Sa.1

When I rang the doorbell, Meredith's mother answered it.  Her face was lined and her hair looked whiter.  "Hello, Brandon.  Good morning."

"Good morning, Mrs. Levine.  I, uh.  I guess I'm here to help Meredith set up for her birthday party."

"Oh, yes, Meredith told me you were coming.  Come on in.  Ah.  Excuse the way everything looks—we, ah.  Well, Meredith delivered quite a shock to us last night."

"Yes, I imagine.  It was... quite a shock to us when we found out."

"I don't imagine any of us got any sleep last night.  Here, come on in."  She led me to the kitchen.  "Michael's...  Not with us anymore, because of what happened yesterday, but I know how much I tossed and turned.  And Meredith, well..."

"Dear Lord," I said.

Meredith looked up from her cereal.  "Hi sweetie."

"Yeeeaah, I'd say that's the face of someone who got maybe two hours of sleep last night.  Meredith, why on earth are you awake right now?"

"I...  I have to get ready.  There's a lot of stuff to do."

"Yes, but falling asleep face-first into your cereal isn't one of them."

She looked up at me with bags under her eyes.  Her hair was a mess and she looked like a Halloween nightmare.  "Brandon, I have to say...  You were right about having to tell them, but...  You really should've warned me about picking a different day."

I sat down at the table next to her.  "How much sleep did you get last night?"

"Ohhh, I dunno, maybe..."  She pushed energy into her words.  "Three hours?  I tossed and turned a lot," she added helpfully.  "You know how it is when you keep waking up in the middle of the night.  You're never sure how much sleep you actually got."

"All right, that's it," I said.  "Mrs. Levine, can you hold the fort for a while?"

"Probably can, at least until everyone gets here," Mrs. Levine said.  "After that, the birthday girl is probably gonna have to make an appearance."

"Yeah, that's what I figured," I said.  "And I also figure she ought to be presentable around then.  Come on, honey.  Up and at it."

"No," Meredith said stubbornly, turning back to her soggy cereal.  "I have to help Mom.  With the...  With the..."

"With the what?" Mrs. Levine said.  "Your dad will help clean up, everyone's already coming, there's no decorating we have to do, and you're not allowed to help with the cake anyway."  "I'll help too," I interjected.  "Brandon's right, Meredith," her mother finished.  "You need more sleep."

Meredith looked up with tears lingering in the corners of her eyes.  "You guys are too nice to me," she whispered.

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it," Mrs. Levine said, smiling.  "Birthdays only come once a year."  And in her smile we both saw what love really is: that love is when your happiness comes from someone else's happiness.

"Now, come along," I said.  "Before you drown in your cereal."

I led her stumbling steps up the stairs.  The door to Michael's room was, as it had always been when I was here, closed.  I didn't know what was behind that door; I knew what had been behind it, but Mrs. Levine had said that Michael wasn't there anymore.

The door itself was pretty normal.  Just a white plane of wood with some rectangles gouged out for visual interest.  There didn't really seem to be anything significant about it.

"Ugh," said Meredith.

I opened the door to her room.  I loved her and she loved me, we were lovers, we had seen more of each other than anyone else had, as much of each other as anyone could see...  And yet there was a special sanctity about being up in her room, a place we hadn't often visited.  Probably out of respect for her parents.  If we'd gone up there, they would have assumed we were doing certain things—like, each other—regardless of what was actually going on.  So when we were at her house, we stayed downstairs in polite public, and saved all the frantic humping for my house.  And so it meant that I hadn't seen much of the inside of her room.

It made me feel privileged somehow.

