Pretending to Dance (18 page)

“Like, in half an hour. Let's do our makeup!”

I followed her upstairs and into a small room crammed with two twin beds, one of them unmade. Clothes and makeup seemed to be growing from every surface in the room and a sweet floral scent filled the air.

Stacy grabbed her makeup bag from the dresser. “Oh!” she said, reaching for a book that was lying on the unmade twin bed. “Here's the Judy Blume book I told you about.
Forever
? Oh my God, you are going to love it!”

She handed it to me and I looked at the cover. The girl in the center of the cover actually looked a little like an older version of me. If I didn't wear glasses, anyhow.
A moving story of the end of innocence,
it read below the picture.

“It's a really good love story,” Stacy said, “plus it'll tell you everything you ever wanted to know about sex. Trust me.”

“Thanks,” I said, unzipping my backpack to slip the book inside. While I had the backpack open, I took off my glasses and put them in the inside pocket. No way would I meet this guy with my big pink glasses hanging on my face.

*   *   *

In the small bathroom, we took turns in front of the mirror to put on our makeup.

“He already saw your freckles in the picture and he thinks you're cute, so you don't need to cover them,” Stacy said.

“I want to, though,” I said, reaching for her magical foundation.
Be yourself,
my father always said.
You're perfect the way you are
. I could hear his voice in my head, but it wasn't helping. When I was with my parents, I
did
feel perfect. Right at that moment, though, standing next to one of the most beautiful girls in my school, I wasn't feeling it. “What can I do about my hair?” I looked at her straight, glossy hair in the mirror.

“It looks good,” Stacy said. “I wish my hair had some of that lift in it.”

I didn't believe her. She couldn't possibly envy my hair. I shifted my gaze from my hair back to my face. At least there was something I could do about that, I thought as I smoothed the foundation over my freckles. Then I brushed mascara on my lashes with a shaky hand, and Stacy's dark eyes met mine in the mirror. She smiled.

“Don't be nervous,” she said. “We'll just listen to music and talk.”

“I'm not nervous,” I lied, but when I set the mascara on the ledge above the sink, my hand slipped back in my pocket to wrap around my palm stone again.

*   *   *

Chris was probably the best-looking boy I'd ever seen in real life, in spite of the fact that, unlike all the guys in the posters on my springhouse walls, he had blond hair. Maybe
best-looking boy
was an exaggeration, but when he walked into Stacy's living room and smiled at me like I was the only girl in the world, my insides turned to mush. It was an even stronger feeling than I had when I looked at Johnny Depp's picture. Stronger and deeper and altogether better. It was a scary feeling, too. It made me feel like I could do something really, really stupid if I didn't keep my wits about me. It made me
want
to do something really, really stupid.

Love at first sight,
I told myself.
This is what it feels like
.

Bryan zoned in on Stacy like a magnet. He was tall—maybe six feet—and his hair was as dark and silky as Stacy's. It swooped over his forehead above blue eyes. He wrapped his arms around Stacy with a familiarity that made my stomach drop. Hooking his thumbs under the waistband at the back of her cutoffs, he leaned down for a kiss so deep I looked away, embarrassed. My gaze locked with Chris's, who seemed amused by the whole thing.

“Get a room,” he said to them, and I smiled. They didn't seem to hear him, or else they didn't care, and Chris had to walk around them to come closer to where I stood, awkwardly, at one side of the living room.

“Do you like this song?” He motioned toward the cassette player in the corner of the room.

“What?” I said, stupidly. I hadn't even noticed that Stacy had put on a Bon Jovi tape. “Oh. Yes,” I said. “A lot.” Chris actually looked a little like Jon Bon Jovi, I thought. He was growing more amazing looking with each passing minute.

He walked over to the cassette player and started looking through the tapes scattered around it on the table. I didn't know whether to follow him or what, and Stacy and Bryan were in their own little world, still standing in the middle of the floor, kissing. Chris turned to wave me over and in a moment I was standing next to him, glad to have something to do other than feel out of place at the side of the room. I thought he smelled like cigarettes. I'd never liked that smell, but it was suddenly, curiously, delicious.

