The Islanders (29 page)

Nina had been feeling increasingly uncomfortable since the band had eased into all slow songs. She hadn't danced slow with Benjamin yet. And now the entire room, at least all the people who had dates, seemed to have settled into slow-motion making out, barely acknowledging the music anymore, oblivious to the looks of others around them.

Nina set down the glass of soda.

“Are you ready for me to step on your feet some more?” Benjamin asked.

“Um, how about if we go outside for a minute. I think it's stuffy in here. No air. Don't you want to?”

“Sure. Lead on.”

She led him around the perimeter of the dance floor, noticing again the way whispers seemed to follow them. She was painfully aware of the discomfort she felt, as all the feelings she'd not yet learned to bury rose to the surface.

She reached the door and pushed open the bar. A blast of chill air slapped her. Outside, more couples were making out along the wall. A group of guys and girls was walking slowly around the building, drinking from beers concealed in their coat pockets, moving to stay out of range of the chaperons. In the nearby parking lot a half-dozen guys seemed to be egging each other on to a fight. A teacher was running to intervene.

“Full moon,” Nina said, automatically describing the things Benjamin couldn't see.

“A faint smell of pot, beer, and car exhaust,” Benjamin said with a smile.

“I wouldn't be surprised,” Nina said. She rubbed her arms with her hands, trying to stay warm.

“Are you okay?” Benjamin asked.

Nina sighed. “Yeah. I'm okay.”

“That wasn't very convincing.”

“I guess it wasn't,” she acknowledged. “I guess I'm just not used to all this.”

“What aren't you used to? The bad music? The cheap vodka someone dumped in the punch?”

“Ahh,” Nina groaned, covering her face with her hands. “I'm such a dweeb. Why do you even want to go out with me? God. I'm pathetic. My hands are sweating and my heart's going like a scared rabbit's, and I feel like I'm ready to hurl.”

Benjamin laughed. “Don't do
that.
Or at least, aim away from me.”

“You don't understand, Benjamin.”

“I'm making you sick?”

“It's not really very funny,” Nina said, feeling defeated and depressed. Here it was at last—the moment when she ruined everything. The final scenario.

“I never thought I'd hear you saying something wasn't funny,” Benjamin said.

“It's pathetic, how about that?
I'm
pathetic.”

“No, you're not. I like you a lot, Nina. And I have very good taste. I would never like someone who was pathetic. What is this about?”

Nina groaned again in frustration and anger. “It's about the
way I felt inside when you asked me to slow dance just now. I know it's dumb. I know it's
you
, not . . . someone else. And I know it's
now
, not five years ago. And I'm sixteen, not a little kid anymore. But these feelings . . .”

Benjamin waited patiently for her to go on, but she couldn't. She was choking from the lump in her throat. Tears had begun to fall down her cheeks. She was ruining it, as she'd known she would. Benjamin would be sweet and understanding, but it would still be the end.

The end, after all the time she had wanted for this night to come.

“Nina, we don't have to slow dance. We don't have to kiss or anything like that.”

Nina laughed bitterly. “Yeah, I'll bet kissing me would be the top thing on your list right now. Right behind getting the hell out of here and away from me.”

“At the risk of making you feel even more panicky, Nina, I do want to kiss you. I've wanted to kiss you all night. All night I've felt like, jeez, I really am blind not to have realized—” He shrugged and sucked in a deep breath. “It's just that there you were, all the time, and I never realized it.”

Nina bit her knuckle till she could taste blood. He was saying the things she'd hoped for years to hear him say. But at the same time she felt like running away, running all the way back
to the ferry and hiding in her room. Her stomach was in knots. It wouldn't work. It never would.

“But, you know, we really can just go back inside and hang out,” Benjamin said.

“Yeah,” Nina managed. “Okay.”

She moved to where he could take her arm. Out here in a dirt field with no landmarks to navigate by, he was almost helpless. She led him back to the door and pulled it open. Music and warmth came billowing out.

Nina stopped. A panicky, giddy, reckless feeling had taken hold of her. She let the door handle go and swung around. She darted her face forward, eyes closed, and quickly kissed Benjamin's mouth.

Only he moved and she missed his mouth.

A slow smile spread across Benjamin's face. “Feel better? Now that you've kissed my nose?”

A terrible, ghastly embarrassment flooded Nina's brain. She had kissed him on the nose. The big moment of her entire life and she had kissed him on the nose. This was not part of any scenario.

But another part of her could not help but acknowledge that it
was
funny.

“I've always really liked your nose,” she said. Then she broke up in giggles.

“How about we try again? This time I'll stay still.”