The blinds were mostly drawn, to prevent morning sunlight from angling in and disrupting her ability to see her computer monitor: I'd seen the same thing in Arie's room.  Interestingly enough, where I had freestanding bureau drawers and shelving units, Meredith's room had all of that built into the short wall she shared with Michael: cabinets, shelves, countertop space for a bevy of knick-knacks, the trinkets and figurines and stuffed animals and little personal oddities that are the detritus of our lives.  Some of it was unmistakably feminine; some of it wasn't.  The desk, similarly, was built into the corner between the other short wall and the long one; a gap between them allowed for the headboard of her bed.  The comforter was a riot of woven patterns in the dark colors one sees in business suits, what Crayola calls the 'bold' colors; covering the frame was a embroidered drop sheet in a pale cream.

Meredith wore a spaghetti-strap top and loose pants.  Her hair was wild and the sagging under her eyes was obvious.  She was beautiful.

"Good thing you hadn't bothered to change yet," I said.  "Come on, let's get you some rest."

"I did it, Brandon," she said.  She stared at the floor.  "I...  I did it.  I went in and told them everything we saw, and they found cocaine in the same hiding spots they did last time."

"Is he...  Is he still here?" I asked.

She shook her head.  "He's eighteen.  I think they arrested him for possession of illegal substances."

I smiled at her.  "Sounds like it worked."  —Feeling, suddenly, strangely, like I was saying the wrong thing.

Tears seeped out from her closed eyes.  "What am I, Brandon?  What did he ever do to me?  I...  I ruined him.  I just got him sent to jail.  And why?  He wasn't hurting me, he wasn't threatening anyone but himself...  He wasn't..."  Her hands shook as she scrubbed at her eyes.  "What kind of person am I?"

I didn't dare try anything but the truth.  "The brave kind."

She sighed.  "I'm no better than he is.  Worse."

"That's nonsense, Meredith, and you know it.  You did what you had to."

"Yes, but I didn't have to.  I could've..."  Tears flowed freely now.

I didn't know how to respond.  Michael was dangerous—had she simply missed that somehow?  Maybe she didn't have the instincts I had, from being alone all my life, from being easy prey to casual predators: I could smell a threat from a mile away.  And Michael had set me twitching from ten miles away.  I didn't trust him, I didn't like him, and I thought it was really for the best that he was gone.

I guess Meredith didn't feel that way.

"Oh, Meredith.  Here.  You're tired.  Come on.  It'll look better after you get some sleep."

She let me help her into her bed.  "Are you going to tuck me in," she asked.

I smiled.  "And kiss you goodnight, if you want me to."

"Don't go," she said, reaching for my hand.  "Stay with me."

I blinked.  "Sure."  I had planned to go downstairs and help out like I'd originally came to; but if she wanted me to stay...

"Hold me," she said.  Barely a whisper.

Now I hesitated.  I didn't know what she was feeling, nor what she wanted—and suddenly I understood everyone's hesitation at dealing with Arie when she was triggered.  At dealing with something you just plain-out didn't understand.

She shifted, agitated.  "You said you'd love me even if I was despicable, Brandon."  Her face tightened.  "Well, I'm despicable.  I'm sixteen and I'm grown up and I'm despicable."  Her eyes bored into me.  "And I need you."

I still didn't understand.  But there's nothing I can deny her.

She slept in my arms, her breathing deep and even, the lines gone from her face; like light and warmth and love taken form and bundled together under blonde hair and unsinkable grey eyes.  And I stroked her hair and kissed her forehead and wondered what I had missed.

I guess there are a lot of things we don't understand.  But maybe, if I can count on the people I love, that'll be enough.

Sa.2

"Every time I see your face
I get all wet between my legs
Every time you pass me by
I heave a sigh of pain

Every time I see your face
I think of things not pure and chaste

I want to fuck you like a dog

I'll take you home and make you LIKE it"

If you've never had to deal with somebody belting that out at high volume for several hours straight, I really, really don't recommend it.  It's enough to turn you off Liz Phair for life.

Never mind the immediate trauma of how the person belting it happens to be your younger sister.

Hi, my name's Arie Chang, and I'm scarred for life.

"Trina, I, I, I don't mean to stifle your style or anything, but could you, do you think you could please turn it down a little?"

