by P. R. Mason
A zing of pleasure began as a spot in my stomach, then blossomed into a warm blush up my neck and into my face.
"You're having a great time. Admit it," she said.
Fixing her with my most dagger-like, arch-browed, condemning expression possible, I answered, "I can't believe I let you talk me into this date. Quinn's a creep."
"He's a running back," she defended.
"The two aren't mutually exclusive," I observed.
"I can't believe it," Lashonda said. "Quinn told Billy, and Billy told Juliette, and Juliette told me that he really likes you. And she wouldn't lie to me. Cheerleading sisters' code."
"Yeah, he really likes me all right. He's used all fifty snaky hands on me plus his forked tongue to prove it."
"Snakes have no hands, Eve."
"Okay, but he has no neck just like a snake and—anyway, you get my point. Besides, I could be studying like my dad wanted. Then at least one of us would be happy tonight."
I had the SATs tomorrow and Dad was so not happy I'd decided to go to this dance.
"Ackk," Lashonda said. "The dance is so dismal that studying would be better?"
When I nodded, she put an arm around my shoulder. "Sorry, sweetie. But at least you gave it a try. You've acted like you were afraid to try romance. It's unnatural."
"Afraid?" I scoffed. "Hardly." Even as the words escaped I knew I was lying.
"Really? 'Cause this is the first date you've had since I've known you."
"And it might be my last, girlfriend, if this is what I've got to look forward to."
"I told you a million times, don't call me girlfriend," Lashonda said. "It just sounds so damn lame when a white girl uses it. You make my ears bleed." Lashonda always seemed to sound more urban when riled.
"Okay," I said, conceding with a toss of my hands into the air. "I don't want to render you deaf."
She chuckled. "You gotta put yourself out there. Life is short."
That's what everybody at Double Dick had been saying ever since little Franky Abbot died so suddenly just a month before.
"Just ditch Quinn and go after someone else at the dance," Lashonda said.
My eyes darted to Holden and then back to my friend. "I can't do that." Could I?
"Yes you can. I'm going to," she said. "My 'date' may be Ronny but I'm going home with someone else if I have anything to say about it."
She tilted her head toward the dance floor where the object of her nod— Chase —was doing a variation of the white guy overbite moves.
"Ooooh, girl. He has a great booty." Lashonda held up two hands grasping mounds of air. "Chase's butt looks like two hard, denim-encased cantaloupes in those jeans."
She made a smacking sound with her mouth. "I could just take a bite outa those delicious melons."
A laugh burst from me.
"What can I say," she continued. "My heart hums when I see yummy buns."
"You should put those lyrics to music."
She licked her lips. "I'm gonna ask Chase to dance."
Just then Chase, the epitome of surfer-dude, scuttled to the side and gave me a view of his dance partner.
"I don't think you wanna do that," I told her. "He's with Petra."
Lashonda's face fell into a pout. "Petra's a witch. She tried to tear out my hair last week."
"Understandable since you are trying to steal her boyfriend."
"You can't steal something that don't want to get taken."
"That's ridiculous." My eyes went to the corner again where Holden hid a smirk almost as if he heard us talking.
"No it's not. It's Zen."
"That's you. Lashonda. The second coming of Confucius."
"Zen is Buddhism, not Confucianism."
"Oh," I said. "Excuuuuuse me for mistaking the philosophical basis for your psychological rationalization."
"Whatever," Lashonda said with a wave of her hand. "I'm gonna ask Chase to dance and really freak Petra."
"That's not smart."
"To hell with smart. Touching a black girl's hair is like launching a nuclear bomb. It takes the warfare to a whole new level."
"Good to know," I muttered.
"Anyway, pick out somebody and go for them, just like I'm gonna go for Chase."
My eyes flickered and found Holden again.
"How about the guy you can't keep your eyes off," Lashonda continued.
"What?" I sputtered, blinking.
"Yeah. I've conducted this entire conversation to the side of your face." She frowned putting a hand on one hip. "I hope he's cute, at least."