Nina's giggles died away. She took a deep breath, and then another. His hand had touched her bare shoulder and from there traveled to her cheek.

He was very close now, and she knew that soon the memories would rise to destroy this fragile moment.

She closed her eyes, trembling.

She felt a softness on her lips.

She felt the warmth of his breath. The muscles in his back and shoulders as her arm went around him. The luxurious, glowing heat that spread through her, banishing the chill of the Maine night.

Nina kissed him back.

And she did not hurl.

THE WAVES WERE MORE GRAY
than blue, and when Lucas stood up on his board, his longish blond hair was the only splash of color in a tableau of sea and sky that could almost have been a black-and-white photograph.

Zoey Passmore pulled the cowl neck of her sweater up over her chin and ears and slid her hands up inside the sleeves. The beach sand had lost all of the warmth from the sun that had shone so encouragingly earlier in the day, and she kept to the blanket. She'd collected driftwood from the beach and fallen limbs from the pine trees behind her and piled them with ex-Girl Scout expertise in a nice little pyramid. But she didn't want to light the fire until Lucas was with her for fear she'd burn up all her stash of fuel before he finally got tired of surfing.

Lucas fell from the board, diving into the water headfirst and surfacing moments later to shake the water from his hair like a dog. He grinned and held up a single finger, indicating one more wave.

She watched him reclaim his board and paddle back out, black rubber tight on his legs and butt, his feet bare and probably frozen by now. But she couldn't begrudge him the opportunity. There were rarely surfable waves on Chatham Island. This was a fluke, the result of a major storm far out over the Atlantic. It had brought them just the skirts of its clouds and enough of a surge to send Lucas scrambling to wax his old board and squeeze himself into a wet suit he'd clearly outgrown.

He caught a wave and had a good, long ride, bringing the board within a few feet of the narrow beach before he tumbled.

But he kept his word and emerged from the surf, lifting his board free of the foam that surged to within a couple of yards of Zoey's feet.

“Quick, light the fire!” he yelled. “I'm numb.”

Zoey smiled. His hair was wet and tousled, his body outlined in perfect detail by the tight wet suit. She felt a definite twinge. He looked incredible. Too incredible for Zoey's own good. She fished in her bag for the matches, but without taking her eyes from him.

She tore her eyes away and found the matches. He planted his surfboard upright in the sand and flopped onto the blanket beside her, smelling of salt and laughing in sheer delight.

“Damn, I'd forgotten how much I loved that.” He pulled the zipper halfway down his chest and inhaled deeply. “If only I'd been able to breathe. I guess I'll have to break down and buy a new suit.”

Zoey struck a match, but it was instantly blown out by the wind.
Don't say it,
she warned herself.
Don't say it
.

Then she said it anyway. “I think that suit looks pretty good on you.” Her voice wobbled a little and she concentrated on lighting a second match, cupping it in her hands. She touched the flame to the dried grass kindling. It crackled loudly and caught fire.

Lucas rolled toward her and without warning stuck his hands under her sweater, pressing them to her bare stomach.

Zoey squealed and tried to push him away, but he held on. “Get those icicles off me!”

“I can't wait for the fire,” he said. “I need warmth now. My hands are numb.”

“I warned you it was freezing out there. You're the one who said ‘Don't worry, I'll be plenty warm in my wet suit.'”

Lucas slid his hands around her back and drew her against him. Then he rolled onto his back, still holding her tight. “My lips are numb, too.”

Zoey lowered her mouth to his and kissed his cold lips. She closed her eyes and kissed him again, more deeply, a vision of him rising from the surf still firmly fixed in her mind. Within seconds his lips were as warm as her own. She kissed his cheeks and pressed her hands to them. She kissed his eyelids and his neck.

“Now are you warm?” Zoey asked.

“Mmm. Now even other parts of me are warm,” he said.

“Don't be crude.”

“I meant my feet.”

“Sure you did,” Zoey said. She gave him a light peck on the lips and rolled off him. “Are you hungry?”

“That depends. Is there anything
else
on the menu? I mean besides food. You know, maybe something for some
other
form of hunger?”

“We have hot dogs and we have s'mores. That's what's on the menu.”

Lucas sighed. “Okay, then I guess I'm hungry.” There was no mistaking the pouting tone in his voice.

“Lucas, I thought we were going to give that topic a rest,” Zoey said testily.

Lucas sat up and wrapped his arms around his knees. “I'm sorry. But you know, one thing kind of leads to another. We make out, we touch each other, first thing you know, I'm thinking about the next step. It's like . . . like saying hey, we'll get all dressed up, we'll drive to a fancy restaurant, we'll sit down and order this great meal, only, surprise, we're not going to eat anything.”