"Fuck you, princess.  Shoulda thought of that before you broke up with your boyfriend, huh?"

"Uh, Trina...  What does...  What does that have to do with anything?"

"Ha.  That's for me to know and you to find out, ain't it, cuntfuck."

"...Uh.  Trina...  What the heck's a 'cuntfuck'?  Isn't that—  I mean, that's what a.  That's what a cunt's for, right?  It'd be like...  It'd be like saying 'Let's have sexual sex' or something, it's...  Redundant."

"No.  It's not."

"It isn't?"

"No.  And do you know why?"

"No."

"Ha.  That's for me to know and you to—"

"Right, that's very—  Thank you, Trina.  Have a nice day."

I went downstairs.  "Mom, can you get Trina to stop playing music that loud?  For heaven's sake, it's only ten-thirty in the morning."

"I'm not going to make the obvious comment," said my father, who is often awake at six AM on weekdays.

"Thank you," I said.  "Seriously, Mom, it's gonna drive me insane.  Can you tell her to stop?"

"Arie, you are seventeen," my mother said.  She filled her watering can from the kitchen sink's tap, focusing on not splashing anywhere.  "You are almost adult.  Why don't you tell her?"

"Mom, I'm just her sister," I said.  "She argues with me all the time.  What makes you think she'll listen to me?"

"Well, Arie, I'm just her mother," Mom said.  "What makes you think she'll listen to me?"

I stared wordlessly.

My mother sighed and turned to me.  "Arie.  Ever since we have gone to that...  That family therapy business...  You have all been telling me, each and every one of you, that...  All I have done, for this family, is cause problems.  I pressure you too much.  I demand too much.  I don't listen to you.  I'm misguided.  So...  What is the use of me saying anything?  I open my mouth, I only cause problems.  Nobody wants to hear what I say.  So I better just keep mouth shut."

I stared wordlessly.

"And Trina...  Trina is even worse than you, Arie.  You never listen to me—no, please, let me finish.  You never listen to me.  I know that this is the truth.  When I talk to you, you hear, but you don't listen.  But that doesn't worry me because I know you know what you're doing.  You know what you need, you know what you should have, and you get it, and you never make mistakes.  If you don't listen to me, it's because I don't give you what you need, but that's all right, because at least you know.

"Trina...  Trina does not know.  I give her advice, she rejects it only because I gave it.  She takes what she wants, but what she wants might not be good for her.  She doesn't care.  And nobody can tell her differently.

"So, what should I say?  Why should I say?  She ignores me.  Sure, I yell, I scream, I waste my breath, I threaten, I punish, I take away her stereo.  But what good does it do?

"So, yes.  I will go upstairs and ask her to turn it down.  But I don't think it will make any difference."

I stared after her in mute shock.

Sure, I'd had problems with my mother before.  I'd had plenty of them.  There had been a practical cold war between my mother on one side and my sister and I on the other—and sometimes a three-way war as well; the enemy of my enemy is my friend, but that doesn't mean my friend is particularly trustworthy.

But I'd never thought my mother was anything but invulnerable.

After all, that was the problem, wasn't it?  How do you defeat that which could not be defeated?

And yet...  It could.  And, apparently, it had.  And now we were, all of us, staring that in the face.

There is always a sort of devastating fear, a numbness, the first time your parents admit that, now, you and they are equals.

As I passed Trina's closed door, which barely muffled the pounding bass from her stereo (thank God, a new song at least), she opened her door and bellowed against the music: "Ha ha, can't do your own dirty work, have to send somebody else to do it for you, ha ha, hiding behind parents, what are you some kind of sissy—"

A fleeting, vivid image crossed my mind: reaching out and grabbing the door handle and slamming it closed, my sister's neck severing on the door's non-existent razor-sharp corners; a flash of blood; her head suspended for a split second, eyes wide, hanging in mid-air as they do in cartoons, before plummeting to the ground.

