sipping her Coke, until he arrived.
'So?' he said, sitting down on the rounded plastic bench across from her.
'Any news?'
'I'm not pregnant.'
'Thank God.' He exhaled deeply, then took her hand across the table and smiled. 'You had me going there for a while. I was trying to think if you should have the baby and we should get married, or find a place to get an abortion, and if we'd have to quit school, and where we'd get the money. We really lucked out on this one.'
'We have to do something, though. Before we make love again. I don't want to go through all this every time.'
His smile faded. 'I'm not going to wear a rubber.'
'Then I'll . . . get something.'
'What?' he asked. 'And where? And how?'
She looked at him. Was he stupid? Hadn't he learned anything from the close call they'd just had? It sounded like he was arguing against using any form of birth control, like he wanted her to have sex with him and just take her chances.
'Fine,' she said. 'We'll wait till we're married, then.'
'You can't get pregnant with oral sex.'
She stared at him in shock.
He nodded enthusiastically. 'You could just suck me instead, and then we wouldn't have to worry about it.'
She didn't know what to say or how to respond. They had never performed that act before, had never even talked about it, and though she knew about oral sex, she'd always planned on avoiding it. The idea of having sperm in her mouth disgusted her, especially after she'd seen how thick and sticky and snotlike it was, and she figured that if Jake really loved her, he would never ask her to do that.
'That way,' he said, 'we could still have sex, we wouldn't have to worry about a junior coming along, and I wouldn't have to wear a rubber.'
'What's wrong with a condom?'
'I don't want to have anything between us.'
So you'd rather just use my mouth as a sperm receptacle? she thought. You don't care about my feelings at all? A condom's uncomfortable, so you want me to give up having my orgasm and be grateful that I get to make you have one?
But she said nothing.
He squeezed her hand. 'I think it's more romantic if there's nothing between us.'
She forced herself to smile, though she felt sick inside. 'Me, too,' she said.
Her parents were asleep, and she had just finished chronicling the series of misadventures that had made up today and was hiding her journal beneath her mattress when Samantha walked into the room.
'Hey,' Shannon said, looking up.
'Hey.' Samantha sat down on the edge of the bed.
Something was wrong. Sam didn't just come into her room to hang out. When her sister dropped by it was always for a reason. She wanted to borrow something. Or she needed Shannon to help her lift something. Or she wanted to complain about the messiness of the bathroom.
She did not just come by to chat.
Samantha looked around the room. 'Is there anything you want to talk about?' she asked.
Shannon frowned. 'No. Why?'
Sam's face reddened. 'I just thought . . . we're sisters, you know. You can talk to me if something's wrong.'
No, I can't, Shannon thought, but she said nothing.
Sam took a deep breath. 'We both share the same bathroom, you know. I can't help noticing if things . . . change.'
Oh, God. She'd noticed that there were no maxi-pads in the wastepaper basket! Shannon felt a sinking in the pit of her stomach. 'There's nothing wrong,' she said.
Samantha's blush deepened. She almost stood, almost left, then changed her mind and started to say something, but only ended up clearing her throat. She looked away. 'I know your period hasn't come,' she said.
Shannon felt her own face grow hot. She didn't want to talk about this with her sister.
'Does Jake know? Have you told him?'
'There's nothing to tell,' Shannon said. 'I was just late. God, do I have to discuss every aspect of my body with you? Do you want me to tell you when I have to blow my nose? Do you want to know when I have diarrhea?'
'No!' Sam's face was now completely red. 'I was worried, that's all.'
'Well, worry about yourself! Don't worry about me!'
Samantha stood, strode out of the room. 'Sorry I was born!'
'So am I!' Shannon hurried after her sister and slammed the bedroom door shut behind her. She stood there for a moment, shaking, then sat back down on the bed, leaned her head against the pillow, and closed her eyes.
It was a long time before she fell sleep.
2
'Check.'
Bill watched as Street McHenry moved his rook down the length of the board to steal Bill's bishop.
He thought for a moment, then picked up his knight, started moving it to capture the rook, but saw that that would leave his king undefended and allow Street's queen to take his king. Slowly, he moved his knight back into place.
Street shook his head. 'What a pussy.'
Bill grinned. 'That's exactly what I said to your sister last night.'
'Before she burst out laughing?'
'Laughing? She was gasping. In awe. My length is my strength.'
'Just make your play,' Ben said. 'Christ, if you two spent as much time playing chess as you did napping your gums, we might get out of here before midnight one of these evenings.'
'Midnight?' Bill said. 'It's only eight o'clock.'
'Just play the damn game.'
Four moves later, the game was over.
Street won.
As always.
Bill had won the computer match the night before.
As always.
'Record unbroken,' Ben announced.
The three of them stood, stretched. Street finished off his beer, gathered up all of their cans and carried them to the kitchen.
Bill turned toward the editor. There'd been an article on The Store in today's paper, a fairly long feature describing the chain's history and plans for the Juniper store. The article had quoted Newman King, founder and CEO of The Store, extensively. 'I read your Store article,' he said. 'You actually interviewed Newman King?'
The editor snorted. 'Hell, no. They sent me a press release, quotes included, and I stole liberally from it.'
'I was wondering. I thought he was like a Howard Hughes character, didn't like to appear in public and all that.'
'Them's the rumors,' Ben said. 'To be honest, I did try to call corporate headquarters and get my own quotes, but if King ever did deign to speak with the press, it'd probably be to Barbara Walters or Jane Pauley, or Dan or Tom or Peter, not to a lowly podunk reporter like yours truly. I was told, politely but firmly, that King speaks to his customers through press releases and that those were the only quotes I'd be getting.' He shrugged. 'So I used