Trying to keep myself from gushing, I left it at, "He's kinda Nordic looking."
Lashonda smiled knowingly.
"I gotta see this Viking God." She made a move to glance to her right.
"Don't look." I leaned forward, stopping her with a hand on her arm. Mortified, my whisper was furious. "He'll know I'm talking about him."
"Shocker!" My friend said slapping her hands against both cheeks mimicking a famous movie moment. "Like he won't know by the way you're staring at him."
"He's the one staring at me," I defended in my best impression of affronted pride. "I'm just noticing that he's staring. I'm not doing any staring of my own."
"Uh huh." Lashonda's lips twisted in smirk.
Just then Quinn returned with Ronny tagging along behind him.
"Girls," Quinn greeted us. He took a sip from his glass.
"I thought you were getting punch," I said.
"I did." He held up the glass....the one glass.
Not that I trusted him to get me a drink but he could have had the courtesy to try.
Quinn ogled my friend up and down and then issued a long wolf whistle while shaking one hand as if burned. "Lashonda, you are so smokin' hot tonight I need a fire extinguisher."
"How about using the punch instead." I swiped at the hand holding the glass, tipping it back and into his chest where the red fruity concoction spilled like blood soaking his shirtfront.
"Hey," he screeched.
Not stopping to get a further reaction, I pushed past him.
"Crazy whacked out bitch." Quinn shouted over Lashonda's laughter as I strode off.
Chapter Two
Now was the time to find out if I was, in fact, whacked out crazy or whether I did know the cute Viking.
As I walked toward him, the music changed to a slow song: "No Air." The lyrics drifted over me: Tell me how I'm supposed to breathe with no air.
What had started as bold strides slowed to regular steps. Cowardice the size of a boulder suddenly lodged itself in my throat and I had no air to breathe. Trying to swallow it down, I forced myself forward. Holden, who'd been leaning against the wall, straightened, and a smile—or was it a smirk—turned up the right side of his lips. The boulder shifted, plopping directly into the bottom of my stomach. I had air, but vomiting seemed a distinct possibility.
What if he laughed in my face? "You?" he would say. "Why would I be looking at you? You're nothing special."
Maybe a detour to the punch bowl would be a good idea, instead. Making a sharp right turn wouldn't seem weird to anyone. Na, I assured myself. Perfectly normal. So I went for it—the punch bowl that is.
Out of the corner of my eye, a movement. Holden was following me. The boulder in my stomach bounced up into my lungs. Suddenly, the punch bowl wasn't a good idea. Escaping to the girls' room seemed a much better option. He couldn't follow me in there and no confrontation of my insecurities would be necessary.
I made it into the hall just outside the gym before Holden caught up with me.
"Eve." His deep voice called from behind me. "Why are you running away?"
A hesitation hitched my step then I spun around to face him.
"You know my name," I exclaimed.
"And you know mine is Holden."
He stepped closer. He had to be at least five foot ten to my five foot five. But it was his eyes that really got me. I'd taken enough art classes to know you couldn't find this
color straight from the tube. A special mixture with cerulean and a bit of umber might achieve the color. But the mixture would probably need a topping of a lapis glaze.
"When did we meet?" I asked.
A smile quirked the right edge of his lips. "A long time ago," he answered, edging even closer so there was barely a foot between us.
"Why can't I remember?"
"You will," he said. "But that doesn't matter as much as our dance."
"What dance?" I forced out the question past that persistent boulder.
His smile widened, showing a beautiful row of white teeth. "The one you were going to ask me for before you chickened out."
"Oh," I whispered into his chest, unable to meet his eyes any longer. "That one."
Holden took my right hand in his and lifted it. Turning it palm up, he traced the lifeline with his thumb. "Won't you dance with me, Eve?"
"Here?" I glanced around me.
"Why not?"
Yes. Why not? We were alone in the darkened hall. The music poured through the open doors of the gym and was almost as loud as it was inside its confines.