“How about this one?” He held a Metallica tape in front of me, and when I wrinkled my nose, he laughed. “All right,” he said. “We'll stick with Bon Jovi.”

We turned back to the room and I saw that Stacy and Bryan had disappeared. “Guess they took my advice about the room,” he said. I couldn't believe she would actually go into a bedroom with Bryan, but from where I stood, I could see into the kitchen and the dining room, and unless they'd gone outside, they had to be upstairs.

Chris sat down on the sofa and patted the cushion next to him. “So come tell me everything there is to know about you, Molly Arnette,” he said, and I loved that he knew my last name. “You're a lot prettier in person than you are in that yearbook picture.”

“Thank you.” I sat down, leaving one full couch cushion worth of space between us. My mind didn't seem to be functioning properly. Tell him everything there was to know about me? I couldn't think of a single intelligent thing to say. I wasn't shy … or at least I'd never thought of myself as shy. But maybe I was. I heard laughter coming from upstairs. They
were
upstairs. Stacy was a whole lot braver than me.

Chris reached into his T-shirt pocket and pulled out a joint. I'd never seen one in person before, but I knew that's what it was. “You'll join me?” he asked, holding it in the air.

I shook my head. “I never have.”

“Always a first time.” His blond eyelashes were long and thick.
Oh God.
He was so hot.

He held the unlit joint toward me and I shook my head again. What was I so afraid of? All I knew was, I couldn't do it. “No, thank you,” I said.

“No, thank you,” he repeated after me with a smile. I didn't think he was mocking me, exactly. It was closer to teasing, and I smiled back at him. He lit the joint and drew in a long inhalation. The smell was new to me and I decided I liked it.

“Stacy said you live on this family compound or something,” he said. “Is it, like, a religious cult?”

“What? No!” I laughed. “It's nothing like that.” I explained how the land had been in our family forever, and as I spoke, I felt my equilibrium returning. It was easy for me to talk about Morrison Ridge and he was interested, or else he was faking it well.

“You seem really normal for someone who lives on a family compound,” he said.

“Family
land,
” I corrected him. Hadn't he been listening to me? “We never call it a compound.”

“There was this Goth chick in my class who lived on a family compound,” he said. “She was whacked. I thought maybe it came with the territory.”

Oh no,
I thought. “That's my cousin Danielle,” I said. “She's your age so you probably—”

“Yes! That was her name.”

“She's the only family member like that,” I said.

“She disappeared,” he said. “We figured she ended up in a loony bin or something.”

“She goes to a boarding school now,” I said. I suddenly felt defensive of Dani. Life must have been harder for her in school than I'd ever known. “She's really not that bad.”

The joint was half gone and, almost without thinking, I moved closer to him and reached for it. With a smile, he set it between my thumb and index finger. “Inhale and hold your breath a few seconds. You want to keep it in as long as you can.”

I held the joint to my lips and breathed in. I expected to cough, but I didn't, and I held my breath so long he laughed. Then I started laughing, the smoke coming out in a cloud.

“You're so cute.” He took my hand and held it on his thigh. It was the best feeling, the warmth of his hand against mine. Then he laughed again. “I don't think I've ever used that word before,” he said. “
Cute.
Crazy word.”

He's high,
I thought, and I took another drag on the joint, wanting to feel whatever it was he was feeling. He took the joint from me and tamped it out in an ashtray on the end table. “Enough for your first time,” he said. “This stuff's potent.”

“I don't feel anything,” I said,

“Takes a few minutes to hit,” he said. “Come here.” He pulled me snugly against him, and before I knew what was happening, his lips were on mine. I felt that kiss straight down to my toes. It was so much better than my fantasy of a kiss. He laid me down on the couch and I thought,
I'll stop him if he tries anything more than kissing,
but except for touching my tongue lightly with his, which I discovered I really liked, he didn't try a thing.

I wasn't sure if it was the marijuana or the kissing that made me feel light-headed—in a good way—and I was thinking,
I could do this for days,
when I heard footsteps on the stairs behind us.

“We're going to make popcorn!” Stacy's voice seemed to come from miles away. “Are you two hungry?”

