by Andrea Ring
“Nope, but my mama is.”
“Huh. How come I never knew that? Do you salsa?”
He looks offended. “Does a tiger shit in the woods?”
“A bear.”
He smiles. He moves to the radio Gabi brought, unhooks her iPod, and shuffles through the songs before selecting one and plugging it back in.
“You think you can keep up?” he asks, taking me in his arms.
We salsa. We spin. His hands are everywhere, but only as the dance requires. I never expected him to be so respectful.
When he finally stops and insists we take a break and get a drink, I’m actually disappointed.
Gabi claps for us as we sink down onto the sand.
“White boy’s got moves!” she says. “How come we’ve never seen you dance like that before?”
Woz pops the top on his beer, takes a swig, and shrugs.
“Never had a partner before.”
He looks at me.
I look away.
This can’t be good. Woz is a hit-and-run player. He’s not what I want. Even if he is respectful and nice and a lot of fun and way too hot for his own good.
Baby T untangles herself from Raz and looks at us.
“Don’t mess with my girl, Woz,” she says.
“Can’t a guy have a little fun?” he asks.
“Not with Leni,” she says.
“Thanks a lot,” I say, and everyone laughs.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she says.
I smile at her to let her know it’s okay.
“Where’s Jay?” she asks.
Jay. I hadn’t even noticed he was gone.
“Water,” Raz says against Baby T’s lips.
“By himself?” I shriek, standing.
No one moves.
I run down the sand to the water. There’s no moon out, and the waves are black.
“Jay!” I scream into the night.
I see a shape in the water turn to me. As my eyes adjust, I see Jay up to his knees in the surf, fighting the waves to walk back to me.
I run into the water to meet him, fling myself at him. Curl my legs around his waist. Bury my head in his chest.
“You ass,” I whisper. “Don’t do that. Don’t ever. Don’t ever go into the water alone.”
Jay is trembling, probably from the cold.
“I wasn’t swimming,” he says.
I slide down his body and step back, feeling awkward now that I know he’s okay. I didn’t mean to climb him. I didn’t mean to give him any ideas at all.
He seems to know this. He watches the water swirl around our ankles.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean…”
“You were worried about me.”
I nod.
He leads me by the hand to his towel on the sand. We sit side by side.
“I thought you died,” he says.
“What?”
“When you were sick, I thought you died. For a whole day and night.”
I swallow. “Why?”
“It was the summer before last, about a month before school was supposed to start. I had a dream about you and I tried to call you. Your mom answered, and she was crying, like hysterically.” Jay fists his hands in the towel. “She…she said, ‘It’s over, Jay. It’s over.’ And she hung up on me.”
“It was a Sunday,” I whisper.
He nods. “The day you started chemo.”
I don’t say anything. I pick up a handful of sand and let it run through my fingers.
Jay lets out a bark of laughter. “I cried, you know. All day. Couldn’t seem to stop.”
“You cried for me?” I ask, trying to meet his eyes in the dark.
He shrugs. “I honestly don’t know. It didn’t even seem real at the time. I hadn’t seen you or spoken to you in almost six months. I think…I was crying for me. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Leni. I always wanted to undo it. I just didn’t know how. And then my chance was gone.”
I don’t know what to say to such brutal honesty.
“Do you remember your first?” he asks.
“My first what?”
Jay gives me a look.
“Oh, well, you were there. Of course I remember it.”
“I was your first?” he says, so surprised that I have to laugh.
“I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended,” I say.
“Flattered, definitely.” He tries to hide his smile. “Really?”
“Jay, who did you think I’d had sex with?”
“I don’t know. I never thought…I just assumed…you didn’t put up a fight.”
“I wanted you. Sue me.” I lean back on my hands and look up at the sky. “And we were wasted.”
“I haven’t been drunk since,” he says.
“Me either.”
“So I guess you do.”
“Do what?” I ask.
“Remember your first.”
I smile sadly to the sky. “Always. You?”
“You’re pretty hard to forget.”
My eyes sting and I blink. “So why’d you run?”
Jay stretches his long legs out and lies on his side facing me. I mirror him.
“I thought you’d been with tons of guys. I lasted, what? Two minutes? I couldn’t face you.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I start to say, but he puts a finger to my lips.
“Then you didn’t call me the next day—”
“You didn’t call me, either.”
“—and then it was like a game. The guys knew what had happened, or they guessed anyway, and they all razzed me about it. I couldn’t call you first after that.”
“But I did call,” I grit out between clenched teeth.
“Yeah, and then all the guys said that the, you know, couldn’t have been that good if I didn’t call you right away. They trapped me.”
“So you basically fucked me over for your ego, and for Raz, and Mario, and Johnny, and Woz, and whoever the hell else thought this was a game.”
Jay is silent.
“I must not have meant that much to you,” I say.
He shakes his head. “That’s not true. I fucked up, but I’m different now. Let me show you. One last chance.”
Jay leans into me, giving me time to pull away.
I think about betrayal. I think about pride. I think about the heart attack my mother will have if she finds out I’m seeing Jay.
