legged, afraid of stumbling and making fools of themselves. But they are young, with smooth skin and girly laughs and all their hopes for love riding on goodnight kisses in the moonlight. So naive.
I watch the boys watching the girls. They can't keep their eyes off cleavage and soft shoulders and high, rounded butts. They push against their dance partners, pressing the shapes of the girls to accommodate their own, feeling bare skin and risking a quick kiss when they think we chaperones aren't watching. As if I'd step between them. Let them revel in their illusion of romance. It's over soon enough.
When Ryan arrives with the horsey girl in tow, my mouth goes dry. He looks delicious wearing a coat and tie, both bought by me. I want him to know the luxury of quality fabrics and well-cut clothes. He should know that the garment universe doesn't consist only of T-shirts and denim. The stretch of Italian linen across his shoulders, the slimness of his waist and narrow hips, excite me. He always makes me want him.
He's smiling at the girl and she's smiling back. Can he see how she feels about him? Does he know how much she wants him? If he's blind to her, I'm glad. I can't compete with her youth.
“Young love. Isn't it grand?” Coach Mathers interrupts my thoughts.
“Very grand,” I say.
“I don't even remember being that young.”
He's attempting to engage me in conversation, but I don't care to talk to him. He's a nonevent on my calendar. “I do.”
After a few minutes of staring at the dancers, he asks, “So, are you finding your way around Atlanta well enough?”
“Yes.”
“Took me a long time when I first moved here. Why do you suppose they named so many streets Peachtree?”
“Yes, that is peculiar.”
He's annoying me. I want him to leave me alone. I turn and see Ryan and a group of his friends coming toward me. My nerve endings tingle. I was content to stay in the background tonight and out of his way because lately he's wanted to reconnect with these kids. I'm cool with that. Mostly because I think he'll tire of them quickly. Especially when he has me waiting for him.
I force myself not to look at Ryan. Two of the girls are in my classes, so it's easy to smile and talk to them. They admire my necklace. The girl Ryan's with, Honey, can't take her eyes off it. “A gift from a friend,” I tell them, knowing they could never guess just how friendly Ryan and I are.
Once they walk away, I ask Mathers to get me a soda and he scurries off like a lovelorn puppy. The music is loud and the colored lights swirl across the dancers like smears of bright paint. I close my eyes and absorb the sound like a sponge. I was never this young. I should have been. But my father took it all away from me. And my mother did nothing to stop him. Not one damn thing.
Ryan
I'm awake in my room at two in the morning, rest less, thinking that the dance was a big waste of time, when my computer signals that an urgent e-mail has hit my inbox. It's from Lori.
Did you like the dance? Was it all you wanted it to be? I thought you looked good enough to eat….
The e-mail goes on to describe what she'd like us to be doing to each other right now, and all I want is to get into bed with her. My body aches. I need her. I feel ready to explode.
Want to come get me?
She replies:
Let me grab my keys and I'm on my way.
I dress in black, open a window and edge out onto the porch roof, then slide down a side column holding up the porch. I've made this escape many times to meet her, so I'm waiting at the end of my block when she drives up. I get into her car.
She reaches over, squeezes me, and I shiver. “I don't want to wait one more minute,” she says. She drives to a nearby golf course and parks behind a clump of trees on the rough. I slide my seat as far back as it will go and she climbs on top of me. In minutes, our clothes are off and the insides of the windows are steamy. “I want you,” she whispers. “I want you now.”
When it's over, when we're both limp and gasping for breath, she buries her face in my chest. “For what it's worth, I hated seeing you with that girl.”
“Neither of us had a good time,” I say. “Honey got sick to her stomach and we just went through the motions the rest of the night.”
“I'm sorry she got sick.” Lori doesn't sound too convincing.
“Did you have a good time with Mathers?”
“He's not my type.”
“Good. I didn't like seeing you with him, either.”
She pulls back and the necklace I gave her catches a stray gleam of light. I touch it. “It looks good on you.”
“Especially when it's all I'm wearing.”
I grin. “Right.”
Suddenly a beam of light hits our side window.
“What's going on in there?” a man's voice says. “You all right? Have an accident?”
I freeze. Lori rolls off me, scrambles into the driver's seat, cranks the engine.
“This is private property!” the voice shouts.
I make out the shape of a man in a uniform holding a flashlight. “Cops!” I tell Lori.
The man bangs on the window.
“A security guard,” she says. “Hang on.” She puts the car into reverse. The tires spin in the soft dirt and for a second I think we're stuck, but the tires grab on to hard clay and the car shoots backward.
The man yells, “Stop!”
The tires squeal as we hit pavement and the car fishtails, but Lori holds it and in seconds we're wheeling down a side street. My heart's racing, but I feel electrified, alive to the tenth power. Lori slows and we both let out a whoop. “Awesome!” I shout between fits of laughing.
“That was a close one.” Lori pounds the steering wheel. “He ate our dust!”
We drive, and as the pumped feeling leaves me, I begin to sweat. “What if we'd been caught?”
“We weren't.”
But my adrenaline is gone and all I want to do is get back to my room. “Better take me home.”
“Better get dressed.”
I've forgotten I don't have clothes on. I manage to tug on my jeans, shirt and shoes while Lori drives slowly around for block after block. Once I'm dressed, she makes a turn onto my street and stops a few doors down from my house. I look over at her. “What about you? Want me to wait while you dress?”
She pulls an athletic jacket from the backseat and slips it on. “I'll finish when I hit my parking lot.”
I grin. “Don't get pulled over by a cop.”
She leans over and kisses me. “I love you, Ryan. You make me feel alive. I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost you.”
I get out, jog through two yards to the barking of neighborhood dogs, shimmy up the porch column and scramble into the safety of my room. It's four in the morning when I collapse on my bed. I'm glad it's Saturday and I can sleep in.
Honey
Mom comes into my room around ten on Saturday and asks, “How was the dance?”
I've been awake for a long time but too depressed to get out of bed. I turn toward the wall. “Great time.”
