returned back Down Under now that her exchange student year was up. Marty'd go in for secretary training, hoping it'd land her a cushy marraige to a lawyer, doc, or CEO. Everyone would be getting on with their lives, and she was here, lounging around on the beach and making passes at good-looking guys, bored and not going nowhere. Still, she hadn't had a whole lot waiting for her back home after graduation, either, and at least she didn't have a kid to look after.
Maybe she could've gotten a party or something together around here, but she'd never been the hostess with the mostess, and never had any urge to be. She wouldn't say she was content to sit on the steps to the Compound and smoke a rolled cigarette, the sun warm on her outstretched legs beneath her skirt, but it wasn't a drag, either.
((ST is my modus operandi these days, and LTs are always welcome.))