The Dance (9 page)

Looking at Bill, Jessica would never have thought he went in for foreign films. Yet he had taken her to a French movie, complete with subtitles, and she’d had a terrible time discussing it with him afterward over ice cream and pie. The screen had been a colorful blur, the music loud and deceptive. She’d thought it was a war movie, but the way Bill talked, apparently they’d seen a love story. He probably thought she couldn’t read.

All that, however, was behind them. They were at his place, sitting together on the couch, his parents asleep upstairs, the lights down low, the last pause in their conversation stretching to the point where she was thinking,
If he doesn’t take me into his arms soon, I’ll scream.

He brushed her shoulder. A start. She felt the warmth of his touch all the way down in her toes. She honestly did. She was one big nerve. “You have a thread,” he said, capturing the offensive little thing between his fingers, flipping it onto the floor, and returning his hand to his lap.

“This sweater draws them like a magnet,” she said, smiling. She had been smiling all night. Her cheeks were beginning to get tired.

“Magnets only pick up metal, not material.”

She laughed. “Very funny.”

He frowned. “No, it’s true.”

She stopped laughing. “Yeah, you’re right. My chemistry teacher talked about that in class.” Either she didn’t appreciate his sense of humor, or else—
it doesn’t matter, he’s still a babe
, she told herself—he didn’t know he had one.

“I never took chemistry,” he said.

“You didn’t miss much. I have to study all the time. I got a C-minus on my last test.” Actually, she had received a B-minus. For maybe the first time in her life, she wasn’t worried about coming off as smart.

“You should get Michael Olson to help you. Did you know he wrote the textbook you use?”

The rumor—which Michael had already told her was false—was that he had written the lab manual. “Really? That’s amazing.”

“He’s an amazing guy,” Bill said. “When we were in seventh grade and took all those IQ tests, I remember they had to bring out a psychologist to retest him. He kept getting a perfect score.”

“I didn’t know you knew him that well.” She’d never seen Michael and Bill talking at school.

“We go way back.” He looked at her, instead of at the wall he had been admiring for a while now. “How do you know him?”

“We—ah—share a locker.”

“But Michael’s in my locker hall.”

“Yeah. He moved.” Her guilt over standing Michael up had hardly begun to abate and talking about him was not helping. She wished Bill would start kissing her and get on with the evening.

He’s probably shy. I’ll have to make the first move.

She touched the arm of his blue sweater, letting her fingers slide over his biceps. “Do you work out now that football season is over?” she asked.

“No.”

“You feel like you do. I mean, you feel strong.”

He shifted his legs, re-crossing them the other way. Then he scratched the arm she was supposedly stimulating. She took her hand away. It had worked in a movie she had seen. “The season only ended a couple of weeks ago,” he said.

“Oh.” Somehow, despite a shaky start, Bill had managed to remain the starting quarterback throughout the season. Tabb High had finished next to last in the league. “Are you going out for any other sport this year?” she asked.

“Track.”

“That’s neat. What are you going to do?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

She twisted her body around so that she didn’t have to turn her head to look at him, tucking her right leg beneath her left, her right knee pressing against the side of his hamstring. “I had a wonderful time tonight,” she said.

“It’s late. You must be tired. Would you like a cup of coffee, some tea?”

“No, thanks.” She let her right arm rest on the top of the sofa, near the back of his neck. If she put her fingers through his hair, she thought, and he didn’t respond, she would feel like a complete fool. “You have beautiful hair,” she said.

“How about a Coke?”

“I’m not thirsty, Bill.” She contemplated asking him to massage a tight spot in her shoulders, but decided that would be as subtle as asking him to undo his zipper. “That’s a beautiful zipper you’re wearing,” she said.

He glanced down. “My zipper?”

I didn’t say that! I cannot believe I said that!

“I mean, your belt, it’s nice.”

“It’s too long for me.”

“I thought the longer the better.” Talk about Freudian slips. This was getting ridiculous. She leaned toward him, letting her hair hang over his left arm, smiled again. “I’m really glad you asked me out tonight. I’ve been hoping you would.”

“I’ve been meaning to for a while. I’ve always thought you were a nice girl.”

She giggled. “Oh, I’m not that nice.”

“You’re not?”

“I’m not exactly the person people think I am,” she said, serious now, touching his arm near his wrist, drawing tiny circles with her finger. “Just as I don’t think you’re the person people think you are.”