It didn't fill me with anger.  It didn't fill me with revulsion.  I didn't want to do it or not do it.  It was just...  An idea.

A second after I closed my door, which didn't help kill the music as much as I had hoped, my computer's instant message program started lighting up with about a thousand messages from Trina.

I had to get out of here.  At this rate I was going to go insane.

I picked up the phone.  I couldn't go to Meredith's house: she was probably frantically busy with preparations for the party later today; and besides, we're not quite close enough for me to just invite myself over like that.  Come to think of it, that was true of everyone except Brandon, and if I couldn't deal with my own family I really doubted I could deal with his.

Where could I go?

I stared at the phone.  Suddenly my thumb moved of its own accord.  There was ringing, and then a voice.  I raised the handset to numb lips.  "Hi, Mrs. Strong."

"Oh, hello, Arie," said Derek's mom.  "It's good to hear from you.  It's been a little while."

"Well," I lied.  "It's been a busy week."

"I can imagine, with Derek in The Program and all," Derek's mom said.  "Would you like to speak to him?"

Gulp.  "Yes, please."

"Just a moment, please.  (Derek?  It's for you.)  Here he comes."

Clicking, rustling.  "...right, okay Mom, thank you.  Hello?"

"Hi," I said.

Thundering silence for several seconds.

"Hi," he said finally.  I couldn't tell from his voice what he was feeling.

Desperate, my heart pounding in my throat: "Look, I—  I need to get out of the house.  I'm going insane over here.  Do you—  Do you want to—  I dunno, hang out or...  Or something?"

Silence.  More silence.  Despite the incessant screaming of noise from across the hall (it sounded like the inside of a car-smashing factory, not exactly what I'd call 'music'), I could hear my heartbeat clear and fine.

"...All right," he said finally.  "My house or yours?"

"Your—" I said, and then stopped.  Not here, certainly; but his was hardly neutral ground either.  There were going to be some messy conversations between us in the near future, and I kind of didn't want him to have home-court advantage.  Then inspiration struck.  "Let's go out.  It's Saturday, there's gotta be places open.  The mall, bowling, mini-golf, I dunno, just...  Just something."

He chuckled; I could hear dark amusement in his voice.  "Sounds kinda like a date.  Are you sure you—"

"Look, shut up, do you want to or not," I asked, feeling panic's hot tendrils flailing at me.

"Fine," he said.  "Fine.  I'll be by to pick you up in twenty minutes."

Whew!  "Great!" I said.  "See you then."  And then hung up.

And then felt the situation settle around me like a wet blanket.  Had I just gotten out of one stupid situation, only to step into another one?

Out of the frying pan, right?

Great.

Sa.3

"Where are you going," Jenny asked me as I turbo'd down the hall.  "Meredith's party isn't until three."

"I'm gonna go hang out with Arie," I said.

"You're what," she said.

"I'm gonna go hang out with Arie," I said again.

"Dressed like that?" Jenny said.  "You look like you're going out on a first date, brother, not just passing some time."

It was true; I'd hastily changed into something more presentable, and tried to tame my hair a little bit.  "All right, so, I'm trying to make a good impression, okay?"

"Is this it?" she asked.

I nodded.  "This is it."  Which meant that I was going to try to get Arie to take me back.  Hence the whole good impression thing.

"Oh, well, no wonder you feel like you need to make a good impression," said Jenny.  "All right.  Go get 'em, tiger."

"Tiger.  Right.  More likely she's gonna have me by the tail," I grumped.  Arie's quicksilver in an argument, deathly fast and hard to deal with.  But, I had to try.

The drive over was interminable.  Visions of Arie danced through my head: Arie laughing, Arie crying; Arie naked; Arie slapping my face; Arie kissing me, Arie walking away...  All the possible outcomes, and then some.  Red lights seemed to last for ages; and then I'd look up and find myself five miles further down the road than before, without having even noticed.  Then I'd get scared and clutch the wheel and start to pay attention again.  ...Only to find myself gummed up at an interminable red light that seemed prone to last for another five years, and...