I'd barely nodded before Holden tugged my hand and brought me against him. Our eyes locked. My right palm molded against his left with our fingers intertwined. With his arm around my waist, mine around his shoulders, we swayed in time to the slow beat. Neither of us spoke. I couldn't know exactly what he was feeling, but he looked at me as if I were the most important person in his world.
That pesky boulder exploded and the fragments transformed to fizzy soda pop in my stomach. I never wanted to go back to the ordinary me. I wanted to bask in the specialness forever. Luckily, the next song was also a slow one and one dance became two. I think a third one came and went also. That might have been a J-Lo upbeat disco mix but we treated it like a ballad.
In the midst of the third dance, I saw something in his eyes. He stopped swaying and we stood chest-to-chest, stomach-to-stomach.
The fizzy soda pop in my stomach intensified into Alka Seltzer and exploded outward, filling my entire body.
He was going to kiss me. My very first kiss...ever.
I would have licked my lips, but I was afraid he'd feel the slobber and get repulsed. What should I do? Open my lips? Keep them shut? Pucker?
Damn I hadn't had a breath mint since I got in the car with Quinn an hour ago. What if my breath was bad? What if—
His head lowered toward mine, his lids drifting shut. I leaned upward going on tiptoes, my own eyes closing.
We were going to kiss. Nothing could break us apart.
Nothing that is except Quinn, Ronny and Lashonda.
"Where is Eve?" Quinn's voice came from just inside the gym. "I saw her coming this way."
"I thought you said she was a crazy bitch," Ronny observed. "Why do you want to find her?"
"She shoulda been back with the proper attitude by now." Quinn huffed.
"Why don't you just leave Eve alone," Lashonda piped in.
"Why don't you leave Chase alone?" A petulant demand came out of left field.
"Petra Pie," a male voice—Chase—said. "It was just one dance. What are you getting so mental about?"
Make that Quinn, Lashonda, Ronny, Petra and Chase breaking us apart.
"C'mon." Holden stepped back and pulled me with him a few steps down the hall where we could take cover behind a bank of lockers.
Peeking around the cool metal gave us a view of the bickering group. We could have just joined them, but it made me giddy that Holden didn't want to. Hiding away with him was like the two of us against the world. Besides, we were so new I didn't feel up to sharing him with Lashonda just yet.
"Why the freak are you following me, Petra?" Lashonda demanded.
"I'm following you to warn you and your weave about trespassing on my guy."
"I'll have you know this is all my own hair and you better not be touchin' it again or you'll be wearin' your left nostril as a toe ring."
Petra turned on Ronny. "Why don't you keep your girl in line? Don't you care that she's running after my boyfriend?"
Ronny's gaze darted to Quinn before going back to Petra. In that split second his face spoke volumes about what was in his heart. Ronny loved Quinn. He was here for Quinn, not Lashonda. If I hadn't been here, apart from the rest, I probably wouldn't have noticed it. The needy expression was there and gone in a flash. Poor Ronny. Quinn wouldn't be an easy object of unrequited affection.
"Lashonda's a free agent," Ronny said. "I'm not threatened if she wants to dance with another guy."
"Yeah," Quinn added. "Ronny's on the football team. He can get any girl he wants. He doesn't have to settle for the friends of crazy whacked out bitches."
I almost laughed. Holden held a finger to his lips, shushing me. He pulled me further down the hall with him to a metal fire exit door, which I knew led to a staircase.
Once we'd escaped through, we were up half of the first flight before I asked, "Where are we going?"
"The roof," Holden said, continuing up.
"The door to the roof is probably locked." Stopping, I pulled at his hand.
He turned to smile down at me from one step above. "I can get us through any locked door."
"What are you a lock-picking criminal?" I joked.
"Something like that."
When we reached the top, he fiddled briefly with the door before it swung wide. He turned back to me, beaming.
"Success." Holding the door open with one hand, he bowed and made a sweeping, ushering-in gesture, with his other arm. "Your rooftop awaits, my lady."
"Thank you, kind sir," I said, hoping the giggle at the end of my statement didn't sound too ridiculous.