Chris stopped kissing me. He sat up on the couch, looking down at me. I couldn't tell if his eyes were blue or gray. Either way, they were mesmerizing and I didn't want to look away from them. “Got the munchies?” he asked me.

I
was
hungry. He stood up and pulled me to my feet and I was suddenly so dizzy I fell against him. “Whoa, girl.” He laughed. “You're a lightweight. Next time, just a toke for you.”

*   *   *

We sat at the kitchen table munching microwave popcorn and laughing, over what, I couldn't have said. Stacy's lips were red and her chin was raw-looking and I thought I'd better check my own face before Russell and my father came to pick me up. The clock on the stove said three-fifty. They'd be here at four-thirty. I felt my nerves kick back to life.

“You guys have to leave before my dad gets here,” I said.

“When's that?” Chris asked.

“Four-thirty,” I said.

“We'll take off at four-fifteen,” Chris promised.

“Speak for yourself,” Bryan said to him.

Chris looked apologetically at me. “It's his truck,” he said.

“Just meet your dad out front,” Stacy said. “Go out at twenty after four and watch for the van.”

I was annoyed that Stacy wasn't helping me out, but I nodded, my eyes on the clock. His appointment would be ending about now, I thought. And it would take them at least twenty minutes to get here. I was safe for a little while longer … although they'd see Bryan's truck in the driveway. I'd have to meet them at the curb and I'd talk a lot when I got in the van. Maybe then they wouldn't notice.

*   *   *

When we finished the bowl of popcorn, Bryan and Chris went into the living room to change the music while Stacy and I talked quietly at the kitchen table.

“Do you like him?” she asked.

I nodded. “He's really cool,” I said.

“How far did you go?” she asked.

“Just kissing,” I said.

Chris suddenly walked into the kitchen. He looked at Stacy rather than at me. “Black dude here for Molly,” he said, and I felt the color drain from my cheeks.

“Oh God!” I covered my face with my hands, my mind racing. I would say Chris was Stacy's brother. Or her cousin. Or something. I lowered my hands to see Chris and Stacy staring at me, waiting for me to do something. I tried to act calm as I walked into the living room. Bryan was over by the tape player, his back to the room, acting like he didn't know anything was going on. The front door was open and Russell stood on the step, unsmiling.

“Hi, Russell!” I said. My voice sounded unnaturally high as I grabbed my backpack from the chair in the corner. I wondered if he could smell the pot in the room. All I could smell was the popcorn and I hoped that scent covered up any other. “You're early,” I said, heading for the door.

“Your dad had a cancellation. You ready to go?”

“Sure!” I was speaking too loud but couldn't seem to help myself. My whole body trembled as I tossed my backpack over my shoulder.

“Where are your glasses?” he asked.

“Oh.” I balanced the backpack against my thigh and unzipped it with hands that suddenly seemed too big and clumsy. I pulled my glasses from the inside pocket and slipped them on. “Bye, Stacy!” I called over my shoulder and I ran ahead of Russell toward the van. Russell caught up to me when I reached the van, his hand pressing against the door so I couldn't open it.

“Those boys are way too old for you,” he said.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” The lie about Chris being Stacy's brother or cousin was caught in my throat. I couldn't make it come out.

“I believe you do,” he said. Even his big cocker spaniel eyes couldn't mask his worry.

“Please, Russell,” I pleaded, “don't say anything.”

He opened the door for me without responding and I climbed in. Even my kneecaps were shaking. I turned to look at my father. “Hi, Daddy,” I said. “You got done early.”

“Did you have fun?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.” I faced forward again, worried the afternoon was somehow written on my face. Did my clothes smell like pot? My lips still felt hot from all the kissing and I wished I'd checked them in the mirror to see if they were as red and raw-looking as Stacy's. In the carport, Bryan's truck sat like a giant red flag waving in front of our eyes. An empty gun rack was on the back window and the cargo door bore two bumper stickers:
BETTER TO BURN OUT THAN TO FADE AWAY
and
INSURED BY SMITH
&
WESSON.
I was waiting for my father to ask whose truck it was. I tried to pretend it was invisible.