When I got to Arie's house, I wasn't entirely in good mental shape.

Arie met me at the front door.  I had barely rang the bell when she came barreling out, trailed by a sudden blast of sound that abated when the door slammed shut behind her.  "What was..." I said.

"What I'm trying to get away from," she said.  "God.  Get me out of here."

We saddled up and shut the car doors.  "Okay," she said, "where are we going?"

"How should I know," I said, "you pick something."

"I don't care one way or another," she said.  "You pick something."

"Fine," I said, exasperated, "let's go to Las Vegas."

"Suits me," Arie said blandly, and I suddenly realized I had better watch my mouth.

"Look, you pick something," I said.

"I don't care where we go," she said.

"Well, I don't either," I retorted, "so..."

We trailed off, staring out of windows.  If I'd been a child I would have kicked my dangling feet.

"This is all your fault anyway," she said suddenly.

"What?" I said, confused.  "How is this my fault?"

"We ought to be kissing or fucking or at least being civil to each other," she said.  "But now we're all pissed off.  And it's all because you couldn't keep your damn chivalry to yourself."

Weariness settled over me like a shroud.  "Arie, I'm really not interested in discussing this right now."

"You just had to go off and try to fix Jenny's problems," Arie said.  "Just a pair of weepy eyes and a little problem, and oh!—Derek's distracted!  If it's that easy to catch your eyes, I should just walk around with bare tits all day.  Maybe that's why you paid so much attention to Faith.  She's naked and she's airheaded!  But, without all the constant prattle you get out of cheerleaders!  What a brilliant combination!  Maybe if she—"

My fist thudded down on the steering wheel.  "Arie, leave the car this fucking instant."

"Why?"

"BECAUSE I'M NOT GONNA TAKE YOUR SHIT, OKAY?" I roared.  She flinched.

I took a deep breath.

"I am here," I said.  "Though I do not have to be.  I'm here as a favor to you, even though we're not technically involved and, frankly, I think I'd rather be just about anywhere else at this moment.  If you really think I don't care about you, you should consider the fact that I'm here, right now, and what that means.

"Now.  If you're willing to have a civil conversation, you can stay.  I'd like to have a civil conversation with you.  I'd like to patch things up.  But I am not going to sit here and let you badmouth me and pretend you're totally blameless.  So.  The next time I hear you insult me, I swear I will kick you straight out of this car and leave you lying on the sidewalk.  Or the highway, if that's where your mouth happens to get away from you.  Good luck dodging cars.  They'll be gentler to you than I will."

Arie stared at me wordlessly.

"Are we clear on this," I said.  And then, as a peace offering: "I'll listen to what you have to say.  I may even agree with some of it.  But as the price of admission, you have to think about what you say before you say it."  Again: "Are we clear on this?"

"We're clear," she said quickly.  "We're very clear."

I nodded.  "Okay."

There was silence for a moment.

"So," I said finally.  "Um.  Where are we going?"

"Oh for fuck's sake," said Arie, but she couldn't keep from laughing.  And suddenly I felt that, maybe, just maybe, we could make things better.

Sa.4

I woke up to the sound of a computer keyboard.  When I opened my eyes, it was Brandon.

"Mmm.  What time is it?"

He looked over, and at once a smile broke out onto his face.  I felt warm and loved.  "Hey, sweetie."

I smiled back.  "Hey yourself."

"It's about...  Two o'clock."

"Really?  God, it feels like I slept longer."

"I hope so," he said, "people are gonna show up in an hour."

"Mmm," I said.  "No five more minutes?"

"Probably not," he said.  "Especially if you want to take a shower."  He stood up and gave me his hand to help me get out of bed.

"Mmm," I said.  I did want to take a shower.  I probably looked a mess, and I felt kind of like one too—though, in that good-mess sort of way, the sort of deliciously exerted feeling that comes from a good exercise or having sex.  For that matter, I felt very warm and comfortable, as if...

