beside me.
I smile as he wraps his arm around my shoulders. “Oh yes. Very.”
I’ve been looking forward to this evening all week. Scott and his friends have made a small fire by the water. There are about twenty of us. I’ve never been invited to anything like this before—a party with the coolest of the cool. I should be at home practicing the Rabbath piece, of course, or the Dragonetti concerto. I promised my parents I’ll perform at the temple on the last day of Durga Pooja, the ten-day festival of eating and celebrating that starts in only a week. Plus, I had to lie to them again this evening—I told them I’m with Naomi tonight. But right at this moment it all feels worth it. This evening is special. Scott and I have been seeing each other for twenty-three days, and now with the eyes of all his friends on us, I feel like he and I are more of a couple than ever.
Besides, what could be more romantic than sitting by a campfire with the guy you like, the ocean waves gently crashing nearby?
Ray Beech ambles by with a case of beer. God only knows how he got his hands on it. Ray is not exactly my favorite person, but he’s Scott’s friend so I’ve been trying my best to warm up to him. Scott takes a can so I do too. Another uncomfortable first. My family’s Hindu so we never drink alcohol.
Somebody is playing Mudslide Crush’s newest album, recorded in Dean Eagler’s basement over the summer. Dean’s dark, warbling voice drifts through the air as the Patties and a bunch of other girls I barely know nod their heads in time. It’s a warm evening for October, but right then a cool autumn gust sends shivers through me. Immediately, Scott takes off his jacket and wraps it over my shoulders.
“There,” he says. “Better?”
I nod and pull it tight. I can barely contain my happiness. All I can think as I lean my head on his shoulder is that Naomi was so wrong about him. I asked him about Lynn Westerberg and he assured me it’d all been a terrible misunderstanding. He swore he would never cheat on anybody, that he doesn’t believe in dating more than one person at a time.
We sit together, just Scott and me, staring contentedly into the flames. After a while, he turns his head and starts nibbling my ear. More shivers. I can’t help giggling.
Here we go again, I think.
Twenty minutes and half a beer later (swallowed in tentative, sour gulps that left me disappointed from the first sip—but since I’ve already broken a bunch of taboos, what’s one more?) we’re making out in the darkness behind a nearby dune. As I suck his upper lip into my mouth, I wonder exactly what it is about him that drives me wild? Why do I feel like a different person whenever he’s around? It’s actually a little scary. In fact, when I feel his hand start to reach under my shirt, a part of me goes into a panic. I worry just how far I’ll let him go.
Maybe what happens next only happens because that part of me is desperately
searching
for a way out. Or maybe not—maybe it’s only the breeze, which carries a part of Ray Beech’s conversation from the other side of the dune to my ear.
“. . . that’s right,” I hear him say. “I guess Mr. Brenigan, that butt-wipe, expects us to jump up and down for joy now. Lucky us, we still get to play
half
the gig.”
Somebody snickers, a sound a little like a horse whinnying. Patty Norris. “Unless,” she says, “she convinces him to cancel you guys altogether.”
“Don’t even get me started about that freak.”
I freeze. “What’s that?”
“What’s what?” Scott’s hand is still attempting to make its way north despite the gentle barricade I’ve set up with my arm.
“Were they talking about the Halloween Bash?”
“Who?”
“Listen,” I whisper, pulling away a little and nodding in the direction of the campfire. “I just heard Ray and Patty say something about Mr. Brenigan and how he wants you guys to play half a gig. He sounded annoyed.”
“I don’t
I smile as he wraps his arm around my shoulders. “Oh yes. Very.”
I’ve been looking forward to this evening all week. Scott and his friends have made a small fire by the water. There are about twenty of us. I’ve never been invited to anything like this before—a party with the coolest of the cool. I should be at home practicing the Rabbath piece, of course, or the Dragonetti concerto. I promised my parents I’ll perform at the temple on the last day of Durga Pooja, the ten-day festival of eating and celebrating that starts in only a week. Plus, I had to lie to them again this evening—I told them I’m with Naomi tonight. But right at this moment it all feels worth it. This evening is special. Scott and I have been seeing each other for twenty-three days, and now with the eyes of all his friends on us, I feel like he and I are more of a couple than ever.
Besides, what could be more romantic than sitting by a campfire with the guy you like, the ocean waves gently crashing nearby?
Ray Beech ambles by with a case of beer. God only knows how he got his hands on it. Ray is not exactly my favorite person, but he’s Scott’s friend so I’ve been trying my best to warm up to him. Scott takes a can so I do too. Another uncomfortable first. My family’s Hindu so we never drink alcohol.
Somebody is playing Mudslide Crush’s newest album, recorded in Dean Eagler’s basement over the summer. Dean’s dark, warbling voice drifts through the air as the Patties and a bunch of other girls I barely know nod their heads in time. It’s a warm evening for October, but right then a cool autumn gust sends shivers through me. Immediately, Scott takes off his jacket and wraps it over my shoulders.
“There,” he says. “Better?”
I nod and pull it tight. I can barely contain my happiness. All I can think as I lean my head on his shoulder is that Naomi was so wrong about him. I asked him about Lynn Westerberg and he assured me it’d all been a terrible misunderstanding. He swore he would never cheat on anybody, that he doesn’t believe in dating more than one person at a time.
We sit together, just Scott and me, staring contentedly into the flames. After a while, he turns his head and starts nibbling my ear. More shivers. I can’t help giggling.
Here we go again, I think.
Twenty minutes and half a beer later (swallowed in tentative, sour gulps that left me disappointed from the first sip—but since I’ve already broken a bunch of taboos, what’s one more?) we’re making out in the darkness behind a nearby dune. As I suck his upper lip into my mouth, I wonder exactly what it is about him that drives me wild? Why do I feel like a different person whenever he’s around? It’s actually a little scary. In fact, when I feel his hand start to reach under my shirt, a part of me goes into a panic. I worry just how far I’ll let him go.
Maybe what happens next only happens because that part of me is desperately
searching
for a way out. Or maybe not—maybe it’s only the breeze, which carries a part of Ray Beech’s conversation from the other side of the dune to my ear.
“. . . that’s right,” I hear him say. “I guess Mr. Brenigan, that butt-wipe, expects us to jump up and down for joy now. Lucky us, we still get to play
half
the gig.”
Somebody snickers, a sound a little like a horse whinnying. Patty Norris. “Unless,” she says, “she convinces him to cancel you guys altogether.”
“Don’t even get me started about that freak.”
I freeze. “What’s that?”
“What’s what?” Scott’s hand is still attempting to make its way north despite the gentle barricade I’ve set up with my arm.
“Were they talking about the Halloween Bash?”
“Who?”
“Listen,” I whisper, pulling away a little and nodding in the direction of the campfire. “I just heard Ray and Patty say something about Mr. Brenigan and how he wants you guys to play half a gig. He sounded annoyed.”
“I don’t
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