better, something purer and more intense and far more real than any of the guys here.”
“From the first time we were together,” he said slowly, coming toward her now and placing his hands on either side of her face, “I’ve felt there was something special in you. That’s why I tell you you’re precious. I want us to love each other from our spines, from the core of our being.”
“I want that too.” She had to convince him. “I never felt anything before you touched me the first time. I wasn’t alive. I wasn’t real.”
He pulled her against him, hard against him, and just held her. When they were together, she felt as if she soared onto another level of being. Everything mundane and trivial filtered away. She did not worry about her classes, she did not worry if Rosemary was going to bug her about not having a major, she didn’t care if Merilee was smarter and prettier, she didn’t mind that Whitney said to her couldn’t she get someone to introduce her to a white boy? Even Ronnie said she understood that some girls just liked it down and dirty. None of that mattered. Only his intense fierce eyes focused on her, making her real, making her burn with a mix of desire and aching love for him. No one in her family had ever felt this way, she knew it. They had accommodations and successes and failures and agendas, but none of them ever knew passion that consumed them to a fine point of painful light. She grasped him back, and for moments thatfelt forever they just held each other hard and tight, clutching, bound together as if they were alone in a vast cold darkness, alone on an asteroid in the hostile night of space.
EMILY WENT OUT Friday night with a guy from their French class instead of her usual crowd.
“What are you going to see?”
“I forgot to ask. Do I care? I just want to find somebody who’s worth hooking up with. Do you think he’s cute?”
Actually, until he had stopped Emily after class, Melissa had never noticed him. He was pretty average in all ways, height, weight, with light brown hair and owl glasses. He did have a good French accent, but she couldn’t say she had ever thought about him twice. But loyally she said, “Really, yes.”
Emily turned to look at her. “So Blake’s coming over here? How did you arrange that with Fern?”
“Actually she has a game tonight. Soccer.”
“How are you guys—Blake and you—getting on? Sometimes you come back glowing. Sometimes you come back with the gloom on you like black paint.”
“He blows hot and cold. He drives me crazy. One day he’s passionate about me. The next, he’s testing me. Making me prove myself over and over. When will he believe I’m crazy about him?”
“A power trip,” Em said, frowning. “Should I wear red or pink? I love my pink sweater, but somehow I don’t think I’m the pink type.”
She had told Blake she would call him as soon as Fern left. He was going to come over to her room for the first time. She rushed around tidying, lest he think her a complete slob. His room was always neat, except for the clutter of computer stuff. She had the habit of discarding clothes on the floor or the chair. Fern had so little, the mess was just about all hers. She found tights missing for two weeks and a belt she thought she had lost. She found Emily’s Swatch watch. She found a coating of dust she wiped up with tissues, the remains of two apples and various cups of coffee and a postcard from Chandler that Emily had tossed at the wastebasket but missed. How little of Fern’s was scattered about. Like Blake, she was neat, yet she never complained about Melissa’s sloppiness. The only thing to be tidied of Fern’s was a crooked pile of books beside her bed.
Blake arrived only twenty minutes late. Tomorrow they were going to a jazz concert at Westco he was interested in, but tonight they would enjoy the rare opportunity to have her room to themselves. They curled up together on her single bed, filling each
“From the first time we were together,” he said slowly, coming toward her now and placing his hands on either side of her face, “I’ve felt there was something special in you. That’s why I tell you you’re precious. I want us to love each other from our spines, from the core of our being.”
“I want that too.” She had to convince him. “I never felt anything before you touched me the first time. I wasn’t alive. I wasn’t real.”
He pulled her against him, hard against him, and just held her. When they were together, she felt as if she soared onto another level of being. Everything mundane and trivial filtered away. She did not worry about her classes, she did not worry if Rosemary was going to bug her about not having a major, she didn’t care if Merilee was smarter and prettier, she didn’t mind that Whitney said to her couldn’t she get someone to introduce her to a white boy? Even Ronnie said she understood that some girls just liked it down and dirty. None of that mattered. Only his intense fierce eyes focused on her, making her real, making her burn with a mix of desire and aching love for him. No one in her family had ever felt this way, she knew it. They had accommodations and successes and failures and agendas, but none of them ever knew passion that consumed them to a fine point of painful light. She grasped him back, and for moments thatfelt forever they just held each other hard and tight, clutching, bound together as if they were alone in a vast cold darkness, alone on an asteroid in the hostile night of space.
EMILY WENT OUT Friday night with a guy from their French class instead of her usual crowd.
“What are you going to see?”
“I forgot to ask. Do I care? I just want to find somebody who’s worth hooking up with. Do you think he’s cute?”
Actually, until he had stopped Emily after class, Melissa had never noticed him. He was pretty average in all ways, height, weight, with light brown hair and owl glasses. He did have a good French accent, but she couldn’t say she had ever thought about him twice. But loyally she said, “Really, yes.”
Emily turned to look at her. “So Blake’s coming over here? How did you arrange that with Fern?”
“Actually she has a game tonight. Soccer.”
“How are you guys—Blake and you—getting on? Sometimes you come back glowing. Sometimes you come back with the gloom on you like black paint.”
“He blows hot and cold. He drives me crazy. One day he’s passionate about me. The next, he’s testing me. Making me prove myself over and over. When will he believe I’m crazy about him?”
“A power trip,” Em said, frowning. “Should I wear red or pink? I love my pink sweater, but somehow I don’t think I’m the pink type.”
She had told Blake she would call him as soon as Fern left. He was going to come over to her room for the first time. She rushed around tidying, lest he think her a complete slob. His room was always neat, except for the clutter of computer stuff. She had the habit of discarding clothes on the floor or the chair. Fern had so little, the mess was just about all hers. She found tights missing for two weeks and a belt she thought she had lost. She found Emily’s Swatch watch. She found a coating of dust she wiped up with tissues, the remains of two apples and various cups of coffee and a postcard from Chandler that Emily had tossed at the wastebasket but missed. How little of Fern’s was scattered about. Like Blake, she was neat, yet she never complained about Melissa’s sloppiness. The only thing to be tidied of Fern’s was a crooked pile of books beside her bed.
Blake arrived only twenty minutes late. Tomorrow they were going to a jazz concert at Westco he was interested in, but tonight they would enjoy the rare opportunity to have her room to themselves. They curled up together on her single bed, filling each
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