Fortunately, even though it was fall, the South was so temperate that the night wasn't cold. In fact, the cool breeze felt good against my overheated skin. A perpetual blush had covered me since I first spoke to Holden.
I passed through the open doorway and Holden followed. The metal door clanged shut. When I turned towards him, he held out a beckoning hand. Going to him with my own hand outstretched seemed the most natural thing I'd ever done.
Hand-in-hand we walked to the center of the roof. Holden removed his gray sport coat, revealing a navy blue, open-collared shirt he wore over his jeans. Like a knight of old, he spread the coat on the flat, tar roof and invited me to sit.
When I had settled on it with arms wrapped around my knees, he sat beside me. We must have stared at the sky together for at least five minutes before the tension of being alone with a cute guy really got to me and I had to break the silence.
"So what is that star constellation up there?" I asked pointing to a clump of bright lights in the sky.
"I don't know," Holden answered with a smirk. "I never really learned anything about astronomy."
Neither had I. My knowledge was limited to how to activate the stargazing app on my cell phone and the phone was downstairs in the gym at the bottom of my purse.
Arching an eyebrow, I adopted the same teasing tone he had. "So you don't know whether that really bright one over there is a planet or a star."
"Well...." His compressed lips told me he was suppressing a smile. "I do know enough to recognize the lights on a passenger jet."
"Oh yeah. Right," I said, trying to hold back a snicker.
My effort didn't work and when the laugh broke from me, he joined in.
"So why are we up here if you didn't want to show me the stars?"
The smile slipped off his face and his gaze became serious and intent. "I'm here for you." Holden took my hand from where it rested against the roof, lifted it and touched his lips to the back. "I'm always here for you."
I didn't understand exactly what he meant but the kiss had sent more soda fizzing through my veins and somehow I couldn't really care to analyze every word.
"I brought you up here to talk to you," he said.
"What about?" The question came automatically, but my real attention was on the curve of his lips. I just wanted him
to speak some more so that I could watch them move.
"It's—" He hesitated, staring down at our still clasped hands, he then continued. "I'm not sure how to begin."
"Why don't you tell me a little about you? Did you just start coming to school here? Where did you go to school before?"
"I went to school in Miami until...two days ago, almost three."
"You're family moved so soon after the start of the school year? That had to be hard."
His eyes went back to our joined hands. "Yeah."
"So you probably don't know much about Savannah."
"Nothing," he said.
"I wasn't that thrilled about moving here either so my dad forced me to take a walking tour. It was actually pretty interesting.
He smiled. "Tell me something."
"Okay." I cleared my throat and made my tone as professorial and pompous as I could. "Founded in 1733, Savannah was the thirteenth colony. General James Oglethorpe and about a hundred and twenty settlers arrived on a ship called the 'Anne'. He laid out the city with twenty-four park-like squares at the center of each ward. Most of the architecture dates back to the eighteen hundreds since Savannah was one of the few cities not burned by Sherman in his march to the sea during the war of Northern aggression."
When I glanced at Holden I could see his smile had widened to a grin.
"Are you sure you want to hear this?"
"Maybe not."
We fell silent as we gazed up at the sky again.
Soon, my mind was turning over the question of how Holden could be so familiar.
"I've never been to Miami," I said, breaking the silence. "Where did we meet before?"
"Don't you remember anything?" he asked.
"No," I said. But even as the "o" hung in the air, sudden prickling tingles radiated from the contact point of our hands. The tingles reminded of the pain of a limb awakening after I'd slept on it all night. Nice but painful at the same time.
Memory flashed, ricocheting against the interior walls of my brain. I saw and felt myself being kissed by Holden. His lips on mine, gently moving. His arms wrapping me in an embrace I never wanted to leave. At the same time, the pain of the moment took my breath away. As I recognized the sorrow in my heart, the memory changed and I saw myself gazing down at a grave with eyes so full of tears I couldn't see the name on the headstone. I was gulping down so many sobs I could taste the morning fog.