Zoey was silent for a moment while the fire snapped and spread a glow around them. “You're using a food example. You must be hungry.”

“I'm starving,” he admitted ruefully.

“Look, Lucas, if every time we make out you're going to say I'm leading you toward sex, then what am I supposed to do?” She held up her hand quickly. “Scratch that question. My point is, I really, really like kissing you. Really, really. But I'm not going to be able to enjoy it if you keep saying step one has to lead to step two has to lead to step three when I'm not ready for step three. You know?”

Lucas shrugged and looked away. Then he looked back at her, dissatisfied but not angry. “So if I want one and two, I have to shut up about three.”

Zoey sighed heavily. It wasn't like she never considered step three. They weren't all that different, not really, she and Lucas. Except that it was more complicated for her than for him. It must be nice to be a guy and have everything be so simple and straightforward—just be led around by your hormones and never have to think about consequences. “Lucas, don't you want this to be a choice I can make for myself, one way or the other, and that I can feel good about?”

He absorbed that for a moment and winced. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, making no attempt at sincerity.

Zoey smiled and hugged him. “We can still do some more of steps one and two.”

“Okay. But first, we eat.”

Zoey said good-bye to Lucas as night fell over Chatham Island and the tiny village of North Harbor. He went off toward his home, tired from the surf and, Zoey was sure, still a bit disgruntled and unsatisfied. She herself was feeling edgy, as she often did after making out with Lucas. She'd intended to go straight home and finish the journalism class assignment that was hanging over her head, but she didn't feel like concentrating. She was full of pent-up energy. She waved her arms back and forth at her sides, realizing how strange it would look to anyone who might be out on the streets and saw her.

She decided to stop by Nina's house. Zoey hadn't talked to her since the night before at the homecoming dance. Normally Nina could be counted on to drop by on just about any day of the week, especially a weekend day. But so far the day had been Nina-less.

Zoey walked the length of Center Street, crossing to walk through the parklike center of the circle. An island car, muffler blasting, front bumper held on by string, came rattling by and Zoey waved. Mrs. Gray, Aisha's mother. There were few of the island's three hundred permanent residents Zoey didn't recognize.

She reached Lighthouse Road, the northern edge of the island where cobblestones, low picket fences, and neatly tended gardens ran into sharp-edged, slick-wet rocks and sudden explosions of ocean spray. She went in through the gate of the Geiger house and instinctively looked up at the widow's walk, a railed deck atop the third story of the old house. Sure enough, there was Claire Geiger, Nina's sister. She was wearing a bright yellow rain slicker. Her long, voluptuous black hair streamed out from under an incongruous yellow rain hat.

“Damn,” Zoey said under her breath. She herself was still wearing just a sweater, no coat.

Claire peered down, leaning casually on the rickety-looking railing. “Hey, Zoey.”

“Hi, Claire. It's going to rain, huh?” Zoey yelled up at her, craning her neck.

“Zoey, we are completely blanketed with nimbostratus.”

“Uh-huh,” Zoey said.

“Rain clouds. Nimbostratus. But forget these.” She waved a hand dismissively. “This is nothing. What's great is that there's a monster Canadian cold front rolling down toward upstate New York and Vermont.”

“Yeah, that's cool, all right,” Zoey said dryly. If Claire hadn't had the good luck to be very beautiful and endowed with a natural elegance that emerged even from beneath a rain slicker, she would have spent her life as a nerd. Yet because she was the person she was, her fascination with weather, her natural solitude, her distant reserve all added to a sense that she was a unique individual, not to be judged by anyone's standards but her own. Whatever
those
might be.

“Snow,” Claire said, her eyes glowing as if she were announcing the advent of universal world peace. “There's a serious possibility of major snow in Vermont. Say, around . . . Killington? And next weekend is a three-day weekend?”

Zoey clicked. “Ski trip? Are you thinking ski trip?”

Claire smiled her infrequent smile. “Very likely. I'll let you know.”

“Excellent,” Zoey said enthusiastically. She and Claire didn't share much (except for some ex-boyfriends), but they did both like to ski. And even though the school year was less than two months old, Zoey had been feeling hemmed in lately. A road trip would be just the thing.

She had no idea whether Lucas would like the idea. He'd never mentioned skiing. But snowboarding was very similar to surfing.

And yet, it brought up the question of spending a weekend with Lucas away from family.

“Where would we stay?” Zoey yelled up.

“My dad knows a guy with a condo there. This early in the year he won't have rented it,” Claire said. She smiled knowingly. “Don't worry, I'm sure there will be plenty of beds for whatever arrangement you want.”