coins to the girl. She countsthem, making sure I haven’t cheated her, and as I look down at her wild long hair and her dusty knees and her bike cast off to the side of her, I remember Bev and me when we were little kids, pedaling fast on our bikes through Golden Gate Park, down the trails and across the grass, past the tea garden and through herds of tourists who stepped to the side when they saw us coming.
And I wonder if Bev is thinking the same thing. She has her faraway look. She must be. It makes me want to step closer to her, so I do.
The kids hand us our Dixie cups and we finish the lemonade—really just pink water—in a single sip, crumple the cups, throw them away. I climb into the driver’s seat and Bev climbs in shotgun.
“Copilot?” I say, and Bev nods. Alexa hands up the maps and directions.
Bev slips off her sandals and presses her feet against the dashboard, and as I start the bus I try not to look for too long at her ankles, her calves, her knees, the place where her thighs widen to her hips and the frayed hem of her shorts begins.
Nearing Arcata, we pass signs advertising the legend of Bigfoot, a place called Confusion Hill, a drive-through tree.
“Who thinks of these things?” Alexa asks.
“It sounds super fun,” Meg says. “I want to go to Confusion Hill.”
A little later, off the side of the road, Alexa spots a squat, beige building called the World Famous Exotic Dancing Club.
“Yeah, right,” Meg says.
“World famous.”
“Sounds awful,” Alexa says.
“Why is it awful?” Bev asks.
Alexa says, “Places like that degrade women.”
“How do you know?” Meg asks. “I bet Colby would like it.” She reaches forward to rumple my hair.
“Oh, yeah,” I say. “The idea of sitting around with a bunch of drunk middle-aged men paying girls to strip for us sounds awesome.”
“Maybe the girls like performing,” Meg says. “Maybe it turns them on. Bev, you’d be good at it.”
Bev turns around to face her. “What are you talking about?”
“The whole look but don’t touch thing.”
“Look but don’t touch?”
“Yeah,” Meg says, but she sounds less sure now, like she’s regretting what she’s saying before she even says it. “Just, you know, you lead people on sometimes.”
Alexa tries to take over. “It isn’t a bad thing,” she says. “You know what you don’t want to do, and that’s good.”
Bev is staring at them in disbelief. “I’d make a good stripper? Look but don’t touch?
What
are you talking about?”
“I don’t even know why I said anything.”
“You’ve said it, though,” Bev says. “So tell me.”
Meg sighs. “It’s just that you’ll make out with people, but everyone knows it won’t get past that.”
“Why do they say that?”
“Because it never has,” Meg says. “At Stewart’s house a while ago a bunch of us were standing around and talking about Disenchantments shows, and we realized that apart from Alexa and me, everyone we were hanging out with had made out with you.”
Bev turns back around in her seat. I glance at her; she’s carving the beginnings of a person.
“Go ahead,” she mutters.
“It wasn’t that many people,” Meg says. “Just Stewart and Amy and Jake.”
“And Sara,” Alexa says.
“Oh, yeah. That’s when Amy and Sara were going out. But they all thought it was funny, you know, that they’d all made out with you but none of them got very far. So that’s all that I’m saying about the stripper thing. A lot of people would like to do a lot more with you, but you’d rather have them look but not touch. Or at least not touch that much.”
“I thought you had sex with Stewart,” I say, and Bev doesn’t answer me, doesn’t look at Meg when Meg says, “Whoa,
what
?”
She just keeps carving and says, “Can we not talk about this?”
Alexa says, “You guys, it’s fine if Bev doesn’t want to talk about it. It’s personal.”
But Meg says, “No way. You had
sex
with Stewart?
And I wonder if Bev is thinking the same thing. She has her faraway look. She must be. It makes me want to step closer to her, so I do.
The kids hand us our Dixie cups and we finish the lemonade—really just pink water—in a single sip, crumple the cups, throw them away. I climb into the driver’s seat and Bev climbs in shotgun.
“Copilot?” I say, and Bev nods. Alexa hands up the maps and directions.
Bev slips off her sandals and presses her feet against the dashboard, and as I start the bus I try not to look for too long at her ankles, her calves, her knees, the place where her thighs widen to her hips and the frayed hem of her shorts begins.
Nearing Arcata, we pass signs advertising the legend of Bigfoot, a place called Confusion Hill, a drive-through tree.
“Who thinks of these things?” Alexa asks.
“It sounds super fun,” Meg says. “I want to go to Confusion Hill.”
A little later, off the side of the road, Alexa spots a squat, beige building called the World Famous Exotic Dancing Club.
“Yeah, right,” Meg says.
“World famous.”
“Sounds awful,” Alexa says.
“Why is it awful?” Bev asks.
Alexa says, “Places like that degrade women.”
“How do you know?” Meg asks. “I bet Colby would like it.” She reaches forward to rumple my hair.
“Oh, yeah,” I say. “The idea of sitting around with a bunch of drunk middle-aged men paying girls to strip for us sounds awesome.”
“Maybe the girls like performing,” Meg says. “Maybe it turns them on. Bev, you’d be good at it.”
Bev turns around to face her. “What are you talking about?”
“The whole look but don’t touch thing.”
“Look but don’t touch?”
“Yeah,” Meg says, but she sounds less sure now, like she’s regretting what she’s saying before she even says it. “Just, you know, you lead people on sometimes.”
Alexa tries to take over. “It isn’t a bad thing,” she says. “You know what you don’t want to do, and that’s good.”
Bev is staring at them in disbelief. “I’d make a good stripper? Look but don’t touch?
What
are you talking about?”
“I don’t even know why I said anything.”
“You’ve said it, though,” Bev says. “So tell me.”
Meg sighs. “It’s just that you’ll make out with people, but everyone knows it won’t get past that.”
“Why do they say that?”
“Because it never has,” Meg says. “At Stewart’s house a while ago a bunch of us were standing around and talking about Disenchantments shows, and we realized that apart from Alexa and me, everyone we were hanging out with had made out with you.”
Bev turns back around in her seat. I glance at her; she’s carving the beginnings of a person.
“Go ahead,” she mutters.
“It wasn’t that many people,” Meg says. “Just Stewart and Amy and Jake.”
“And Sara,” Alexa says.
“Oh, yeah. That’s when Amy and Sara were going out. But they all thought it was funny, you know, that they’d all made out with you but none of them got very far. So that’s all that I’m saying about the stripper thing. A lot of people would like to do a lot more with you, but you’d rather have them look but not touch. Or at least not touch that much.”
“I thought you had sex with Stewart,” I say, and Bev doesn’t answer me, doesn’t look at Meg when Meg says, “Whoa,
what
?”
She just keeps carving and says, “Can we not talk about this?”
Alexa says, “You guys, it’s fine if Bev doesn’t want to talk about it. It’s personal.”
But Meg says, “No way. You had
sex
with Stewart?
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