The Lance Temptation

by Brenda Maxfield

  The salty smell of popcorn glutted the air, so I knew the Chess Club was busy at their booth. They continually bragged about how they could raise one hundred dollars in under two hours. The band was blasting out a new song the whole school had learned during Friday’s pep rally, and I could see the cheerleaders jumping from each other’s shoulders, landing in twisted contortions. The whipped-up crowd chanted and someone blew an air horn.

  Farah kept walking toward the bleachers. “Lance has a brother. He’s, um, older. He’ll give us a ride home.” She spoke close to my ear over the throbbing noise.

  It was stupid, but at the mention of Lance, my heart started to beat a bit faster. “Oh, so Lance’s brother and Lance will be with us?”

  A look of delight passed over Farah’s face. “It’s all Lance, isn’t it? My, my, whatever will Marc say?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. This has nothing to do with Marc.” I could feel my face go hot. I didn’t tell her about my earlier lie-fest with Marc. Whoa, what if Marc texted me during the game? I pulled my phone from my jean’s pocket and switched it off.

  I nudged Farah. “I didn’t know Lance had a brother. How much older is he?”

  “Old enough.” Farah’s eyebrows rose, and she continued in a dreamy tone, “Wait till you meet him. He’s fine.”

  “How did you meet him?”

  “Oh, Emili, you know I get around.”

  “Did Lance say he was coming for sure?” I was practically yelling now as we got closer to the stands.

  Farah ignored me, dashing ahead, starting up the bleachers two at a time.

  “Wait,” I called. She wasn’t listening — she was on a mission.

  A senior guy — I thought his name was Scott — grabbed Farah’s arm on her way up. He pulled her onto his lap amidst hoots and whistles from his friends. Farah’s initial surprised expression became a smile and a laugh. She pushed on his chest playfully, jumped off his lap, and kept moving.

  I glanced upward and saw Lance and what could only be his brother. Both of them were watching Farah, and Lance had his arms open toward her. I took a deep breath. Even from where I was, I could see how hot he looked. I chewed my lip. What was I doing? I was prepping for a major guilt attack. But how would it look if I didn’t go up there? Farah would be annoyed.

  And I’d told Lance I’d be there.

  I took the steps slowly, climbing the bleachers as if they were Mt. Everest. While I climbed, I glanced down at my T-shirt and jeans and despaired of my choice of outfits. Next to Farah, I looked like I was ready to dig latrines at the local wilderness camp.

  When I arrived, Farah was already sitting between the guys, laughing hugely and tossing her hair. Lance saw me approach. “Cecily, right?”

  Farah slapped him on the arm. “It’s Emili. How many times do I have to tell you?”

  She leaned in toward his brother. “I hope his stupidity isn’t genetic.” And I swear she fluttered her green eyes at him. She put her hand on his arm as if staking a claim. “Emili, this is Pete.”

  “Hey, Pete,” I said, slightly out-of-breath. I glanced at Lance and sat down in front of him.

  We were nearly to the top of the bleachers, giving me a bird’s-eye view of the colorful mass of spectators below. I spotted Jeannie, whose mother was supposedly taking us home. She was chatting it up with her groupies. Not too long ago, I would’ve been down there with them. A pang of regret squeezed my heart, but then I realized who was sitting right behind me. Without Farah, Lance would be nowhere close. Ditching old friends for Farah was paying off exactly like I’d hoped it would.

  The game began and we settled in. I felt a bit silly sitting in front of the three of them by myself.

  “Pete, how come I haven’t seen you at other games?” Farah asked.

  “Didn’t know how good the scenery was going to be,” came his answer.

  Farah giggled. Actually giggled. I nearly burst out laughing myself. I’d never heard her giggle in my life.

  Lance stretched out his legs, dangling his feet across the bench where I sat. In one smooth move, he lifted himself down to sit next to me. We didn’t touch, but every cell in my body was on alert. With great effort, I kept my eyes on the game.

  “Enjoying yourself, Cecily?” He spoke next to my ear. I felt his breath on my cheek.

  I swallowed. “Yeah.”

