Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?
[Connie] had a quick, nervous giggling habit of craning her neck to glance into mirrors or checking other people's faces to make sure her own was all right. (1)
Connie would [...] look right through her mother, into a shadowy vision of herself as she was right at that moment: she knew she was pretty and that was everything. (1)
But all the boys fell back and dissolved into a single face that was not even a face but an idea, a feeling, mixed up with the urgent insistent pounding of the music and the humid night of July. (10)