He kisses me, soft. It’s not familiar, even though we’ve kissed a thousand times. My lips have changed. My heart has changed. But Jay’s always been in it.
We pull back and I lick my lips.
“You’ll take me back?” he asks, hope in his voice.
“I don’t have much time for a boyfriend,” I say. “We’ll never see each other.”
“We’ve seen each other every day this week,” he says. “We’ll make it work.”
“What about your boys?” I ask.
“I can handle them. I’m a new man.”
I laugh and then frown. “What about Woz?”
“I love the guy, but you know he just wants the score, Leni.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Woz will get over his disappointment.”
“Jay?”
“Yeah?”
I hesitate, and he laces his fingers through mine and gives them a squeeze.
“Have you slept with anyone since?”
Whatever his answer, he doesn’t want to admit it. But he does. “Almost.”
“Why almost?”
“She wasn’t you.”
Chapter Five
“I have to work,” I say for the fifth time.
“Call in sick. We just got back together.”
“Jay.”
“Fine. I have to work, too.”
I laugh. “Then what are you hassling me for?”
“Well, I’ll call in sick if you will.”
I exit his car and stick my head in the window. “I should be home early. Call me tomorrow night.”
�
��Wait.”
Jay pops out of the car and envelops me. We kiss. He leaves.
Dad’s poking around in the fridge when I come in.
“Who was that?” he says into the cheese drawer. “I didn’t recognize the car.”
“Just a ride,” I say.
Bea’s door is closed. If I hadn’t seen her being born with my own two eyes, I wouldn’t even know I had a little sister.
I sit at my sewing table. Bea probably needs new pants for the fall. I select the prettiest floral cotton print I have and start to cut the fabric.
***
“The pants are too short,” Mom says when I come in the door after work.
“Too short? I added half an inch to my last measurement.”
Mom just shrugs.
Bea is sitting in a booster seat at the kitchen table, coloring. Er, scribbling.
I drop my purse on the table and lift her into a hug. “Hey, baby girl,” I say. Bea laughs and wiggles. I set her back in her chair and look at her work. “That’s a beautiful picture. Good job!”
Bea beams and chews on a purple crayon.
“How was work?” Mom asks.
“Good,” I say, jingling the front pockets of my apron. “Lots of tips.” I pick up my purse and kiss Bea’s cheek. “Love you.”
“Go check your email,” Mom says. “You might hear from Stanford.”
“They won’t notify us until December 14,” I say, puzzled, since the date is circled in red on the kitchen calendar. “You know that.”
“Check anyway. And stand up straight, Leni. I can’t even see your neck. What good are those dance lessons we pay for, anyway?”
Stifling a groan, I lift my head and square my shoulders. I head back to my room to start on new pants for Bea.
Chapter Six
“Have you decided on a topic?” Dr. Jones asks by way of greeting.
I drop my backpack to the floor and sit on top of the desk, swinging my legs. We’ve become quite casual.
“I was decided on religion as a political tool,” I say while Dr. Jones nods, “but I think I thought of something else this weekend.”
Dr. Jones raises an eyebrow at me.
“Morality. Universal truths. How we define them, if they even exist at all.”
“Interesting. Tell me more.”
“Well, the topic spans areas of study— philosophy, religion, psychology, sociology. I think I’ll take the philosophy route.”
Dr. Jones purses her lips. “Difficult to do without addressing religion.”
“Religions are just philosophies taken as truth at their core, so I’d include them. I thought…maybe I could come up with my own philosophy of morality.”
She smiles at me from her desk perch. “You know, when I created this class, I imagined a much more research-based approach.”
“I’ll do research, lots of research,” I say quickly, but she stops me with a wave of her hand.
“But this idea is brilliant. I love it.”
I smile at her. “You do?”
“Yes. I even know a grad student in philosophy at UCLA. His focus is political philosophy, but he’s well versed on the major topics. Perhaps I can persuade him to spend some time with you.”
“Wow. Great,” I say.
“So how should you approach this? What’s the first step?”
“I guess I should define my idea of morality first,” I say, but Dr. Jones shakes her head.
“I think that would limit you to what you know. Let’s start with the research first, see what’s out there. Who are the big thinkers in moral philosophy? What are the respected works? Then we’ll come up with a plan to tackle them, and only then can you refine your own thoughts.”
I take notes as she speaks.
“…even lists of words for Internet searches. Like values, morals, ethics, good behavior, moral relativity, cultural mores, truth…”
I think about the two most basic words: right and wrong. I think about right thoughts and wrong choices. Good intentions. Bad consequences. And it occurs to me that even if you want to do the right thing, you have to have the will to do it. The courage.
Too bad I’ve always been a coward.
***
I sit sipping my vanilla latte and doodling in my notebook. A heart, a star, a sun. I’m not all that imaginative when I’m nervous.
I’m worried about the impression I’m about to make. I’ve never spoken with a grad student before, let alone a male one studying philosophy. I’m not worldly or sophisticated. I don’t particularly care what Clark thinks of me personally, I mean, for myself, but I know our meeting will be reported back to Dr. Jones. And I want to come off well for her.
