I throw on a robe before I shove a complaining Coralene into the bathroom and shut the door. I run down the stairs, terrified he might be gone by now and momentarily terrified that it could be R. J.
I get to the door, and there he stands. Not R. J. Thank the sweet lord.
“Hey, Evvie girl,” he breathes with that smile a his. “Thought we had a date.”
“Yeah.” I step out onto the porch and pull the door closed behind me. I must look quite interesting in my flip-flops and robe. It’s a black satin kimono robe with dragons of different colors on it. It once belonged to Mama, but she gave it to me. Said it made her feel old to wear it. It’s pretty, but looks like somethin’ a madam in a whorehouse might wear.
“Sorry ’bout that,” I say. “I guess cuz we didn’t make no definite plans, I wasn’t real sure—”
And Clay interrupts me with a kiss. A soft, quiet kiss, but intense nonetheless. He pulls his lips back, but his face remains so close to mine I could probably count his pores if I wanted to. It’s right, him bein’ this close to me. So right, it feels like we’ve always been like this.
“You sure now?” he whispers.
I nuzzle his nose, not wanting to lose this physical contact.
“I’m not sure I can get away tonight,” I finally say.
“Why?”
Such a simple question. Why indeed.
“I’m kinda in trouble,” I say, and then laugh at how babyish that sounds. He smiles at me.
“What did ya do, wild child?”
“Came home an hour past curfew last night. Cuz I was with you.”
“Just an hour. That ain’t nothin’.”
“Maybe you should explain that to my mother.”
“Maybe I should,” he says, and he kisses me again. I feel like I got the sun inside me.
“Know what?” he asks.
“What?”
“Pop lent me the Plymouth tonight. You know how often that happens?”
I pretend to think about my answer. “Not that often?”
“That is correct.” We both laugh. Kiss. Laugh. Kiss again.
“Tell her you’ll never miss curfew again. Come on! Let me take you somewhere. Anywhere you wanna go,” he says. “Where you wanna be right now?”
“Hawaii,” I tell him, and we both crack up. I know what I’ll be doing this evening, and I’m already planning out what I’ll say to Mama in a matter of seconds, because there’s no way anyone or anything can keep us apart tonight. Let ’em try.
I hop into the passenger’s seat. I told him I’d be ten minutes, but it was closer to twenty-five, and even so, I’m still just wearin’ some pedal pushers and a matchin’ top, nothin’ too special. But my cherry bomb lipstick is freshly coated, and my hair looks pretty sharp.
Mama wasn’t too tough to handle. She has trouble sayin’ no when she can tell how important something is to us. But if I don’t make curfew this time, she threatened to punish me in a way I haven’t even imagined, and I don’t think she was kidding.
I turn and flash him a grin. He grins right back.
“I’m not gonna tell you you’re stunning,” he says.
I’m cool on the outside. Inside, I’m swoonin’ like I’m in some old movie.
“Why not?” I ask.
“Cuz I don’t want you to get a big head.” He winks at me then and pulls away from the curb.
“Where we goin’?”
“You’ll see. Ain’t far.”
It gets quiet for a few seconds, and I panic. I don’t want him to get bored. I quickly try to come up with a conversation topic.
“You like workin’ at the garage with your dad?” I ask him, and I almost want to take it back. I wish I’d thought harder. This is just generic small talk.
“I wouldn’t say ‘like,’ but I could do worse. I can’t do it much longer, though. Too risky.”
I nod, confused at first, but then I know exactly what he’s talking about.
“Have you ever hurt your hands before?”
“Not so bad it affected my playin’. But it’s only a matter of time. That’s why I gotta retire,” he says.
“You should play for me sometime,” I tell him. “Just me.”
“I will,” he says with a smile.
Clay’s a real talented musician. He can play a few instruments, but his trumpet is like a part of him. I glance at the back seat, and there it sits in its sharp-lookin’ case, like a third passenger.
“So you gonna go professional?” I ask.
“That’s the plan. Not around here, though. Wouldn’t be able to feed a squirrel on what I’d make here. Gotta get up north. Wailin’ in a Chicago nightspot like the Regal Theater or at the Strand Hotel? That’s my dream.”
“That’s a hip dream,” I say. I bet it’s wonderful to have a dream that could come true for real.
“It’s a hard life, though,” he muses, “bein’ a musician. But I’d love to give it a real shot. At least then I’ll always know I tried, ya know?”
“Yeah,” I say, tryna imagine him moving from town to town just carrying his trumpet case. For some reason, the image makes me sad.
“What about you?” he asks. “You thought about what you gonna do when you graduate?”
I’m surprised by this question, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say. This is the first time anybody’s asked me.
“No. Not really,” I say. I don’t reveal my secret wish to go to college. Any college. My grades are mostly good, and I love to learn new things. Mrs. Abernathy, the tenth-grade science teacher, thinks I might be able to do all right in college.
My bigger secret is that I’d love to study the stars and the planets. I love my astronomy book, but it only goes so far. I’ve read a few others from the library, but they’re all outta date. I’m sure in college they have modern books written by real astronomers workin’ today. I’d love to get ahold a those. But there’s no way in hell we’d ever be able to afford it.
“Not at all?” he
