Tonight her hair was pulled back into a barrette, revealing the smooth line of her neck. Her mouth was in a pout, her eyes restless and shadowy. Casually I let my gaze slide downward, inch by slow inch. And it hit me then the way I’d known it would, even though I was standing in the darkest part of the auditorium, even though I was alone and no one was observing
me
—a power blush, a wave of
Foxfire
heat and a heart so far into overdrive that I was verging on a near-death experience.
Something took hold of me, moved me out of the shadows by the wall and stood me directly in front of the speaker. Sound hit me full blast, I was riding a sheer throb of bass. As I stood there looking up at her, the girl glanced down and our eyes locked. For a second she just stared at me, her face in neutral. Then, swinging her legs to one side of the speaker, she slid to the stage and jumped down beside me, so close we were almost touching.
“Want a smoke?” she shouted. I nodded and she turned, weaving her way through the crowd. Pushing open a side door, she headed down a hall, then through another door. As we came out into the student parking lot, a cloud of cigarette smoke hit us. Without stopping to greet anyone, the movie-theater girl slipped through the small group of smokers that surrounded the exit and turned a corner to the back of the school. Abruptly, we were alone. Ahead stretched a parking lot of empty cars; behind us, dull sound throbbed through the school wall.
“Here,” said the girl, lighting a cigarette and passing it to me. “Thanks,” I said. Taking a drag, I passed it back.
“You been here before?” she asked, her face a low glow as the cigarette ember flared in the dark.
“I know some kids who go here,” I said, trying to fake casual, my eyes flicking everywhere but her face.
“You don’t know me,” she said.
That got me so jumpy, I almost took off. I mean, what the
fuck
did I think I was doing here? Nervously I turned to look out over the parking lot, and my eyes landed on Cam’s Firebird.
“I’ve seen you around,” I muttered, my eyes flicking away from that too.
“Yeah, I know
how
you’ve seen me,” said the girl, and suddenly our eyes were locked, my heart pounding, just
pounding
. “You’re like me,” she added, then waited, letting the silence speak for her.
“Maybe,” I said finally, “and maybe not.”
“Then, why are you here?” she asked.
“For a smoke,” I said, taking the cigarette from her hand and dragging on it. It was a shaky drag—she was watching me so close, I almost choked on it.
“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire,” said the girl, taking the cigarette from my hand and dropping it to the pavement. Then she added, “By the way, my name’s Sheila.” Letting her eyes slide to my mouth, she leaned forward.
A surge of heat hit me, so intense I almost yelped, and then our lips were touching, touching again. We leaned closer, not just her leaning into me—I was right in on her, my hands in her hair as hers slid up my back. Sweet fire shot through me, so vivid I was lost in it—whirling, spaced-out, gasping-crazy,
hot
.
“Shit,” I hissed, jerking away. “Shit, shit,
shit
.”
Ahead of me the parking lot blurred in and out of focus, the rum and Coke putting in some special effects. Inches to my right Sheila stood silently, not moving, just breathing, quick and quiet in the dark. Ducking my head, I took a few steps away from her, then broke into a run, heading for the safety of the smoking crowd and the school entrance that loomed just beyond them
Obviously I didn’t spend much time Thanksgiving Sunday thinking about Cam. Or Joc. Or the math and history assignments I was supposed to have been working on. Instead I spent any time that I wasn’t chowing down turkey and cranberry sauce and talking to my grandparents, lying in bed doing you-know-what while I relived that kiss behind Confederation Collegiate. Over and over I remembered Sheila saying, “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire” and leaning in, as unbelievable sensations flashed through me—I was an electric billboard plugged into overdrive, a supersonic strobe light, a maniac’s scream. Sunday night I went at it again for hours and probably would have Monday afternoon too, if Julie Crozier hadn’t called and asked me to go to the mall with her and Rachel.