He sat up straight. “What do you mean?”

“That you’re not just some super-great athlete. That you are a real person.” As opposed to an
unreal
person? she had to ask herself. “I think the two of us have had to grow up faster than most people our age. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing.” She tapped his left hand. “It can be a good thing.”

Her little speech was not leading him in the direction she planned. He began to grow distinctly uncomfortable. “What are you saying, we’ve had to grow up faster? Are you talking about what happened at the party?”

The question startled her. “No.”

“I don’t know what you heard about that night, but none of it’s true.”

“Wait. None of what’s true?”

He stood suddenly, reaching a hand into his pocket. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve had a nice time tonight, Jessie, and I don’t want to spoil it.” He pulled out his keys. “It’s time both of us got to bed. Let me give you a ride home.”

She didn’t even have to fix her bra as she got up. She decided there must be something wrong with his parents’ couch.

Bill dropped her off in front of her house. He didn’t walk her to the door, nor did he give her a good-night kiss. When he was gone, she stared at the sky, feeling lonely and confused, and saw a bright red star. For no reason, she wondered what its name was. Had he been beside her, Michael would have been able to tell her.

To the inexperienced eye, the wisp of light in the center of the field of view of Michael’s telescope would not have looked significant. Because it was so far from the sun, the comet’s frozen nucleus had no tail to set it apart from the star field. It was its position—its changing position relative to the unchanging stars—that had initially caught Michael’s attention. In time, it was possible it would develop a halo of gas to further distinguish it in the heavens, but he had no illusions about it sweeping past the sun and lighting up the earth’s skies. Very few comets came in that close.

He now had an accurate reading on its position and course. The comet was definitely not listed in any astronomical tables he had access to. If no one else had discovered it in the last few months, it would be his comet.

Orion—Olson.

He was really going to have to think of a name for it.

And for my sister.

Michael recapped the telescope and took a stroll around the desert hilltop to warm his hands and feet. Although he could see little of his surroundings in the deep of the night, he sensed the serenity here, the silence. Yet perhaps he had brought a measure of contentment with him. He couldn’t stop thinking about the baby. He had been surprised when his mother told him she was already three months along. Her due date was the end of June, a couple of weeks after graduation.

Michael had walked down to the base of the hill and was hiking back up to get ready to go home when a brilliant shooting star crossed the eastern sky. He was not superstitious, but he automatically made a wish. It was not for the health and happiness of his unborn sister, which would have been the case had he thought about it for a moment. Instead, he found, even in this peaceful place and time, a portion of his mind was still on that night two months ago.

He had wished for the name of Alice’s murderer.

A few minutes later he was unscrewing the balancing weight on the telescope’s equatorial mount when he noticed how bright Mars was. He had been so preoccupied with comet hunting, he had forgotten it was coming into opposition. Changing his ocular for one of higher power, he focused on the planet. No matter how many times he studied Mars, the richness of its red color always amazed him. No wonder the ancients had thought of it as the god of war.

Of blood.

The one time he had met Clark came back to Michael then, hard and clear. The guy’s hair had been a dirty red, his eyes a bright green. He had spoken few words and what he said had not made much sense. Nevertheless, as Michael remembered, his heart began to pound.

“
Where are you from?
”

“
Why?
”

“
I was just wondering, that’s all. Do you go to school around here?
”

“
No.
”

“
Where do you go?
”

“
The other side of town… Our team’s as lousy as yours. But in our stadium, you can always lean your head back and look at the trees in the sky.
”

Trees in the sky. What could it mean? Michael didn’t know, not yet.

Holden High’s gymnasium was older than Tabb’s—pre-World War II. It desperately needed an overhaul. The lights flickered, the bleachers had begun to splinter, and the court had so many dead spots it actually seemed allergic to bouncing balls. Crouched in the corner beside the water fountain—exactly one week after her Friday-night date with Bill—her Nikon camera in hand, trying to get a picture of Nick as he leaped to rebound a missed shot, Jessica wondered if a major earthquake might not be the ideal solution for the building’s many problems.

“The lighting in here makes everybody look a pasty yellow,” she complained to Sara. “Even Nick.”

“What difference does it make?” Sara asked. “They’re all going to be completely out of focus. Where’re your glasses?”

