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could see the very split of her…eh, derriere.
    I was more of the sophisticate with a Park Avenue socialite sense of fashion, preferring tailored slacks and classic dresses.
    And Moët? Well, God bless her soul but the poor child was so confused by her double life that she did not have time to develop her own style. She was a mix of all three of us, depending on whomever she went shopping with that week.
    I looked at each of my friends again. We were so different now. Our style. Our jobs. Our goals in life. Our dreams. But back in high school we were all four girls from Newark just trying to make it through high school. Our friendship helped the years pass by quickly. Thank God we found each other.
     
    It was the first party of the school year. Monica and I were excited even before we hopped out of the back of her father’s car, threw him a quick wave as he pulled off, and made our way inside. The gym was already packed. The lights were dimmer than they were during school. “Can I Get A …” by Jay-Z was blaring, and the dance floor was full.
    “What’s going on over there?” Monica asked as a crowd gathered to the left of the gym floor.
    I just shrugged because we were heading our nosy behinds in that direction.
    We wormed our way through the cheering people until we stood together near the edge of the inner circle. A slender dark-skinned girl was in the middle, dancing her behind off like she was working a 9 to 5.
    University High was a small school, so no one was a complete stranger whether you ever spoke to them or not. I knew her name was Keesha Lands. I had to admit that she impressed me because she was always cracking jokes in class and her gear was almost top-notch. She had on a gold herringbone chain that had to be three inches wide. And her fingernails were long and brightly airbrushed.
    I thought I was a pretty good dresser, but I could not compete with Monica or Keesha. I had to babysit after school just to make extra money to buy a few designer pieces to mix with the Wal-Mart clothes my latest foster parents bought for me.
    “She keep shaking like that, she gone send that chain flying, and then I know all hell gone break loose in here,” Monica joked.
    “I know that’s right.”
    Eventually the crowd dispersed and the party carried on. Monica and I had fun at our first high school party, laughing it up with our friends, flirting with the boys (especially the upperclassmen), and dancing just enough to be cute but not wild enough to get funky.
    “Girl, I have to pee,” Monica told me, grabbing my hand to pull me behind her out the gym and down the empty hall to the girl’s bathroom.
    Monica scooted into the one near the door as I checked my hair in the mirror over the sink. I started to sing “My Life” by Mary J. Blige. As Monica came out the stall and washed her hands, she started to sing along with me.
    We were off-key and not doing Ms. Mary any justice.
    Suddenly a third voice chimed in. We stopped singing. Startled, we both looked up to find Keesha’s slim face over the side of the stall beside the sink. As she continued to sing the bridge worse than even we did, we looked at each other, shrugged, and started singing again.
    We heard Keesha’s feet hit the ground just before she dramatically bust out the stall, her head flung back, her eyes closed as she sang into her fist. She had Mary’s movements down pat.
    A senior cheerleader walked into the bathroom, gave us an odd look, and turned and walked back out.
    We all stopped singing, looked at each other, and burst out laughing.
    The three us have been inseparable ever since.
     
    “Why don’t we go to the shore,” I suggested, changing the direction of my thoughts to the beaches of South Jersey.
    Dom immediately rolled her slanted mocha eyes heavenward as she reached in her Dolce & Gabbana bag for her always on-hand soft pack of Newport cigarettes. She lit one quickly, her peach-tinted lip gloss staining the butt. “This is my first