Pretending to Dance by Diane Chamberlain
“So when’s this New Kids concert you two are going to?” Chris asked.
“August eighth,” I said. “In Atlanta.”
“Only a bunch of teenyboppers’ll be there,” Bryan said.
“Yeah,” Stacy agreed, “but it’ll be cool anyhow.”
I felt betrayed by her for dissing the New Kids, but I knew she was under Bryan’s spell and couldn’t really help herself.
The guys ate a whole pizza between them and Stacy had two slices, but I couldn’t even make it through one. I watched Chris’s hands as he ate. He had the most beautiful hands in the world and I wanted him to hold my hand like he had that first day when we’d sat together on the couch. I felt his gaze on me no matter what I was doing in the kitchen. When I stood up to get him another beer from the refrigerator or carry my plate to the sink, he was watching me. I could tell he liked looking at me, and for the first time ever, I felt truly pretty. I smiled a lot, trying to imagine what he was seeing when he looked at me.
“We’re going upstairs.” Stacy said suddenly. She and Bryan stood up, holding hands. “We’ll be in my mom’s room,” she said to me. “You guys can use the guest room if you want.”
They went upstairs and my heart pounded against my rib cage. I thought of suggesting that Chris and I go into the living room and listen to more music. I wasn’t at all ready for a bedroom.
“Check this out.” Chris reached into his back pocket and brought out his wallet. From inside, he handed me the half photograph I’d sent him of myself and I saw that he’d actually laminated it. I laughed. Dani was so wrong about him. He wasn’t a player.
“I need to do this with yours, too,” I said, touching a corner of the photograph.
He put the picture back in his wallet, then stood up and held his hand out to me. “Let’s go find that guest room,” he said.
I couldn’t say no. I was so afraid of sounding fourteen. I took his hand and we climbed the stairs. In the upstairs hallway, we heard giggling coming from behind the closed door of Stacy’s mom’s room. Chris pushed open another door and turned on the overhead light, and I saw a big bed, neatly made. “This must be it,” he said.
He turned the light off and I followed him into the room. He sat down on the side of the bed and drew me down next to him. He smelled of beer and cigarettes and I wanted to sink into the scent of him. He kissed me softly, his arms around me. “I won’t ask you to do anything you don’t want to do,” he said.
I tried to say thank you, but the words didn’t come out. I nodded instead, though I knew he couldn’t see me in the dark. He stretched out on the bed, drawing me down next to him. He leaned over to kiss me and I tasted pizza and beer. His promise of not doing anything I didn’t want gave me courage and I parted my lips as he slipped his tongue inside my mouth.
“You can put your tongue in my mouth, too,” he said after a while.
“I didn’t know the girl could do that,” I said.
He laughed. “There are no rules,” he said. “The girl can do whatever she likes.”
I put my tongue in his mouth and felt his teeth, and his warm tongue touched mine. He put his hand on my breast through my T-shirt. I was on my back and knew my breast was almost completely flat in that position. When I imagined being with Johnny Depp, I was always on my side exactly for that reason, but Chris didn’t seem to care. He reached under my shirt and around my back. “Sit up a little so I can…” I turned so he could unhook my bra, and when he covered my breast with his warm bare hand, a moan came out of my throat, unexpected.
“Can we take your shirt off?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, sitting up. I slipped my T-shirt and bra off, glad of the darkness. He took off his T-shirt, and when we lay down again, I felt his chest against mine. Amazing. “You’re so beautiful,” he said. He lay on his back and lifted me on top of him until I was straddling him. I was stunned by how easily he could move my body, as though I was made of cotton instead of flesh and bone. His strength both excited and scared me.
“You okay?” he asked, his hands on my ribs.
I felt his hard penis pressing against me through his jeans and my shorts. “Yes,” I whispered. We kissed and began to rock together, the pressure of his penis electrifying against my body. I felt an alien sensation in my groin, something building, something that seemed utterly out of my control, and I stopped the rocking motion, afraid of what was happening to me.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I just felt … strange.”
“Define strange.”
“Like I was going to explode or something.”
He laughed. “You were going to come,” he said. “You shouldn’t have stopped, you crazy girl.”
Oh my God. That was what coming felt like?
“You don’t know what that means, do you?” he asked. “I keep forgetting how young you are.”
“Yes, I do too know,” I said. I didn’t want him to think about my age. “I know what it is. I’ve just never felt it before.” The phone rang from the hallway. It rang and rang and rang while we talked over the sound.
“It feels good,” he said. “You’ll like it.” He slipped his fingers under the waistband of my shorts. “Take these off and I’ll show you what coming’s all about.”
I held on to his hand to stop him. “I don’t want to have sex yet,” I said.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll just touch you. I promise. I’m not going to hurt you or do anything you don’t want, remember? Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” I said. I did trust him. I let go of his hand and he gently lifted me from his body to the bed. He pulled my shorts off, then my underpants, and I swallowed hard against how vulnerable I felt, lying there naked. He kissed me, then slid his hand down my belly, over my pubic hair. I clamped my legs closed. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m going to make you come. I promise you’ll like it. But you have to let me in.”