  “You smell good,” he said, and shifted so his leg touched mine. I stiffened, forcing myself to keep my eyes forward.

  “It’s the perfume,” I said, ignoring the warmth from his leg.

  “I figured.”

  “I make it.”

  “You make perfume?” I could tell by his tone I’d surprised him.

  “Yeah. It’s not so hard.”

  He moved again, his leg pressing more firmly into mine. “You like football?”

  I took a quick breath. “Sure. It’s a cool sport.”

  Oh, please. Did I say football was a cool sport? Smooth.

  Lance snickered softly. “Yeah, a real cool sport.”

  We continued to sit, legs touching. I’d never felt so deliciously miserable in my life.

  “How badly do you want to see this game?” I heard Farah ask Pete. Oh no, she couldn’t, she wouldn’t leave me stranded here, sitting next to Lance and feeling like the biggest misfit who ever drew breath. But I knew she would.

  “Not so much,” he answered and chuckled. “What do you have in mind?”

  I stopped breathing and my entire body tensed.

  “You have a car, don’t you?” she asked with undertones I didn’t even want to think about.

  “Have car, will travel,” he answered. “Let’s go. Coming, Lance?”

  Lance got up. “Not so big on the game myself.”

  Why wasn’t I here with Marc like I was supposed to be? Now I was going to be left alone like a big loser.

  “Coming, Cecily?” Lance reached out his hand to help me up. His expression was hypnotic, inviting.

  I took his hand. Even though the evening was cool, his grasp was firm and warm. I got to my feet. “And I do know Cecily’s not your name. But I like it anyway.”

  At that crazy, intoxicating moment, he could have called me Egg Salad Superstar for all I cared. He helped me down the bleachers, even though it was pretty obvious his eyes were watching every move Farah made. I couldn’t fault him. When Farah moved, everyone watched. I prayed my hand wouldn’t get clammy. I could sweat like a gymnast in under a minute — always when I was trying to impress someone.

  Being with a guy still strained my sense of balance. It wouldn’t take much to topple me over. Marc was okay, though. I was fairly relaxed around him. We had been dating for almost two months — which, at my school, was like forever. Marc wasn’t experienced either, so we kind of bumbled along together. Everyone considered us a couple. Although sometimes when I was walking with him, the word “poser” echoed in my mind.

  Last week, Marc and I had finally kissed. I’d never in a million years tell Farah, but it was a total disaster. Maybe I didn’t know what I was doing or maybe I was too self-conscious. Either way, it wasn’t close to what I saw in the movies or heard gushed about in the girls’ bathroom.

  And the second time wasn’t any better than the first. I guess a person needs more than one kiss to be an expert.

  So, being with Lance was way over the top, and I felt giddy. The fact he hadn’t let go of my hand sent actual heat up my spine. I nearly stumbled down each step, trying to keep our hands connected and to keep from falling into him. I willed myself not to sweat.

  “Hey, Lance,” some girl yelled. It was Megan Rochester, standing and waving wildly. Lance tipped his head at her, and gave her a smile. I felt a ping in my heart and frowned. I wanted all his smiles, which was absurd considering I barely knew him and certainly had no claim on him.

  Thinking about claims, it occurred to me we were in public view, and I was supposedly Marc’s girl. Crap.

  This couldn’t go on. I needed to talk
to Marc. It wasn’t right to feel this way about one guy while going out with another. I heard a commotion and then saw Jeannie lean over her friends and call out to me with a voice like an electric drill, “Hey, Emili, fancy seeing you here…”

  Lance kept pulling me down the steps. I glanced back but didn’t have a chance to answer as the cheering exploded into a frenzy.

  When we emerged from the heavy metal fence around the field, Farah made the pretense of adjusting her skirt. I knew that move. I’d seen her do it a hundred times in front of the mirror. She grasped the hem and tugged a bit; she almost always ended up hitching the skirt higher. Lance and Pete both had their eyes glued.

  Lance dropped my hand. I sighed.

  Well, it served me right. I shouldn’t have been holding his hand in the first place.

  “Where’s your car?” Farah asked.

