ultralite moisturizer into her hand and massaged the dent. “Señor.” She couldn’t keep the reproach out of her voice. “Señor,” she sniffed in despair. But wait. She whirled back to the mirror. Yes, her forehead was creased, it did seem as if someone might have used it for a sofa but…but…she couldn’t help noticing her hair.
It was magnificently messed. That shove of Señor’s had been helpful. A smile stole across her face. “My hair is a thicket, wild and thorny.” She fixed the mirror with a bold stare. “Toss me that.” She threw out her arm and caught a sword somersaulting through the glass into her grip. Was it real? At that moment, her reflection was her creation. “Hold it.” With her unoccupied handshe signaled time out and took a second to retuck her towel more securely and wedge her feet into four-inch high heels. These were her favorite shoes. The leather, the color of pink grapefruit, was perforated all over like a doily. She’d always known she would wear these shoes today. No others had been in the running.
She raised her sword. “En garde.”
Sukie’s entire knowledge of fencing came from watching Pirates of the Caribbean 1, 2 , and 3. “En garde,” “thrust,” and “parry” were her entire fencing vocabulary. But when she lunged, her form stunned. She could feel the tension in her spine, her free arm arced elegantly. Faint shadowy reflections in the tile walls morphed into a dense woods. There were thick trees, ancient and gnarled, branches with fat tufts of green hanging as thick as curtains, which Bobo parted, bursting forth to fight the duel. He spun, he leaped, he struck wildly, all in his football gear, which evened the match: him fencing in the bulk and weight of padding, she advancing and retreating in heels and a towel. She nicked him. He froze. He lifted his injured wrist to his mouth, all the while his flashing black eyes pinned her as helpless as a full-frontal tackle. Then with a kick he sprang forward and Sukie, jumping back, rammedinto a tree. She raised a high-heeled shoe, stuck it in Bobo’s ribs, and pushed. Sliding around the trunk, she escaped to the other side.
“En garde!” she shouted.
Their blades clashed, sending sparks of light floating up and into the night like lost stars. Sukie halted, struck by their magic, and Bobo, with an upward thrust, knocked the rapier from her hand. With the point of his sword at her heart, she sank to her knees.
Still she felt the prick of his blade. “More surrender,” he demanded. He flicked his sword at the tuck in her towel, loosening it.
“Are you in there, Sukie?” Her mom rapped at the door.
Sukie, wedged into a corner of the shower, deep in a place ever so much more entrancing and erotic than her own life, scrambled up. “Just a second, Mom.” She kicked off her shoes, scooped them up, and stepped out of the dry shower. “I’m coming.” She peeked out the door.
She’d forgotten her mother’s face.
Since her mom’s return, Sukie had aimed her eyes above her mother’s shoulder, or into her bangs, or below her neck, or at her ear to avoid the creepy feeling, Thisis not my mother. The gauzy nose bandage was now replaced by two strips of tape, but her mom’s face was still engorged as if several creatures small and swampy had taken up residence under her skin.
“Where are you going?” her mom asked, immediately understanding that Sukie was preparing for something.
“Oh, I have a…a bunch of us are meeting at the Hudson Glen football game.”
“Who?”
“Oh, you know….” Sukie couldn’t think of anyone to suggest. Whom did she ever hang out with? “Bobo Deeb, the quarterback. We’re…we’re friends. I’m meeting him after.”
“That’s nice.”
“I’m hoping Dad can drop me.”
“I’m sure he can. I can’t. I’m not allowed to drive.”
Sukie knew that. Her mom had already mentioned several times that she wasn’t allowed to drive for three weeks. Sukie had no idea
It was magnificently messed. That shove of Señor’s had been helpful. A smile stole across her face. “My hair is a thicket, wild and thorny.” She fixed the mirror with a bold stare. “Toss me that.” She threw out her arm and caught a sword somersaulting through the glass into her grip. Was it real? At that moment, her reflection was her creation. “Hold it.” With her unoccupied handshe signaled time out and took a second to retuck her towel more securely and wedge her feet into four-inch high heels. These were her favorite shoes. The leather, the color of pink grapefruit, was perforated all over like a doily. She’d always known she would wear these shoes today. No others had been in the running.
She raised her sword. “En garde.”
Sukie’s entire knowledge of fencing came from watching Pirates of the Caribbean 1, 2 , and 3. “En garde,” “thrust,” and “parry” were her entire fencing vocabulary. But when she lunged, her form stunned. She could feel the tension in her spine, her free arm arced elegantly. Faint shadowy reflections in the tile walls morphed into a dense woods. There were thick trees, ancient and gnarled, branches with fat tufts of green hanging as thick as curtains, which Bobo parted, bursting forth to fight the duel. He spun, he leaped, he struck wildly, all in his football gear, which evened the match: him fencing in the bulk and weight of padding, she advancing and retreating in heels and a towel. She nicked him. He froze. He lifted his injured wrist to his mouth, all the while his flashing black eyes pinned her as helpless as a full-frontal tackle. Then with a kick he sprang forward and Sukie, jumping back, rammedinto a tree. She raised a high-heeled shoe, stuck it in Bobo’s ribs, and pushed. Sliding around the trunk, she escaped to the other side.
“En garde!” she shouted.
Their blades clashed, sending sparks of light floating up and into the night like lost stars. Sukie halted, struck by their magic, and Bobo, with an upward thrust, knocked the rapier from her hand. With the point of his sword at her heart, she sank to her knees.
Still she felt the prick of his blade. “More surrender,” he demanded. He flicked his sword at the tuck in her towel, loosening it.
“Are you in there, Sukie?” Her mom rapped at the door.
Sukie, wedged into a corner of the shower, deep in a place ever so much more entrancing and erotic than her own life, scrambled up. “Just a second, Mom.” She kicked off her shoes, scooped them up, and stepped out of the dry shower. “I’m coming.” She peeked out the door.
She’d forgotten her mother’s face.
Since her mom’s return, Sukie had aimed her eyes above her mother’s shoulder, or into her bangs, or below her neck, or at her ear to avoid the creepy feeling, Thisis not my mother. The gauzy nose bandage was now replaced by two strips of tape, but her mom’s face was still engorged as if several creatures small and swampy had taken up residence under her skin.
“Where are you going?” her mom asked, immediately understanding that Sukie was preparing for something.
“Oh, I have a…a bunch of us are meeting at the Hudson Glen football game.”
“Who?”
“Oh, you know….” Sukie couldn’t think of anyone to suggest. Whom did she ever hang out with? “Bobo Deeb, the quarterback. We’re…we’re friends. I’m meeting him after.”
“That’s nice.”
“I’m hoping Dad can drop me.”
“I’m sure he can. I can’t. I’m not allowed to drive.”
Sukie knew that. Her mom had already mentioned several times that she wasn’t allowed to drive for three weeks. Sukie had no idea
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