I opened my legs about an inch and nearly died when he touched me.
He groaned. “You feel so good,” he said. “It makes me want to fuck you so bad.”
His fingers were moving. He slipped one inside me and I gasped. My legs had moved apart on their own and my breathing was coming in short, sharp bursts. His hand seemed to be touching me everywhere down there at once, and I felt that going-to-explode feeling I’d had moments earlier when we were rocking together. He kissed me, but I could hardly concentrate on his lips, I was so breathless.
“How’s that feel?” he asked.
There was no way I could possibly answer. My body was on fire and I nearly yelped when he suddenly took his hand away.
I opened my eyes to see him standing at the side of the bed, unzipping his jeans. He started to pull them down.
“No!” I said, sitting up, grabbing his hands. “Please, no.”
“I have a Trojan,” he said. “It’ll be all right. I won’t hurt you.”
“No, Chris. I don’t want to. Please.”
He stopped tugging at his jeans. Then wordlessly, abruptly, he walked out of the room. I felt like crying. He was angry. I’d totally ruined the moment. I groped around on the bed for my underpants and my bra, fighting tears as I put them on. I was trembling all over. I felt the beer at the back of my throat.
By the time he came back in the room a few minutes later, I’d found my bra and had it halfway on. “You’re getting dressed?” he asked. It was too dark to make out the expression on his face.
“I didn’t think you were coming back,” I said.
“I just had to go … take care of something.” He laughed. “You got me so heated up, I was going to end up with blue balls if I didn’t jerk off.”
I knew what jerk off meant. I wasn’t sure about blue balls.
He sat down next to me and kissed me softly. “I told you I wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want,” he said, and I felt terrible for doubting him.
The phone rang again as he helped me hook
“Have you done it with a lot of girls?” I asked, remembering what Dani had said about him hooking up with “everybody.” Suddenly, I wondered if she might have been one of them.
He didn’t answer right away. “A few. Remember, I have a bunch of years on you.”
“Did you ever do it with my cousin Danielle?”
“That skank? No!”
I remembered Dani at the party, sitting on the ground next to my father, crying as she tried to comfort him. I didn’t want anyone calling her a skank.
“She’s not so bad,” I said.
“Whatever.”
He rolled onto his side so he could reach into his jeans pocket, and he pulled out a crushed joint and a lighter. Lighting the joint, he inhaled, then passed it to me. I took a hit, held it in. He put his arm around me. I wanted to tell him I loved him, but I was nervous about saying those words. I didn’t think I could handle it if he didn’t say them back.
We smoked the entire joint, lying there. I heard music coming from somewhere in the house. Aerosmith. I felt deliciously spacy and calm. Chris’s arms around me felt delicious, too. The darkness felt delicious. I must have drifted off because the next thing I knew, someone was ringing the doorbell. Pounding on the door. And after a moment, Stacy burst into our room.
“I think your mother’s at the door!” she shouted. “Her car is in the driveway!”
40
“Oh my God!” I scrambled to find my shorts and top in the light spilling through the open door. The room spun and for a moment, I thought I was going to get sick, but fear seemed to sweep the nausea away.
“I’ll answer the door,” Stacy said. “Bryan’s in my room. Chris, you better stay in here.” She sounded calmer now as she planned how to deal with the mess we were in. I had the feeling Stacy had a lot of experience getting out of scrapes.
I was dressed except for my Doc Martens. I had no idea where they were. My body trembled as I started down the stairs in my bare feet, and I heard Stacy open the door.
“Nora!” she said, like she was totally surprised to see her there. “Hi!”
“Where is your mother?” my mother asked. I knew that voice—tight with anger.
“Mom?” I said as I walked into the room. She was inside the door, looking around the living room with her eagle eyes, her blond hair out of her ponytail and hanging loose around her face. “What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to sound casual, like it was any other night, but I felt as though what I’d been doing was written on my face and body. She could tell just by looking at me that I’d been touched all over by a boy.
“Where is your mother?” she repeated to Stacy. “And whose truck is that in the driveway?”
“It’s my uncle’s truck,” Stacy lied. “He stopped by and him and Mom just went out for a few minutes. She should be back any second. You want to wait for her?”
“A few minutes?” Mom said. “I don’t think so! I’ve been calling and calling and no one’s picked up. What’s going on?”
I finally noticed that her eyes were red, and I suddenly got scared. Why had she been trying so hard to reach me? “Is something wrong?” I asked.
“Yes, something’s wrong!” she shouted. “Two fourteen-year-old girls have been left home alone for … what? All night? And your mother lied to me about being here. I can’t believe it!” She slammed her purse down on the table by the door.
“I told you, she just went out for a little bit,” Stacy said, cool as ice.
“Why were you calling?” I asked, still worried about her red-rimmed eyes.
“Just to say good night,” she said, “but when there was no answer, I got worried. Looks like I had a right to be.”
An unmistakable thud came from upstairs.
The three of us stared at each other. Stacy and I acted like we’d heard nothing.
“Who else is here?” my mother asked.
