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Tonight, Sasha's dad called Petra to say that he had come to Vancouver and picked Sasha up and could Petra please send her things home with me next week. He didn't explain why he was a day early or why Sasha had left her stuff. So I don't know if she was arrested, or if she just freaked out and called her dad. Petra asked me if I knew what had happened, and I shook my head.

I didn't used to have all these secrets. It makes me feel tired and old.

Friday, August 20th

This morning in rehearsal, Petra said we were coming across as ethereal and weightless, like good ballerinas. But she wanted us to be grounded and earthy.

My shoulders tightened when I heard the criticism. I assumed it was directed at me. I'm the one with the least experience in modern dance, after all. Practically none. I was probably bringing down the level of the group. Isn't that what Ms. Kelly said when she kicked me out of the jazz piece? My God, what was I doing here? I crossed my arms, holding my ribs with one hand and my opposite shoulder with the other.

“So, to help you with that, I'm going to lead you in an improvisation,” Petra said. “Focus on sinking your weight into the floor.”

I couldn't believe the critique was over. Ms. Kelly used to rant on and on until every single one of us felt like crap. Petra was actually offering a
solution
. Was this what they called
constructive
criticism? I unhooked my arms from my torso.

Petra smiled. “Let's start by lying down.”

I lay on my back with my knees bent up, arms spread. My lower back released into the floor. My knees toppled to one side, my left leg swung across, and the momentum pulled me onto my stomach. I thought about what Lance had said:
express what's in your heart.
The sun slanted across the floor and I was hit with a memory of that afternoon with Kevin:

Before it happened, we looked into each other's eyes and he really saw me; I know he did. Separate colors made up the hazel of his eyes … green, amber, brown. But then, snap, his pupils dulled, and all signs that he knew me, let alone liked me, disappeared. He slid inside me, but I could have been anyone.

In the studio, I twisted and turned, flopping on the floor, a caricature of a restless sleeper. I didn't
want
to feel the weight of my limbs. I wanted to split off from my body, I wanted to forget. But after a few minutes of writhing, the movement took over. My arms and legs swept the floor. Soon I was sliding and popping into jackknifes, upside down, weight on my hands, following Petra's cues to move around the room. She guided us to a standing finish. I pretended to rise from a pile of tangled bed sheets. I kicked them to the side of the room.

“Good, good.” Petra nodded and made eye contact with each of us in turn. “You've got
substance
now, you've got density. You want to bring all of that inner richness to the work.”

Evening

Mom called tonight. “Hi, Nat.”

Warmth filled my chest. “Hi, Mom.” It's much easier to think fondly of someone when you're not living on top of each other. Besides, spending time with Sasha had made me feel lucky in the Mom department.

“You've had a couple of phone calls—one from Lisa.”

I sucked in a breath. “What did she say?”

Was my luck going to hold? Could I really be both un-pregnant and uninfected?

“She said to tell you that she has good news. But the details can wait till you're back in town.”

Perfect.
I released my breath.

“I heard from Kevin, as well.”

A bungee jump from a railroad trestle couldn't have made my stomach lurch more.

“Nat? Are you there?”

“Yeah.” I tried to sound normal. “What did he say?”

He apologized to her for the party. He asked about me and about the yard and whether there was anything he could do. He gave her his number to pass on to me—the number where he's staying, that is. I'm pretty sure he's still transient.

Kevin must have charmed Mom, because she said if I wanted to call him, I could charge it to the calling card. “I really think he just wants to make amends.”

Can she be that naïve? My impatience with her rushed back. A guy like Kevin never calls up just to apologize. He must want something. I wonder what Lisa would say?
Too little, too late
, I bet.
I really think you should forget him.

Maybe Mom thinks if I'm dating, I'll be too distracted to care about
her
love life. Maybe she hopes that someone else will provide me with TLC (her pet acronym: Tender Loving Care), leaving her free to squander all her love on Marine. Poor Paige! I'll be all right, but a ten-year-old still needs a mother. I hope Mom pulls herself together before Paige gets back.

Still … I
am
tempted to call Kevin. I wonder what he wants? And if he knows what happened to Sasha? It's calmer now that she has gone. That mean streak of hers is hardening into a permanent callus, and the things she said really stung. I worry about her, but I don't know how to help.

Saturday, August 21st

Petra's boyfriend Michel returned yesterday, so I packed up my things and moved to Monique's studio apartment. Besides a kitchenette, her room contains only a sofa (a.k.a. guest bed), a set of shelves, and a coffee table made from black plastic crates. She sleeps on a mattress in a walk-in closet and shares a bathroom with two neighbors down the hall.

This morning, before Monique left to get her hair cut, she said, “Let's go out dancing tonight.”

“At a bar? I'm fifteen, remember?”

“Pfff. Fifteen going on twenty-one. Leave it to me,
chérie.
”

Monique is still at the salon. The phone is sitting on the coffee table. This is probably the best chance I'm going to have to call Kevin. God, I want to! I can't believe we were living together like lovers for a week and then, boom—no contact at all. OK. Deep breath.

Afterwards …

I didn't realize how mad I was.

Mad that he moved into my mother's house without an invitation, mad that I let him stay, mad that he spent my grocery money on beer and weed, mad that he had that party against my wishes, mad that his friends tore up the garden, and MAD that he seduced me! MAD! MAD!! Mad that I
let
him seduce me, too. But mad that he wouldn't realize that we needed to talk about it, that losing your virginity is a big deal, that it might upset me, and that above all we needed to use protection! All these feelings flooded me when he answered the phone. I really let him have it.