"Brandon," I said.  "After I...  Fell asleep.  You didn't...  Do anything to me, did you?"

Brandon gave me a confused look.  "No, I didn't," he said.  "What do you mean?"

"You didn't take advantage of my, ah, incapacitated state," I asked, slinking towards him.  You know, the sort of thing that's...  Underhanded.  And...  Immoral.  And...  That I really would have preferred to be awake for."

He blinked at me.  "No, after you fell asleep I went downstairs and talked to your mom a bit, and since then I've been..."  He shrugged.  "Here.  Hanging out on the Internet."

"Mmm," I said.  I believed him.  "It must just be because you were in the room with me."

"Well, magic touch and all that," Brandon said brightly.  "I aim to please, after all."

I drew his arms around me.  "You do."  His breath ruffled my hair; his shoulder was a warm pillow.  "I love you."

"I love you," he said.

"I know," I said.

Showering took a little longer than anticipated, because of how much of a mess I truly was: I looked at myself in the mirror when I went in and my eyes nearly popped out of my head.  Lord, I looked like...  My God!  Brandon must have near had a heart attack when he came this morning!  And then, in the shower, I happened to look down at myself—over all that expanse of flesh and skin and nerve and hair and bone I happen to call mine, over the breasts and nipples and legs and toes, the shallow hills and the shallow valleys, the slightly-more-defined swells from waist to hips—and realize how much Brandon would probably like to be in here right now, seeing what I was seeing—not that he hadn't seen it before, to be sure, but he never seems to get tired of it.  He'd probably be erect by now.  And just that one thought sent a tingle of pleasure through me, and I felt myself reacting, my nipples puckering a little and the first vestiges of wetness beginning to make itself known down below; and I let my finger wander between my legs, and smiled at the thought of Brandon, and allowed that, maybe, just maybe, he wasn't only soothing my ego when he told me he thought I was physically attractive.

When I came out I had to wipe the steam off the mirror, and the only thing I managed to discover was that I had traded looking like a swamp horror for looking like a drowned rat.  But a few minutes—well, maybe twenty minutes—with hair dryer and towel and even a bit of makeup, and I was looking at least a little bit presentable.

Brandon and my mother were just levering my birthday cake out of the oven when I came down.  "Mmm, smells good," I said, reaching for a crumb.

Mom swatted my hand away.  "No way, kiddo.  Not allowed.  It's your cake."

"Mom," I said, "it's my cake."

"Yes," Mom said, "and that means that you're not supposed to—  Brandon."

"What," Brandon said, popping the morsel into his mouth.  "It's not my cake."

"Some example you are," Mom groused, but she was smiling.

It was a pretty large thing, and for the first time it really hit me just how many people were coming.  It had been a long time since I'd had all my friends together in one place.  The last time had been...  Wait, actually, this would be the first time.  Stasya's crowd plus Brandon's crowd.  And it struck me that having a lot of friends was something I should cherish; my last birthday party had been a lot less populated and somewhat threadbare.

"Meredith?" Brandon said.  "It's just a cake, sweetie.  No need for a beatitude."

"No," I said softly.  "I was just thinking about how lucky I am."

He smiled back at me.  "That's my girl."  His hand reached for my cheek.

"Hey!  Aack!  No touching.  You'll smudge the makeup."

"Makeup," Brandon cried.  He leaned in, squinting at me.

Mom gave me an offhand glance.  "Hmm.  Very nice, honey."

Brandon frowned, and then shook his head.  "No.  Yuck.  Off with it.  If it means I'm not allowed to PDA, then I don't like it."

"PDA?" I asked.

" 'Physical Display of Affection,' " he said.  Oh.  I should've known that.

"Physical?" my mother asked.  "Isn't it actually 'public'?"

"What difference does it make?" Brandon said.

"With you, none," I said, grinning.