  “This way.” Pete took her arm and we started across the street to the parking lot.

  What happened next was like watching a bad movie. At the entrance gate, there was Marc being let off from his parents’ blue mini-van. I did a double take. Marc had clearly said he wasn’t coming, and since when did he ever change his plans?

  For one mad moment, I almost ran over there and threw myself in his arms. Seeing him sent relief throughout my entire body. But then I realized where I was and who I was with. My relief morphed into cold dread.

  I lurched ahead to the parking lot and tried to hide by walking directly in front of Lance, but I didn’t hold out much hope. Even with his muscles, he was thin and wouldn’t provide enough cover. There were heavy trees circling the parking lot, and even though their leaves were gone, I prayed they’d block us from Marc’s view.

  We approached a red vintage Mustang convertible. I knew it was vintage because my cousin had one, and it cost him every cent he had and then some. Pete unlocked the door. “Emili and Lance, you’re in the back.”

  Lance started to protest, but he must’ve seen the warning look of authority on his brother’s face, and decided against it.

  I grabbed Farah’s arm and whispered, “Marc’s here and he might’ve seen me.”

  She pulled her arm free and glared at me. “Emili, we’re ready to go,” she said aloud, her voice all candy-coated. She indicated the open door. “You first.”

  I stared at her helplessly. “Did you hear? I don’t know what to do.”

  She leaned close. “Marc’s boring! I’ve told you a million times. This is so much better. You’ll thank me later.” She laughed up at Pete. “Okay, Pete, unlock the other side, and I’ll slide right in.”

  Chapter Three

  I got into the back seat of the car, and something shifted inside of me. The person I’d been my whole life evaporated right out of my body. I was no longer Emili Jones, the plain and predictable girl who could always be counted on to do the sane thing.

  Now I was Emili, the girl willing to get in a car with a guy who wasn’t her boyfriend. Emili, the girl who hoped her boyfriend wouldn’t find her missing at the game.

  Lance climbed in behind me. I wasn’t stupid — I could see he had a major crush on Farah. But against his brother, he didn’t have much of a chance. Oh, he could compete in the looks department, definitely. But the rest of it: age, possessions, his own car, a driver’s license. No, not even a little.

  Lance leaned toward me, his face a mere inch away. I could feel the sweat forming like dew on my upper lip. My eyes opened wide.

  “Cecily, anyone ever tell you how pretty you are?” Our noses touched. All I could do was shake my head. His breath cascaded over my face, my mouth. He leaned in closer and his lips brushed mine. So soft, so warm. I stared into his eyes in the shadows of the back seat. I couldn’t move. He kissed me again, a little longer this time. Then he rested back on his side of the seat and let out a soft laugh.

  I caught Farah’s glance in the rearview mirror. She gave me a gleeful smile.

  My hand went to my mouth. I tried to slow my breathing. Lance had kissed me. Twice. It was completely different from Marc’s kiss. Wonderfully different. My entire body tingled and a mixture of joy and fear trembled deep in my stomach. The shaking spread till I was sure Lance would feel it. I glanced over at his dark profile outlined against the car window.

  If nothing else ever happened for the rest of my high school years, this would be enough.

  He’d kissed me. I couldn’t believe it. Me, Emili Jones. I tried to relax as Pete started the car and we took off. I’d no idea where we were going. I wanted to ask, but I thought it wouldn’t be cool so I remained silent and kept my eyes straight ahead. Farah’s body was draped over Pete’s until I wondered how he could drive.

  “Where are we headed?” Farah asked.

  “You wanted to see where I live, right?”

  Farah nodded in the dark. She snuggled even closer to him if that were possible.

  I finally dared to look again at Lance’s face. In the fleeting light from the street lamps, I saw it was rigid. He was mad, and I knew it had to do with Farah. My heart stalled. I wasn’t enough for him. He couldn’t compete with his brother, and I couldn’t compete with Farah. And it was Farah he wanted. Did he regret kissing me already?

  We headed down a shadowy side street. I wasn’t sure which one, but guessed it didn’t matter at that point.