I wish I knew what this Clark guy looks like. When I asked Dr. Jones, she sorta frowned and waved an imperious hand, saying, “Like a philosophy student.”
I have no idea what that means. I imagine it’s quite collegiate. Clark probably wears wire-rimmed glasses and corduroy blazers with leather patches at the elbows. I’m looking for a geeky professor type. But I see no one like that.
Paper rustles to my left, and I turn to see a scary goth guy folding up the front page of the Wall Street Journal. He has a foot-tall, green-tinged mohawk and more piercings than a pin cushion. Huh. Our eyes meet. I want to look away, but his eyes are perfectly rimmed with black liner, and I’m fascinated that there’s no sign of smudging.
Scary Spice grins, and my eyes grow wide.
He laughs.
“You’re Leni, right?” he asks, setting the paper aside and turning his chair toward me. He holds out his hand. “I’m Clark.”
I shake his hand before I can conjure up a response. But my training runs deep.
“It’s nice to meet you, Clark,” I say.
We’re still holding hands. And Clark is still smiling. And I cannot think of a single thing to say.
His green eyes twinkle. He squeezes my hand gently and pulls back.
“I think we were both expecting someone a little different,” he says.
“We were?” I say automatically, and we both laugh.
“Linda said you were, and I quote, ‘a studious, bright young woman eager for knowledge and nothing more.’” Clark leans back in his chair and lifts one ankle to his knee. The buckles up the length of his combat boot jingle.
“Linda?” I ask. “You mean Dr. Jones?”
“That is her name, last time I checked.”
“Oh, well, yes, I could certainly use your help,” I fumble.
Clark smiles. “I thought you’d be a total nerd.”
I want to frown, but I keep my face thoughtful. “Is that because you study philosophy and you’re a nerd?”
Clark tips his head to me. “Point taken. We are both more than we appear to be.”
“Are we? We don’t know anything about each other.”
“Let’s remedy that,” he says. He sips his coffee, watching me. “You shop at the mall on the weekends. True or false?”
“False. I don’t shop unless I need something. You listen to the Smiths. True or False?”
“False, although I do like Depeche Mode. You have a mirror in your purse. True or false?”
“False. I don’t even carry makeup. You’re an anarchist. True or false?”
“False. I’m a Libertarian. You collect purses. True or false?”
“False. I own exactly one purse, and the question offends me. You have a Prince Albert. True or false?”
Clark raises a pierced eyebrow at me. “A sweet, innocent little nerd like you knows what a Prince Albert is?”
I grin. “True or false?”
Clark grins back, and that smile I thought so sinister five minutes ago now seems sexy.
“My aunt will kill me if I answer that,” he says.
“She’s your aunt? She didn’t tell me that.”
“She hates to admit we’re related,” he says.
“Really?” I say, thinking that the Dr. Jones I’ve come to know doesn’t seem that close-minded.
“No. Not really.”
***
It’s after ten by the time I leave Clark and get home, and I’ve missed Bea again.
I slip into pajamas and under the covers and call Jay. It goes to voicemail.
I’ve missed Jay, too.
Chapter Seven
It’s been three weeks since the night I agreed to let Jay back into my life.
We haven’t been out together since.
I wonder what it will be like, just the two of us, with no buffers. I wonder if I won’t be able to think of anything to say.
Or if I’ll say too much.
I pick him up from his dad’s insurance office where he works on the weekends. Jay is the last one there, and I wait by the car while he locks up.
“My car,” he says, taking my hand and leading me to his Jeep.
I open the door and there’s a bouquet of daisies waiting on the seat. They’re slightly wilted, but they’re beautiful.
Even knowing daisies have no scent, I sniff them as we pull out of the lot.
“They’re gorgeous. Thank you,” I say.
Jay smiles. “I have big news.”
I watch his handsome profile. “What?”
“I’ve decided on Stanford, baby!” he yells, pumping a fist in the air.
I squeal. “No, you didn’t! You did?”
“Basketball scholarship and all!” he crows. “We can go together!”
I lean over and hug him. “That’s great. So great.”
And then I remember.
I can’t leave for college. I can’t be that far away.
“Jay,” I say. But he’s not listening.
“I know you haven’t gotten your decision yet, but you will. It’s a no-brainer. My dad says he might even buy a condo up there, so I can live there and they’ll have a place to stay when they visit.”
“Wow,” I say.
“I know, I know!” he says, barely breathing. “Let’s celebrate.”
I force a smile. “What do you have in mind?”
“My parents are out,” he says.
I take a deep breath. “And?”
“And?” Jay stops at a light and looks at me. “And we can be alone.”
“How about we eat first?” I say. “I’m starving.”
“Lazy Dog Café?” he asks.
“Great.”
***
I try to spin out dinner as long as I can.
Jay and I talk about basketball, about tennis, about school, about my migraines, and then about Baby T getting her wisdom teeth pulled because I can’t think of anything else to say.