“Just my uncle,” Stacy said.
“You just said he went out with your mother.” My mother stared her down.
Neither of us said a word and after a moment’s loaded silence, my mother marched past us, heading for the stairs. Stacy and I looked at each other in a panic, and Stacy darted after her.
“Nora!” she shouted. “Mrs. Arnette! What are you doing? That’s so rude! You can’t just barge into someone’s house like that and go up their stairs!”
“Oh no?” my mother said without turning around. “Watch me!” This was a part of my mother I’d never seen before and it was terrifying. Stacy stopped following her midway up the stairs, while I couldn’t seem to move from my spot near the front door. I had a crazy thought of running through that open door, escaping from the disaster I knew was ahead of me, but my body stood there frozen in place. I could hear my mother yanking doors open, slamming them against the wall.
“Which one of you is Chris!” I heard her shout. I guessed the boys were together in one room now, and she’d found them.
I heard a mumbled answer.
“She’s fourteen!” my mother yelled. “Would you want your fourteen-year-old sister hanging out with someone like you? Get out!”
“This isn’t your house!” I heard Bryan say, and I cringed. He would make things worse. “You can’t order us around!” he added.
“Let’s go,” Chris said in a quieter, saner voice. In a moment, I saw them walking down the stairs, my mother close behind them. They looked like they were heading to a firing squad and Bryan didn’t even glance at Stacy as he passed her at the bottom of the stairs. I was shocked to see that Stacy was crying. For the first time since I’d known her, she looked like a little girl.
The boys headed straight for the front door. They wore smiles my mother couldn’t see, and I had the feeling they’d be laughing at her once they were outside and away from the house. I stepped aside to let them pass. Chris looked directly at me as he walked past me and he mouthed the words I love you. Unmistakable. I love you. Even after the two of them had walked onto the porch and I’d shut the door behind them, and even as my mother rushed down the stairs toward me, I could see his face, his mouth forming those words.
“You should have called me!” my mother snapped at me. “As soon as you realized Stacy’s mother wasn’t here, you should have called. Get your things.” She turned to Stacy, who now sat pale and wide-eyed on the bottom step. “Stacy,” Mom said, “where is your mother? I need to talk to her. I can’t leave you here alone.”
“At her boyfriend’s,” Stacy said.
“Give me his number.”
“She’ll be mad.”
“I don’t care.” My mother marched through the living room and into the kitchen. I followed her into the room, hoping against hope that she didn’t notice the beer bottles on the counter. I couldn’t make eye contact with her, but she didn’t seem to want to look at me, either.
She reached for the wall phone. “His number,” she said again to Stacy, who had walked slowly into the room as if she could somehow put off the inevitable.
“She’s going to be so pissed,” she said, as she pointed to a list of phone numbers taped to the wall next to the phone. She read off one of the numbers and my mother dialed.
“May I speak to Mrs. Bateman?” my mother said into the phone. “This is Nora Arnette.”
Behind my mother’s back, Stacy gave me a pleading look as though I could do something to change what was happening.
“I’m at your house where your daughter and my daughter were alone with two much older boys,” Mom said. “I don’t appreciate being lied to about you being here.” She said nothing for a moment, listening. “Well, I don’t believe that,” she said. “Not for a minute! I’m taking Molly home, but you need to come home now to be with Stacy. She can’t stay here alone.”
“Oh God,” Stacy muttered as she dropped into one of the kitchen chairs. “She’s going to kill me.”
“Mom,” I pleaded. “You’re getting h
My mother covered the receiver with her hand. “You’d better worry about your own skin,” she said, looking directly at me for the first time since she’d come downstairs, and I had to look away.
After another few minutes of conversation, she hung up the phone and turned to Stacy. “She says she’s coming home,” she said. “I don’t believe her, though. I’m sorry you can’t trust your own mother.”
“I do trust her,” Stacy snapped. “She lied to you. She didn’t lie to me.”
My mother stared at her, the skin on her pale cheeks blotched with red. “Get your things, Molly,” she said to me again.
I ran upstairs and shoved my makeup in my backpack. I found my Doc Martens and sat on Stacy’s bed to put them on. I grabbed my glasses from the dresser and carried them downstairs with me, moving as quickly as I could, not wanting to leave Stacy stranded alone with my mother any longer than I had to.
“Lock this door behind us, all right?” my mother said to Stacy when I’d come downstairs again and was ready to go. “And make sure your back door is locked, too.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Stacy said.
“Let’s go,” Mom said to me, opening the front door.
I looked at Stacy and mouthed the words I’m sorry. Yet I wasn’t sure what I was sorry for. That my mother had totally blown our night with Chris and Bryan, or that Stacy had a mother who simply didn’t care what she did.
41
We were both quiet in the car until we pulled onto the main road. When we drove under streetlights, I could see how tightly she held the steering wheel, her knuckles white.
“No more Chris,” she said. “We should have put an end to that before it even began, but your father didn’t think it would go anywhere. And no more Stacy.”
“Mom!”
“She’s not the sort of girl you should be spending your time with.”