Laura and the other girls who’ve also given up, dancing by themselves in a circle by the picked-over buffet. Laura tugs me to her and cups my ear.
“Jake Sharpe told Randy your dress looks hot.” She pulls back to study my face, holding down both my arms as if I might fly away.
“Seriously?” I scream through the music. She nods emphatically.
“But I just heard he’s going out with Kristi.”
Laura shrugs, her drop puffed sleeves lifting and lowering. I look over the tan line on her bared shoulder to see Kristi return to her gaggle, all of them in flounces of shiny lacy white. As Benjy careens into Kristi, she tugs the tie from his hand and flicks him, cleverly pulling her girlfriends into the frenzy. Then Jake comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, lifting her up, her legs bent. She flails, waving the tie like a gymnastic ribbon as her giggling friends join the boys in their roughhousing.
“Dance!” Laura commands me back.
I shake off any momentary urge to be locking eyes with him, a tie whipped between us like a bullfight cape. My dress is hot. I am…hot. I AM HOT! Giddy, I throw my head around with utter abandon, walking like an Egyptian. A hot Egyptian.
Laura and I descend the hill into town surrounded by the lulling buzz of sunshine-fueled cicadas. Given our summer of serial sleepovers, we’re bleary eyed as our laceless Keds scuff the pavement in unconscious unison. Our gas-station sunglasses doing little to cut the glare, we both squint in the flat noon brightness.
I replay the last few minutes of Sixteen Candles in my mind’s eye, my chest rising as I imagine what it must be like to sit atop a glass table while the Hot Guy of Your Dreams leans over to give you a birthday kiss. “Think high school’ll be like that?”
“Like what? Shit!” Laura’s hand goes flying to her purse. “Thought I forgot the video. Sorry, keep going.”
“Like, the hot guy you like finds out, and then just shows up, and wants to kiss you,” I mull as we cut across the school’s playing field.
She lifts her ponytail and pats her hand across the back of her damp neck. “I’ll say a prayer every night if you will.”
“Deal.” I reach my pinky out and she swipes it with hers.
A humid breeze lifts across the vast green. “Oh my God, don’t look up,” Laura suddenly whispers into her pocket tee. I ever-so-slightly follow her not-gaze through the waves of heat rising from the dusty turf to a figure riding a bike slowly while another trots alongside him, bat in hand.
“Who?” I ask, tight mouthed, even though they’re halfway across the field.
“Jake,” Laura whispers back.
“Is Kristi with him?” I ask, nauseated.
She shakes her head. “Only if she’s had a sex-change. I think it’s that new kid, Sam—the one who moved in across from Michelle—in that lame Green Bay jersey he’s always wearing.” We continue our controlled stroll. I pretend to scratch my shoulder and see the bike cut diagonally across the grass.
“Anything in my teeth?” Laura slightly parts her lips, not breaking the pace.
“No. Me?”
“You’re good.”
Taking Laura’s cue, I keep my eyes trained on the turf. Then the front wheel of a red bike comes into my vision, just beneath the horizon of my bangs. It does a lazy circle around us as I watch Jake’s open high-tops, the tanned muscles of his calves. And then another circle. Long shadows covering our bare legs. Think of something to say—anything…
We walk; Jake bikes around us in fountain-size circles and Sam, trailing behind, tosses his bat up in the air and catches it, with an oomf. Okay, I will concentrate very, very hard on getting her to say something. Say something cool. Something really cool. Sayitsayitsayit —
Then the shadow pulls back off my feet. The oomf -ing gets quieter.
Turning around, I catch a glimpse of boxers sticking out of basketball shorts as he bikes away, Sam jogging along, bat held behind his neck like
“Jake Sharpe told Randy your dress looks hot.” She pulls back to study my face, holding down both my arms as if I might fly away.
“Seriously?” I scream through the music. She nods emphatically.
“But I just heard he’s going out with Kristi.”
Laura shrugs, her drop puffed sleeves lifting and lowering. I look over the tan line on her bared shoulder to see Kristi return to her gaggle, all of them in flounces of shiny lacy white. As Benjy careens into Kristi, she tugs the tie from his hand and flicks him, cleverly pulling her girlfriends into the frenzy. Then Jake comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, lifting her up, her legs bent. She flails, waving the tie like a gymnastic ribbon as her giggling friends join the boys in their roughhousing.
“Dance!” Laura commands me back.
I shake off any momentary urge to be locking eyes with him, a tie whipped between us like a bullfight cape. My dress is hot. I am…hot. I AM HOT! Giddy, I throw my head around with utter abandon, walking like an Egyptian. A hot Egyptian.
Laura and I descend the hill into town surrounded by the lulling buzz of sunshine-fueled cicadas. Given our summer of serial sleepovers, we’re bleary eyed as our laceless Keds scuff the pavement in unconscious unison. Our gas-station sunglasses doing little to cut the glare, we both squint in the flat noon brightness.
I replay the last few minutes of Sixteen Candles in my mind’s eye, my chest rising as I imagine what it must be like to sit atop a glass table while the Hot Guy of Your Dreams leans over to give you a birthday kiss. “Think high school’ll be like that?”
“Like what? Shit!” Laura’s hand goes flying to her purse. “Thought I forgot the video. Sorry, keep going.”
“Like, the hot guy you like finds out, and then just shows up, and wants to kiss you,” I mull as we cut across the school’s playing field.
She lifts her ponytail and pats her hand across the back of her damp neck. “I’ll say a prayer every night if you will.”
“Deal.” I reach my pinky out and she swipes it with hers.
A humid breeze lifts across the vast green. “Oh my God, don’t look up,” Laura suddenly whispers into her pocket tee. I ever-so-slightly follow her not-gaze through the waves of heat rising from the dusty turf to a figure riding a bike slowly while another trots alongside him, bat in hand.
“Who?” I ask, tight mouthed, even though they’re halfway across the field.
“Jake,” Laura whispers back.
“Is Kristi with him?” I ask, nauseated.
She shakes her head. “Only if she’s had a sex-change. I think it’s that new kid, Sam—the one who moved in across from Michelle—in that lame Green Bay jersey he’s always wearing.” We continue our controlled stroll. I pretend to scratch my shoulder and see the bike cut diagonally across the grass.
“Anything in my teeth?” Laura slightly parts her lips, not breaking the pace.
“No. Me?”
“You’re good.”
Taking Laura’s cue, I keep my eyes trained on the turf. Then the front wheel of a red bike comes into my vision, just beneath the horizon of my bangs. It does a lazy circle around us as I watch Jake’s open high-tops, the tanned muscles of his calves. And then another circle. Long shadows covering our bare legs. Think of something to say—anything…
We walk; Jake bikes around us in fountain-size circles and Sam, trailing behind, tosses his bat up in the air and catches it, with an oomf. Okay, I will concentrate very, very hard on getting her to say something. Say something cool. Something really cool. Sayitsayitsayit —
Then the shadow pulls back off my feet. The oomf -ing gets quieter.
Turning around, I catch a glimpse of boxers sticking out of basketball shorts as he bikes away, Sam jogging along, bat held behind his neck like
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