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Tyra's eyes are closed.
She's flat on her back in Mindy's front seat. She can hear noises outside in the parking lot, the last-call sounds of men spilling out the doors and Mindy's friends—colleagues - laughing their high, drunk, closing time giggles.
She wonders what they think as they walk past the car and see her legs dangling from the passenger's side window, her bare feet swinging. Maybe they think there's something dirty going on. She's got real legs now, long and graceful. "Well aren't you just turning into a little woman right before our eyes," her momma's latest boyfriend had clucked, his eyes raking up and down her body when she came out of her bedroom yesterday.
It's on account of him she's been spending some nights sprawled in Mindy's truck, headphones jammed in her ears, waiting for the Landing Strip to close up. It's better than being home, right about now. Just about anything's better than being home.
She's humming along to some Bruce Springsteen song when hands close around her ankles and tug.
Her first instinct is to fight, to kick and scream and holler, and as she wrenches her legs out of the stranger's grip she hears, "Damn, Tyra! Jesus!"
Heart pounding, she twists her body until she's up, propped on her elbows—and it's Tim, of course it is, hank of greasy hair hanging in his face, his eyes underneath it pink and beer-blurry.
"What are you doing here?" she says - snarls, really, and she doesn't mean for her voice to come out like that all the time, pissed-off and bitter, but it does.
"Hangin' out with Billy." Tim leans in close, hands curling into the window, and she can smell him. Some of the other boys have started wearing cologne. Not Tim, though, Tim just smells like Tim all the time. "I got a lap dance, Tyra, what do you think about that? "
"Well. I think you're a liar, Tim." She grins at him, kicks her legs a little, making him look at them. Tyra doesn't have a whole lot of friends at school; nobody but the principal notices when she doesn't show up. She likes attention on her.
He grabs her ankles again and hums, "Maybe," and then Billy comes stumbling out of the club and slurs, "Tim, getcher ass in the car."
Tim squeezes his hands tight around her, and she can feel her sharp bones stinging where they're digging into his palms. "School's out tomorrow," he says, then he grins and trips after Billy.
Tyra watches them pile into their truck. Tim drives, even though he's only just barely fourteen, and Billy's leaning out the window hollering at one of Mindy's friends.
When the Riggins boys pull out of the lot, Tyra sees Buddy Garrity in the shadows of the club. He's got his hands all over one of the girls—Chastity, maybe, or Cherry—all unashamed, like he's not right out in front of the entire town cheating on his wife with a stripper.
Tyra's daddy is not a good man, wherever he is, but sometimes she thinks it's better that he's gone. Better than having a man like Buddy Garrity for a dad, better than seeing him do all those things that men do and then having to sit next to him in church on Sunday morning pretending he's perfect.
-
In the morning, Mama's crying at the kitchen counter and the ugly-ass red station wagon is gone from the front curb. Tyra skips the last day of school—because the principal already (begrudgingly) told her that they're gonna pass her and she'll go on to Dillion High in the fall, so what's one measly day gonna do?
She goes out to lunch with Mama and her sister and they all three laugh when Mindy pulls out a wad of singles to pay for their burgers. "Who needs him?" Mama says after three beers. "Certainly not me, no ma'am!" Afterward, they go to the old-lady dress shop that always makes Mindy laugh, and they try on silly hats with birds and things on them.
Tyra's smiling on the drive home. School's out, and the guy with the eyes won't be hanging around appreciating her all summer.
Dillon is different, in the summer. The rules change, and she even likes it, some days when she sneaks into the swim club and sits around with people she'd never tolerate when school's in session.
When they pull around the bend to their house, the red station wagon is back. "Oh, thank God," her mother sighs, and Tyra feels her jaw tense up. She slams out the door and walks away from the house. Nobody calls to her, so she walks all the way to the Riggins house.
Tim and Billy are tossing a football around in the street, and for a second, Tyra thinks it's kind of nice, the way they look like a normal family, wholesome as a Norman Rockwell.
Then she sees the beer can pyramid on the front step and Billy says, "Well hey there Miss Collette," sounding annoyed.
Tim takes her inside. They don't talk to each other, not really, but they spread out on his bed and she lets him put his fingers inside her for the first time.
It doesn't feel like anything, not really, but Tim's excited, grinning afterward for about two minutes until his eyes flick to his alarm clock and he says, "Damn, I'm late to meet Street. You, uh, wanna come? Here, put your jeans on."
-
Jason Street is going to be a junior in high school next year. He's practically king of the world already, and nobody in town really understands what he's doing hanging around with Tim Riggins.
Tyra knows, though. They're down by the river, and Tim's barely two sips into his first beer when he starts ranting about how great Street is. Right to his face, all my brother says you're the best Dillon's ever seen and man, I can't wait to play on your team, won't hardly have to do nothin', just watch you win and you're gonna be rich, Street, so rich you're gonna take care of me, someday, you and me, Texas forever and please, Jason, make sweet love to me because you're so perfect and I love you so much.
Tyra thinks if there was somebody in the world who thought all those things about her, she'd let him hang around all the time, too. No matter how much younger he was.
Jason doesn't talk to Tyra, much, though. He kind of nods at her when she shows up, and says "Hey there," like he's forgotten her name or something.
Lyla shows up a little while later. "Sorry I'm late," she says sweetly, just to Jason, like nobody else is there. "I had a family dinner."
Family dinner, all casual, like that's a thing real people do. Lyla's entire life is like some perfect sitcom where all the problems in the world get wrapped up neatly in a half an hour, and then everyone sits down to a big "family dinner" to talk about what they've learned and how much they love each other.