Nick passed the ball to The Rock, who walked with it. Holden High took the ball out of bounds, going the other way. Jessica set down her camera, glanced at the scoreboard. Tabb 30, Holden 36. One minute and twenty seconds until halftime.

“I can’t wear them now,” Jessica hissed. “Half the school’s here.”

“They’re watching the game, not you.”

Jessica eyed the cheerleaders, bouncing and twirling in front of the stands. All except Clair, who was standing by the microphone leading the cheers. “A lot of them are watching Clair,” she grumbled.

“And here I thought you were sacrificing your night out to take pictures for the school annual,” Sara said. “You’re only worried about getting equal time.”

“Well, it’s not fair. She gets to wear that miniskirt and flash her goods in front of everyone all night. The election’s less than a week away—Wow’” Nick made another spectacular defensive rebound, tossing the ball off to one of Tabb’s guards. Jessica positioned her camera to catch the breakaway lay-up. She got her shot. Unfortunately, the guard missed his. Holden rebounded and went back on the offensive.

“That guy’s missed everything he’s put up tonight,” Jessica said. “I don’t understand why the coach doesn’t put Michael back in.” During the first quarter, when Michael had played, she’d used up a whole roll of film on him. It was her intention to plaster him throughout the yearbook.

“That’s Coach Sellers,” Sara said. “He was the coach at Mesa, remember? I hear he used to coach boxing in a prison until the inmates beat the hell out of him one day.”

Jessica needed a fresh roll of film, but decided to let the half play itself out. In the final minute, Holden scored twice more, leaving Tabb ten down. Jessica waved to Michael as the team headed for the locker room. His head down, obviously disgusted, he didn’t wave back.

“He’s going to hear about it if he hasn’t already,” Sara said as they walked toward the steps that led to the stands. The air was hot and humid. People poured off the bleachers, heading for the entrance and the refreshment stand.

“He didn’t wave 'cause he didn’t see me,” Jessica said.

“But Bubba will tell him.”

“And how will Bubba know I was out with Bill?”

Sara shook her head. “Bubba knows everything.”

“Has he taken care of your bills?”

Anger entered Sara’s voice. “He’s put them off. We’ll have food and music, but when homecoming’s all over, we’re still going to have to pay for it. I swear to God, I think he’s already lost the money I gave him.”

“You’ve got to give him a chance.”

“Believe me, sister, I’m giving him more of a chance than you can imagine.”

“What?”

“Never mind. When’s the SAT tomorrow?”

Jessica groaned, feeling the butterflies growing. “It starts at nine.”

“That’s how it was for us.”

Sara had taken the test two months before. She had not told Jessica her score. She was waiting, she said, to hear Jessica’s score first. But Jessica had the impression Sara had done fairly well.

“Is Bill here?” Sara asked.

“I haven’t seen him.” Bill had avoided her all week at school. She wouldn’t have felt so bad if it had been because he was feeling guilty for having taken advantage of her. She worried that she had come on too strong.

“Is Russ?” she asked.

“No. And don’t ask me where he is, I don’t know.”

Jessica snickered. “Doesn’t Bubba know?”

Sara stopped in midstep. “I’ll go ask him.”

While Sara went searching for Tabb’s sole omniscient resident, Jessica rejoined Polly and Maria in the stands. The three of them had come together. But one of the reasons Jessica had gone picture hunting—and Sara, damn her,
had
hit upon another of the reasons—was because Polly had insisted they sit in the middle of the second row, which was precisely three feet away from where Clair Hilrey and her amazing band of cheerleaders sat between cheers. Jessica liked to keep an eye on the competition, but she wasn’t crazy about smelling the brand of shampoo Clair used.

At the moment, however, Clair wasn’t around. Jessica plopped down between Maria and Polly “Enjoying the game?” she asked.

Polly nodded serenely. “I love it. It’s not like football. You can always see where the ball is.”

Jessica turned to Maria, who was fanning herself with her notebook. Maria had brought her homework to the game. Jessica thought that was why Maria was getting an A in chemistry while she was only getting a B. On the other hand, Maria had not known Nick was playing, and it looked now as though she hadn’t been reviewing the methyl ethyl ethers section tonight.

“What do you think of Nick?” Jessica asked.

Maria appeared awed and sad—a strange combination. “He’s very good. They should let him shoot the ball more.”