For a second I hesitated. I mean, what would I rather have been doing? Besides, Julie and Rachel had a tendency to be acquisitional, as in they liked to acquire things and not always in the legal manner. As far as I was concerned, shoplifting was no thrill. I’d tried it several times in grade school, and the last time a hyperventilating store manager had come after me, screaming her head off as she chased me for several blocks. I’d gotten away but barely, and when the woman finally gave up, I realized that I’d been so scared, I’d peed my pants. I also realized that even if the store manager didn’t know my name, she would damn well recognize me if I walked into her shop again. There was no way I could ever go back there, even to spend my weekly allowance, and it was enough to convince me that a life of crime wasn’t my thing. Julie and Rachel, however, were still getting a rush off it, so whenever I went “shopping” with them, I stood as far away as possible in case they were caught.
Just after lunch Rachel picked me up in her car, and the three of us drove to the downtown mall. By mid-afternoon we’d cruised the Panhandler, the Gap and Mariposa, and were headed
toward the Bay. Julie had managed to pocket a pair of earrings that had caught her fancy, but Rachel had been cheated out of a leather wallet by a sharp-eyed clerk. So as we made our way down the mall’s central corridor, she was on a royal bitch, her eyes on the prowl for a victim—someone,
anyone
she could verbally attack, maul and mutilate.
“Look at that wiener girl by the A&W,” she snapped, pointing at a girl standing on the other side of the food court. “I bet she hasn’t eaten in a month. Her bum’s flat as a paper napkin.”
I glanced at the girl standing in front of the A&W. She was thin, but not that thin. Rachel was obviously desperate to unload some venom.
“Anorexia,” singsonged Julie, rolling her eyes.
“Anor
ass
ia,” Rachel replied.
“Yeah,” snorted Julie. “Not like that girl at the Booster Juice. She’s a chug-and-chuck. Bulimic,
obviously
.”
Obediently I glanced in the direction of her pointing finger, then sucked in my breath as my eyes landed on a familiar face— hot lips Sheila, star of approximately forty-two nonstop hours of my private fantasies, sitting alone at a table in front of the Booster Juice. As luck would have it, the second my gaze landed on her, she happened to look up and see me. Her eyes widened, her mouth came open, and she shot out of her seat like a jack-in-the-box.
I took off. No way, no way, no
way
was I having a chit-chat with the passion of Confederation Collegiate while Julie and Rachel stood nearby, listening in. I could just imagine it.
How are you today, Sheila?
Oh, fine. How are you? Still thinking about that kiss I gave you Saturday night?
Mmm, I gave it the odd thought, when I wasn’t doing something important like washing the dishes.
I mean, even if Sheila didn’t mention the kiss directly, she would be looking at me with a desperate hungry look on her face. I give Julie and Rachel two seconds in her presence and they would know, they would just
know.
Hot lips Sheila needed a lesson in subtlety, and she needed it bad. So without giving it a second thought, I took off down the mall’s main corridor, in search of a place to hide. But as luck would have it again, there were only small stores in this area, every inch in them open to the most casual glance. It looked like I was going to have to leg it all the way across the mall to the Bay, where there was more floor space to lose myself in.
Why, oh
why
, did Sheila have to show up when I was putting in time with the phone patrol? After I’d taken off on her Saturday night, she’d left me alone, probably because she’d seen me head back to Cam. When she caught sight of me today, she must have thought we could talk because he wasn’t around. Well, we couldn’t. We couldn’t talk now, later, or ever. Sure, the kiss behind Confed had been a rush, but so what? I was drunk and obviously not thinking straight. You don’t turn your life upside-down over something you do when you’re sloshed
stupid
.
Frantically I ducked into the Bay and headed down a side aisle. To my left was the teen department—too obvious, the place I would be expected to hang out. And to my right was men’s socks. No camouflage there. So I headed farther into the store, searching for a department that sold king-sized beds, washing machines or cement trucks—something big enough to hide behind—but all I could see were slippers and perfume. About to start up the escalator, I glanced back at the entrance and saw Sheila enter the store. Just as I’d thought, a desperate hungry look was plastered all over her face. Ditching the escalator, I dived into the department to my left, and began pushing through racks of women’s lingerie. Camisoles, lace-edged bras
and frilly satin panties—this was the last place to go if you were looking for decent cover.