He listened, I'll give him that. He tried to soothe me. Just hearing his voice transported me to “our” lake, where arbutus leaves were turning color and water lapped the dock. The memory turned me on. I twisted on the couch and hugged a pillow to my stomach. I wanted to soften my voice and touch him with it, like a lover.

Instead, I described the embarrassing trip to the drugstore and the hideous appointment at the Sexual Health Clinic. “I'm
never
going through that again.”

He was quiet for a minute. What was he thinking? What was he feeling?

“I'm sorry, Natalie,” he said finally. “I guess I took advantage of you.”

He exhaled heavily: he was smoking.

“But I wasn't calling just to apologize.”

I
knew
it.

“You weren't?”

My heart was pounding. I wanted to hear in words what I'd seen in his eyes that afternoon. A confession of feeling.

“No.” He paused and inhaled again. “I—I'd like to see you again.”

That wasn't nearly enough. “I'm in Vancouver.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and I'm going out clubbing tonight.”

“With who?”

I told Kevin what Monique had said:
When I'm finished with you, you won't even need fake ID.

He snorted. “Watch out for older guys. They're only after one thing.”

I sputtered. “
You're
an older guy, Kevin. What does that say about
you
?”

“There's an exception to every rule, Natalie.”

“And you're it.”

“That's right.”

“Whatever.”

When I hung up the phone, I was shaking.

Sunday, August 22nd

Last night I wore a backless halter top with Monique's leather pants and swept my hair into a French twist. Three-inch heels and dramatic makeup. Two of Monique's friends joined us: Nadia and Min. Nineteen-year-old Nadia and I look a little bit alike, and she lent me her driver's license. It passed inspection, and they let me in. Nadia joined us half an hour later, using her passport for ID.

It was dark, loud, and crowded. I needed a drink just to blunt my senses. The waitress didn't ask for ID. She just delivered what I ordered. I couldn't get over the freedom, the power. The others said I looked nineteen or twenty and fit in just fine. I could afford only two drinks and downed them one after another. Two coolers on a fairly empty stomach made me tipsy.

Black wavy hair, rippled arms, and a long body grabbed my attention—Kevin! The guy must have felt my eyes on his back. He turned around and caught me staring. Then grinned. Not Kevin at all, but cute. I grinned back and he approached and asked me to dance. I flung myself into the movement, at ease. The music changed and we stayed for a slow dance. He held me close, and the heat of his body aroused me. When the song ended, he led me to a velvety-cushioned seat. Across the bar, the trio of Monique, Nadia, and Min sipped their drinks and watched me over their straws. It felt good to know they were looking out for me. Hip hop music blasted and people grooved, like an MTV video, but live.

The guy, named Michael, bought me another vodka cooler. He talked about his car and the work he was doing on it. I really didn't care what he had to say—I was just hoping he would touch me again. Pretty soon he did. When I didn't respond to a question, he nudged me and then let his hand drape my thigh. I was hoping he would work his hand up my leg. But the waitress arrived with my drink and he lifted his hand off. He stretched his arm over the back of the seat and brushed his fingertips against my shoulder. I snuggled against him and turned up my face. He didn't have much choice but kiss me. It was soft and slow, the opposite of Kevin's.

He broke away. “I have to ask you how old you are.”

I blurted, “Fifteen.” I don't know why, except I was sick of secrets and lies.

He jumped back on the seat and retracted his arm. “Are you serious?”

“No, just kidding!”

But it was too late.

“I thought you were nineteen or twenty. What are you even
doing
in here? You could get yourself into a lot of trouble.”

“What are you, the minor patrol?”

“My sister is eighteen and I wouldn't even want
her
in here. For God's sake, I'm twenty-four.”

It was my turn to be surprised. “I thought
you
were nineteen or twenty. Anyway, I can take care of myself.”

“That's not what it felt like to me. Man, I feel like I should turn you in.”

“You wouldn't dare.” I took a swig of the cooler.

He eyed the bottle and shook his head. “I bought liquor for a minor.”

“That's right, you're an accessory, you can't turn me in.”

He sighed. “You're right. I'll have to share it with you.” He took the bottle from me and sipped. “Blech. How do you drink that sweet crap?”

“Easy.” I snatched the bottle.

Michael turned his head away to think, then swiveled it back. “Okay.” He slapped my thigh in a friendly way. “Here's the deal. I won't turn you in, but I'm going to keep my eye on you for the rest of the night.”

“No more kissing?”

“Go dance with your friends, child.”

I stuck out my tongue at him. I didn't appreciate being called a child. But he did watch out for me for the rest of the night. If any other guys started to move in on me, he would step in and join me, kind of like a bodyguard. We danced a few more times and chatted a bunch. I said things like, “You're
sure
you don't want another kiss?” just to tease him. It was so fun just to flirt. At the end of the night he said, “It was a pleasure to meet you. Do come back—in
four years
!”

I'm glad it turned out the way it did. Michael's reaction to my age has made me wonder, again, why Kevin would want to date someone so much younger. And my reaction to alcohol makes me think I should hold off in the future. I didn't get as drunk as the other girls, though, so I'm feeling pretty good today.