“Michael passed it to him practically every trip down the floor.” Jessica glanced in the direction the team had exited. An idea struck her. “Maria, you once told me what a Laker fan your father is?”

“He is, yes.”

“Next week’s game is at home. Bring him.”

“My father would never come to a high-school game.”

“But you may be crowned queen that night! Both your parents have to come.”

Maria was worried. “It wouldn’t make any difference.”

“Sure it would. When they see what a tremendous athlete he is, they’ll forget his color. Look, just think about it, OK?”

Maria nodded, already thoughtful. “I will.”

Maria excused herself a few minutes later. She needed some fresh air, she said. The place was awfully stuffy Jessica amused herself by listening in on the cheerleaders’ gossip. Too bad they knew she was listening; they didn’t say anything juicy. Clair hadn’t returned yet.

Then Polly started to talk.

“I’m glad Clair’s feeling better,” she said casually.

Jessica paused. She had been unpacking her telephoto lens to use in the second half. “What was wrong with Clair?”

“I don’t know, but last Friday she looked pretty sick.”

Polly had not been at school last Friday, Jessica thought. “Where did you see her?” she asked carefully.

Polly sipped her Coke, yawned. These days, she lived on sugar and raw carrots. “At the family clinic.”

Jessica set down the lens. The cheerleaders, the girls on either side of them—in fact, everyone around them—stopped talking. They were all listening. Jessica knew they were listening and she also knew that if she continued to question Polly she would probably hear things that could hurt Clair, things that could damage Clair’s chance of being elected homecoming queen.

Jessica started to speak, but stopped. If Clair had a personal problem, she told herself, it was nobody’s business but Clair’s. At the same time, Jessica couldn’t help remembering how gloomy Clair had appeared last Friday. She’d had something
big
on her mind. And then—what a coincidence—she’d been at the clinic, looking sick.

She had an abortion.

The thought hit Jessica with sharp certainty. She had not a shred of doubt she was right; she had no reason—not even for the sake of curiosity—to question Polly further. She had no excuse for what she did next—except for another idea that struck her with every bit of force as the first.

I am cute. Clair is beautiful. I don’t stand a chance against her. I never did.

Jessica closed her eyes. “What were the two of you doing at the family clinic?” she asked in a normal tone of voice.

“I was getting birth control.”

She opened her eyes. “
You
? For what?”

Polly appeared insulted. “I need it.” She added, “Russ is staying at my house, you know.”

Sara had gone to ask Bubba where Russ was, Jessica remembered. She silently prayed Bubba didn’t know everything. “I see.” She had to push herself to continue, although she could practically hear a tiny red devil dancing gleefully on top of her left shoulder. “But what was Clair doing there? You said she looked sick?”

“Yeah,” Polly said. “I was waiting to get my contraceptives—so I won’t get pregnant when I have sex with Russ Desmond—when Clair came out of the doctor’s office. A nurse was holding her up. She looked totally stoned.”

No one leaned visibly closer, but if they had stopped talking a moment ago, now they stopped breathing. “Like she had just had an operation?” Jessica asked.

“Yeah!” Polly exclaimed, the light finally dawning. “Hey, do you think Clair got—”

“Wait,” Jessica interrupted. “Let’s not talk about this now. We’ll talk about it later.”

What a hypocrite.

That was fine with Polly. Jessica listened as the shell of silence around them began to dissolve, being replaced by a circle of whispers that began to expand outward, growing in strength, in volume, and—so it seemed in Jessica’s imagination—in detail. Then she saw Clair coming back, smiling, happy, pretty, ignorant.

The whispers would soon be a wave, a smothering wave.

The poor girl.

Jessica got up in a hurry, shaking, close to being sick. Grabbing her camera equipment, she dashed down the stairs, past Clair, pushing through the crowd until she was out in the cold night, away from the gym and the noise. Along a dark wing of the school, she ran into Sara, alone, leaning against a wall. Sara glanced up wearily, saw who it was, then let her head drop back against the brick.

“The world sucks,” Sara said.

“It’s true,” Jessica said, leaning beside her.

“Bubba says Russ is staying at Polly’s house.”

“Good old Bubba.”

Sara sniffed. “What’s your problem?”

Jessica wiped away a bitter tear. Her victory now would be meaningless. “I’m going to be homecoming queen.”

Then she realized Clair’s unborn child must have belonged to Bill, and she felt ten times worse.