  “Here we are,” Pete said, stopping the car. “C’mon, let’s go in.”

  We were in front of a two-story brick building. There were maybe four apartments, but I couldn’t be sure. The small gravel parking lot in front of the building was empty. There were no lights on in any of the apartments. On the upper walkway, one lone light bulb buzzed like a bug zapper. The whole place felt eerie, deserted.

  “I’m below,” Pete said.

  I must have appeared ridiculous, all tight and frozen. My body didn’t want to move. My legs had gone numb. What would my mom say if she knew where I was? What would Marc think? Would anyone find out I’d left the game?

  I had to be delusional. Of course someone would know I left the game. I’d done nothing to hide it. Jeannie’s face crossed my mind. She had a big mouth, and I’d never known her to keep it shut.

  “Come on, Cecily.” Lance pulled gently on my arm. “Let’s go inside.”

  My legs began to work and I followed him. The smell of pine air freshener was heavy as we walked into Pete’s apartment. In my mind, I saw myself entering Hansel and Gretel’s forest heading straight for the witch’s candy trap. Pete switched on a lamp. Its feeble light flickered, making tall shadows across the floor. The living room was small, scrunched. One shabby plaid loveseat was shoved up against a pale gray wall. Next to it was a flat screen TV with a pile of remotes littering the floor. Under the window was a round table with two rickety-looking chairs shoved underneath. A computer sat on the table, its power light blinking.

  The tiniest kitchen I’d ever seen was at the opposite end of the room. There was a microwave, a fridge that wouldn’t reach a short person’s knees, and a sink. Random posters of motorcycles scattered the walls.

  Everything was clean and straightened as if Pete knew he’d be having company. Two doors led off the living room.

  “The bathroom.” Pete pointed. He nodded toward the other door. “And the bedroom.”

  Farah’s eyebrows rose. She twirled in the middle of the room. “This is a great apartment. Show me the bedroom.”

  Was she going to desert me? Meaning I’d be out here alone with Lance? This was miles out of my comfort zone. My hands balled into fists. How had I let Farah drag me into one of her love nests?

  “Farah…” I started.

  “The bedroom?” Farah asked, leaning into Pete.

  He laughed. “Come on then.” He opened the door, and they went through. Farah closed it behind her with a definite click.

  I thought I heard Lance mumble, “Jerk,” under his breath, but I couldn’t be sure. He studied me and gestured toward the loveseat. “C’mon Cecily, let’s sit.”

  I didn’t want to si
t, didn’t even want to be there. This was beyond awkward. I knelt on the rug by the pile of remotes and began organizing them by size, placing them in front of me like a puzzle.

  “What are you doing?” Lance asked. My hand froze above the remotes. I’d heard that tone before — what he truly meant was, “What kind of weirdo are you?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut.

  “C’mon. Leave them.” His voice was soft, coaxing.

  I looked up. His eyes were incredible — he could be a wizard or something. I gave him my hand and he pulled me to him.

  “Let’s sit,” he said again.

  He led me to the loveseat and we sat. “No need to waste a good evening.” His voice was suggestive, and he sidled up to me. “They’re obviously busy in there.”

  I tipped my head toward the closed bedroom door. “My friend, Farah,” I said.

  “My brother, Pete,” he answered. His face tightened for a moment, but then he shook it off.

  “Want to watch TV?” I asked, chewing the inside of my lip. Brilliant.

  “Cecily, we can surely come up with something better.”

  He leaned in and kissed me. I tensed.

  “Hey.” He was whispering now, his tone amused. “Would you loosen up? I’m not going to bite you.”

  I coughed nervously. “I know.” I hardly got the words out when he kissed me again. I wished I could say I pushed him away. I should have, and I intended to. At least for the first couple of minutes. But his mouth on mine felt so delicious I did nothing but kiss him back — winding my arms around him.

  So this is what the girls in the bathroom meant. It was worth gushing about.

  I thought back to my kisses with Marc. I hadn’t truly kissed him at all. I hadn’t even given him a chance. If we’d kissed like this… I stiffened.

  I was a total jerk.