attention to her or Renee. But just then, as Jamie stood next to Flip, she thought that maybe Lois, who had to go home with balding, loose-skinned Leon, might, instead, be jealous.
“Come see our sunken living room!” Betty blurted while Lois rolled her eyes.
The sunken living room was a giant pit that Allen and Leon had dug into the sand. They carved it out so that there was a built-in sand bench—a cold, damp circular seat. There was also a carved stairway with three steps, so one didn’t have to jump straight into the pit. Jamie jumped anyway, and so did Flip. Betty jumped, too, and for a second Jamie feared she was going to tumble onto Flip’s lap, but she caught herself.
“Why do we bother with the steps when no one uses them?” Allen said, stepping down into the pit. “What kind of schmucks are we?”
“I like the steps,” Lois said, and she gingerly stepped down with Leon following.
Flip sat next to Jamie on the bench, their bodies touching from the shoulder down. Jamie wondered if her parents noticed or cared that a seventeen-year-old boy’s thigh was ironed against her own. Betty lit up another joint and she, Allen, Leon, and Lois immediately launched into a conversation that sounded to Jamie like all their conversations, talking emphatically about things that didn’t interest her: politics, the economy, books she hadn’t yet read, movies she had yet to see. It was as if Flip and Jamie weren’t even there, yet there was a sense that, unlike the past when Jamie might have been shooed away or told to scram, she was now allowed to be there. Somehow, because of her one date with Flip Jenkins, Jamie’s parents had decided that she was grown up enough to sit in their circle and smoke their pot, which Leon kept handing her and which she continually passed off to Flip.
At three in the morning, Flip drove Jamie home with his left hand on the steering wheel and his right hand on her knee. Betty and Allen were driving in front them, going well below the speed limit on the empty, slick road.
“You can always tell who the high drivers are ’cause they go so, so slow.”
“Oh yeah?” Jamie leaned forward in her seat and watched the red brake lights of her parents’ Volvo beam on as Allen glided into a stop at a light. A flash of worry lit up her brain as Jamie imagined the slow-moving car as a perfect target for a speeding drunk—a tin can through which a bullet would effortlessly fly.
“Your parents are totally cool,” Flip said. “That was, like, the best date I’ve been on in a long, long time.”
“Really?” Jamie’s worry vanished as she turned to Flip.
“Yeah, totally.”
“What’s the worst date you’ve ever been on?”
“Uh . . .” Flip lifted his hand from Jamie’s knee and scratched his nose. “I guess this girl from San Marcos High. She, like, told me she loved me and started crying, like, from love, you know?”
“That’s intense.”
“Yeah, it was totally intense. And the weird thing is, I thought I was in love with her until the moment that happened.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Jamie said, but what she could really see was that she herself was falling so hard for Flip Jenkins that she could imagine crying over it. The urge to be with him was suddenly stronger than any urge she had ever had before: sleep, or food, or a need to use a bathroom.
“So, beach tomorrow?” Flip asked. They were parked in the driveway behind Allen and Betty, who had already gone into the house.
“I’ll be there with Tammy and Debbie.”
“How do you get there?”
“One of our moms drops us off, usually.”
“I’ll pick you guys up.”
“Really?” This, more than anything, seemed like proof that the date had gone well. Flip must not have been comparing her to Rachel Welch, Jamie thought; he couldn’t have minded the Disney reference, and her parents must not have seemed like burnouts.
“I’ll call you in the morning as soon as I wake up. We could, like, go
“Come see our sunken living room!” Betty blurted while Lois rolled her eyes.
The sunken living room was a giant pit that Allen and Leon had dug into the sand. They carved it out so that there was a built-in sand bench—a cold, damp circular seat. There was also a carved stairway with three steps, so one didn’t have to jump straight into the pit. Jamie jumped anyway, and so did Flip. Betty jumped, too, and for a second Jamie feared she was going to tumble onto Flip’s lap, but she caught herself.
“Why do we bother with the steps when no one uses them?” Allen said, stepping down into the pit. “What kind of schmucks are we?”
“I like the steps,” Lois said, and she gingerly stepped down with Leon following.
Flip sat next to Jamie on the bench, their bodies touching from the shoulder down. Jamie wondered if her parents noticed or cared that a seventeen-year-old boy’s thigh was ironed against her own. Betty lit up another joint and she, Allen, Leon, and Lois immediately launched into a conversation that sounded to Jamie like all their conversations, talking emphatically about things that didn’t interest her: politics, the economy, books she hadn’t yet read, movies she had yet to see. It was as if Flip and Jamie weren’t even there, yet there was a sense that, unlike the past when Jamie might have been shooed away or told to scram, she was now allowed to be there. Somehow, because of her one date with Flip Jenkins, Jamie’s parents had decided that she was grown up enough to sit in their circle and smoke their pot, which Leon kept handing her and which she continually passed off to Flip.
At three in the morning, Flip drove Jamie home with his left hand on the steering wheel and his right hand on her knee. Betty and Allen were driving in front them, going well below the speed limit on the empty, slick road.
“You can always tell who the high drivers are ’cause they go so, so slow.”
“Oh yeah?” Jamie leaned forward in her seat and watched the red brake lights of her parents’ Volvo beam on as Allen glided into a stop at a light. A flash of worry lit up her brain as Jamie imagined the slow-moving car as a perfect target for a speeding drunk—a tin can through which a bullet would effortlessly fly.
“Your parents are totally cool,” Flip said. “That was, like, the best date I’ve been on in a long, long time.”
“Really?” Jamie’s worry vanished as she turned to Flip.
“Yeah, totally.”
“What’s the worst date you’ve ever been on?”
“Uh . . .” Flip lifted his hand from Jamie’s knee and scratched his nose. “I guess this girl from San Marcos High. She, like, told me she loved me and started crying, like, from love, you know?”
“That’s intense.”
“Yeah, it was totally intense. And the weird thing is, I thought I was in love with her until the moment that happened.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Jamie said, but what she could really see was that she herself was falling so hard for Flip Jenkins that she could imagine crying over it. The urge to be with him was suddenly stronger than any urge she had ever had before: sleep, or food, or a need to use a bathroom.
“So, beach tomorrow?” Flip asked. They were parked in the driveway behind Allen and Betty, who had already gone into the house.
“I’ll be there with Tammy and Debbie.”
“How do you get there?”
“One of our moms drops us off, usually.”
“I’ll pick you guys up.”
“Really?” This, more than anything, seemed like proof that the date had gone well. Flip must not have been comparing her to Rachel Welch, Jamie thought; he couldn’t have minded the Disney reference, and her parents must not have seemed like burnouts.
“I’ll call you in the morning as soon as I wake up. We could, like, go
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