The Dance by Christopher Pike Page A

above his desk at a painting of a kindly mother polar bear feeding a bottle to a cute baby penguin. Clark hadn’t completely spoiled Alice’s artistic fun. It had been one of the last things she had done. His mother wasn’t the type who cried easily, but as she looked at the painting he saw that her eyes were moist. “And this time, it doesn’t matter what he says.”
    Michael smiled. “I always wanted a sister.”
    She laughed. “They’re still making brothers, too, you know?”
    “It will be a girl.” He knew it would be.
    “Who was that?” Bill Skater asked. Jessica whirled around. She had not heard him coming up the stairs.
    “No one,” she said. “A friend.” She felt sick with guilt. When Bill had asked her out at lunch, she. in all the excitement, completely forgot about her date with Michael. And then later she had figured she could simply see Michael on Saturday night, no harm done. Naturally, being Ms. Free Time, she had conveniently overlooked the fact that he had other responsibilities. She shuddered to imagine what he must think of her. If she’d had any integrity at all, she would’ve called Bill and canceled the instant she remembered her original commitment.
    But you didn’t because you’re as phony as that phony crown you’re hoping to wear in two weeks.
    “I thought I heard you say somebody’s name,” Bill said, stepping into her bedroom. He had on a turtle-neck sweater the identical shade of blue as his eyes. And he had brought his body with him. What a stroke of good luck. She could practically feel it beneath his clothes, waiting for her. She honestly believed she was going to lose her vaunted virginity tonight.
    That’s why I forgot my date with Michael.
    “Huh?” she asked.
    “Were you talking to Michael Olson?”
    “Do you know him?”
    He nodded. “He’s a far-out guy. Did you invite him along?”
    “What? No.” That was a weird question. She picked up her bag, knowing her glasses were not inside. She would have to listen hard during the movie and try to figure out what was going on that way. She smiled, offering him her arm. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Chapter Eleven
    Aunty’s dying , Polly thought. Sitting on the bed beside her, holding her dry, shriveled hand, watching her sunken chest wheeze wearily up and down, Polly wondered when it would be. Next week? Tonight? Now? She hoped it wasn’t now. She didn’t want to be there when it happened. She had seen enough family die.
    “I’ll go now and let you sleep,” Polly said, moving to leave. Her aunt squeezed her hand, stopping her.
    “Are you unhappy, Polly?” her aunt whispered, barely moving her lips. Since the heart attack, it was as if the nerves beneath her already lined face had gone permanently to sleep. Nowadays her expression never changed; it was always old, always waiting for the end, impatient for it even. Only her eyes, the same blue as Alice’s, held any life. Whenever Polly entered the room, she felt those eyes on her. Polly, could you do this? Polly, I need that.
    “I’m all right,” Polly said. “Don’t I look all right?”
    “No.” Her aunt shifted her head on the pillow so that they were face-to-face. Polly felt a momentary wave of nausea and had to lower her eyes. Aunty had lost so much weight, for an instant Polly imagined she was speaking to a skull. Yet, in a way, no matter whom she talked to lately, she felt that way. All that lay between youthful beauty and clean white bone was a thin layer of flesh, she thought, a thread of life. They were all going to die someday, someday soon.
    “What’s wrong, Polly?” Aunty asked.
    “Nothing.”
    “Are you lonely?”
    “Why would I be lonely? I have you to talk to. I talk to you all the time.” She glanced at the clock. Twelve forty-five. Russ had been asleep in her bed upstairs since midnight. He had only stayed up for “Star Trek.” She was beginning to hate that show. She had told him she had been to the family clinic and he