Tyra's mouth tastes bitter. She wants to say "Hey, Lyla, saw your dad last night! Yeah, down at the Landing Strip, he's become quite a regular! Oh- oh, god, sorry. You didn't think he was working late, now, did you? Well gosh, I feel just awful."
She doesn't, though, because Lyla sits down next to her and says, "Hi, Tyra."
"Hi, Lyla."
The rules change in Dillon in the summer.
"You ladies want a beer?" Jason asks, like Tyra only just showed up. Nobody in town questions why he hangs out with Lyla Garrity. They haven't even started dating yet—not officially, because Lyla won't date until high school, thank you—but their three perfect children and their white picket fence are practically in the bag.
"Yes, please," Lyla says, which surprises Tyra, a bit. All through the year Lyla turned her nose up at every damn thing Tyra did, and here she is, cracking open a cold one like a pro.
Sometimes, when Tyra is pathetic enough to consider it, she thinks she and Lyla could've been friends in some other universe. Tyra sees Lyla in the cafeteria at school, and even though she sits with all the other cheerleaders, even though they worship her, she hardly speaks to them, just stares at them like they're aliens. Tyra can relate.
-
"Dare," Tim says, and Jason says, "Dare you to run off into the street, naked, til a car comes by."
Lyla rolls her eyes, her cheeks pink and flushed. "Oh, don't," she says, tugging on her own ponytail, but her eyes are bright and she's more than a little drunk.
Tim does it; of course he does. He runs out into the street, kicking his clothes off, and then he stands up there hollering as one, two, three trucks speed by, honking. Then he turns tail and, instead of covering himself and picking up his clothes, he runs straight past them and into the river, yelling like a madman, his dick flopping around for the universe to see.
Tyra's seen it before, for a couple minutes, felt it pressed up against her a thousand times. Once, drunk and pawing at her breasts, Tim said, "If you put it in your mouth, I'll be your boyfriend," and she socked him in the eye.
She'll do it, though, eventually. She's curious, and it's not like she's scared. She'd not some prude. And maybe it'd be nice to have a boyfriend, in high school. Lyla and Jason will be officially dating in a few months. Tim will need a shoulder to cry on while he pines for his precious number six.
"Oh my god," Lyla squeals when Tim saunters back up from the river, soaked and strolling around, on display as he searches for his pants. She twists, suddenly, and hides her face against Tyra's shoulder, hands around Tyra's arm. "Oh my God," because the rules have changed, and they're something like friends now, at least for the next couple months until school starts.
Tim comes back, soaking through his jeans, his chest bare and shiny and skinny. He shakes his head and they all yell as they're sprayed by filthy river water. It makes Lyla grab Tyra closer, laughing and using her as a shield. If Tyra were someone else she'd giggle, happily sit around tipped drunkenly against Lyla.
"Truth or dare, Garrity!" Tim bellows.
"Dare," Lyla says quickly. She's just a bucket of surprises tonight.
Tim's grin is wicked and wide. "Dare you to kiss Tyra."
"No!" Lyla lets go of Tyra's arm. "That's gross, Tim."
"You did say dare," Jason says carefully.
"You watch it, mister," Lyla laughs, wagging a finger at him. "Because if you make us kiss, we're gonna make you kiss."
"Oh, jeez," Jason laughs. "Give her something else, Riggs, I know where your mouth's been. Nasty."
Tyra's entire body goes hot with embarrassment, because Tim's mouth's mostly been on her. People say shit like that about her all the time. She knows that; she's not stupid. She's just not used to them saying it right to her face, easy and casual like she's not even there. Like she can't feel things.
"Dare you to kiss Street, then," Tim says, resigned, suddenly bored by the entire game.
Lyla sighs. "Well, fine," she says, her voice sharp and stern like kissing Jason Street is the greatest hardship she can possibly imagine.
-
Tyra lags behind a bit, when they walk home. The longer it takes her to get back the more likely it is that Mama and Red Station Wagon will be asleep and she can just sneak in without seeing him.
She's not thinking about much, just staring down at the sidewalk as she walks, so she's a little startled when Lyla, walking up ahead with Tim and Jason, pauses to wait for her to catch up.
Lyla does that thing again, grabs Tyra's arm like they're old pals. "Hey," she says quietly, stretching out the syllable because she's good and wasted. "Jason didn't mean what he said back there. He wasn't talking about you. He was just—you know, sayin' it because he's heard it in a movie or something. Where's your mouth been, like he's heard it on TV."
Tyra blinks. She'd been careful, not to look hurt, but Lyla had noticed.
"Sure," she says, now. "I mean, I don't care." She shrugs. "Whatever. He probably just got all upset 'cause he wanted to kiss Tim."
Lyla's laugh is high and delicate, like a bell. "Probably," she giggles.
And then she stops and tugs on Tyra's arm, and kisses her right on the mouth.
Tyra freezes. Lyla's mouth is soft, nothing like Tim's, warm and sweet and laughing right against Tyra's lips.
When she pulls away, she giggles at herself, tugs at her ponytail. "Well," she says.
"Gonna have to learn to hold your liquor, Garrity," Tyra says. It's summer, and the rules have changed, but summer never lasts. Soon enough Lyla will be wearing her Panthers Cheer Squad uniform all the time, giving her those long-suffering, oh, Tyra Collette, you're such a mess, looks. Tyra's not stupid. She knows. "But I guess getting drunk and kissing randoms runs in your family."
Lyla blinks, surprise and hurt bursting over her face, emotions on a delay. "What?" she says, letting go of Tyra's arm.
"Nothing," Tyra says. Snarls, really, even though she doesn't mean it.