Trying not to freak, I grabbed something from the nearest rack and headed for the change rooms. Fortunately a woman was just coming out of a cubicle, so I didn’t have to call a clerk to unlock one. Quickly I stepped inside, closed the door and leaned against the back wall, shutting my eyes. Within seconds, footsteps rushed through the change rooms’ entrance. My heart stopped then, I mean
absolutely
. No question, I was on the verge of an utter freak. What if Sheila glanced through the open space under the cubicle door and recognized my runners? Would it be smart to take them off? But what if she noticed me doing that? For sure it would look suspicious.
A new thought hit me, along with a fresh wave of panic. Horror of horrors—what if Sheila decided to get down on her hands and knees and look under each cubicle door to check who was inside? Should I put on the lingerie that I’d grabbed off the rack and stand with my back to the door? Would that be enough of a disguise?
Grabbing the lingerie from its hanger, I looked it over. Black and lacy, it was wired to push your boobs to your chin. The label on the back said “Spider Lingerie.”
Make that Black Widow Lingerie
, I thought. All things considered, with the way I was acting, it would be no disguise at all.
But maybe I wouldn’t need one. Outside my cubicle, I could hear footsteps heading slowly toward the change rooms’ entrance. Next to my door, Sheila paused and gave a loud sigh. Then she walked out into the store. Still I held my breath, waiting.
Count to a hundred
, I told myself.
No, a thousand. A zillion
.
After several more minutes, I opened my cubicle door and peeked out. No sign of anyone with a desperate hungry look in the immediate vicinity. Tiptoeing to the change rooms’ entrance,
I scanned the store but didn’t see Sheila anywhere. If she was still around, perhaps I would be able to sneak past her without being spotted if I stuck to the outer wall.
The trick then would be finding Julie and Rachel and coming up with an explanation for my sudden disappearance. An atomic bladder? A teeny-tiny voice whispering “Bay Day” inside my head? But what if they’d noticed Sheila take off down the mall after me? Even worse—what if she’d stopped to ask Julie and Rachel where I’d gone?
Just thinking about the possibilities was sending me into another near-death experience. With a long slow breath, I got a grip and headed out into the store.
Chapter Thirteen
When I went to bed that night, I kept my hands above my waist and concentrated on thinking
rationally
. As far as I could tell, the afternoon’s catastrophe at the mall could now be downgraded to a semi-catastrophe. After leaving the Bay, I had tracked down Julie and Rachel stuffing their faces in the food court. To my surprise, they hadn’t noticed Sheila take off after me and completely bought my story that I’d had to suddenly disappear because I’d seen a girl who’d bullied me last year in my ice-skating classes. When I’d said I would rather not bump into her again, Rachel had driven me home. That seemed to have solved any possible problems with Julie and Rachel and just left hot lips Sheila. And since she didn’t know my name, there wasn’t any way she could contact me. Except hang out at malls, of course, and the library,
and
the movie theaters and cafés. Which meant I was going to have to keep my eyes peeled, as well as come up with a few tactics for our next encounter—I mean, something better than absolutely losing my mind.
I couldn’t get over how stupid I’d been. Why had I gone and kissed someone who was such an obvious problem—always alone like that and with massive emotional problems? I mean,
most lesbians had friends they hung out with—other lesbians and straight kids—but Sheila was a reject. Why hadn’t I seen it on time?
Because
, I realized, turning over with a groan,
I was drunk. And also
, I added, after a reluctant pause,
because she shot me full of sparks
. Which, unfortunately, continued to be true. Even after what had happened today at the mall, I still felt it when I thought about Sheila—a sparkly hum deep inside. Well, I was just going to have to ditch that sparkly hum. I couldn’t go around getting a lust on for someone with so many emotional problems. It wasn’t...well, it just wasn’t
convenient
.
With a sigh, I stared at the dark shadowy mound my body made under the blankets. There it was, the source of all my trouble. Softly, very softly, I muttered, “Hello, groin. You are a very confusing part of my body. If only you were more like my brain—y’know, reasonable, civilized. If only you wanted what the rest of me wanted, so the bottom half of my body was in sync with the top. Then everything wouldn’t be so fucked up. It’s your fault, y’know. It’s all your fault.”