Brandon ticked off options on his fingers.  "Public, physical, personal, pubic, uh...  Pulmonary..."

"If that's what you really want," I said, "you'd be asking me to take my clothes off too."

Brandon blinked at me.

I saw the idea forming in his head and said, "Brandon, no."

"Why not?" he said.  "We've all been in The Program.  Well, most of us.  Not Jane.  But that's really about it."

"Sajel," I reminded him.

"Okay, Sajel too," he said.  "But that's, what, two out of like fifteen.  They'd go for it.  Heck, they'd probably join in.  Aren't you supposed to be encouraging outreach?"

"Brandon, it's my birthday," I said.

"And those two are mutually exclusive how?" said Brandon.

I stared at my mom.  "Dr. Zelvetti has created a monster."

My mother shrugged with grand indifference.  "Hey, he's your boyfriend, not mine."

"What, I'm just saying, it might be fun, is all," Brandon said.

I blinked at him.  It might be.  We were among friends, after all, and in far more privacy than school offered.  But my parents were there too.  And what if Michael were to walk in?  I mean, family is a little bit...  Different from friends.  You know?

But then the doorbell rang, and we went to admit in Stasya and Caleb.  The party was started.

Sa.5

"Of all the places we could have gone," Arie said, "miniature golf was seriously the worst."

"Hey, it was your idea," I said mildly.

"I know," Arie said.  "Don't remind me."

Hi.  My name's Derek Strong.  My friend and I (my girlfriend and I?  My partner and I?) happen to be surrounded by hordes of excited, screaming children.  With golf clubs.  As well as associated panicked, screaming parents.  With golf clubs.  If you've never attempted to hold a serious, emotional conversation under such circumstances, I suggest you continue never attempting it.

Trying to blot all of that out of my mind, I swung my club.  The ball sailed up the ramp...  And bounced squarely off of the rotating blade of the windmill.

"You gotta look up," Arie said.  "You can't just swing.  You gotta watch the pattern."

"You do it, then," I said.  It was her turn anyway.  Arie set her ball and gave it a try.  The windmill blades were hardly fast—it took like four seconds for it to make a complete rotation—but there were four of them involved, not to mention a certain amount of rather tricky math.  Her timing was off.  Her ball (bright red) hit the windmill blade with a resounding thwack and returned to us almost eagerly.

"Fuck," Arie said (there was a hiss of outrage from the mother behind us).  "It's harder than it looks."

"A lot of things are," I said.  Then, unable to help myself: "Like not getting pissed off when your boyfriend shows a perfectly normal humanitarian urge to help someone."

"Hey, fuck you," Arie said.  "Maybe if you would—"

"Excuse me," said the woman behind us.  We turned and saw an Indian woman, unmistakable in ethnic garb and a red forehead dot.  "There are people behind you in line, you know," she said.  She had a thick accent.  "Please hurry up and play through."

"Sorry," I said, "Sorry," Arie said, and we turned back to the windmill.

The slow rotation of the motorized windmill blades was deceptive.  You looked at it and thought, Slow, plenty of time, only to be foiled by the number of blades.

I rubbed my face with my hand.  "Here, let me try it again..."

"Hey, look," Arie said suddenly, pointing down into the landscaped valley.  "It's Zach and Christa.  What are they doing here?"  She waved, and they waved back and left their place in line and started hiking up the grass towards us.

"Hey guys," Christa said, smiling.  "What are you doing here?"

"We were...  Trying to find a place to talk," I said, chagrined.

"Sorry, nope," Zach said.  "No talking here.  Only fun allowed.  All serious talking to be taken off-premises."  He admonished us with his pointer finger.  "Company policy, you guys."

"So, if you guys are trying to have a serious talk," Christa said, diplomatically ignoring her boyfriend, "then that must mean..."

"Well, yes, we're trying," I said.  "We're not exactly succeeding."

"All these kids and parents listening in," Arie said (I glanced frantically over my shoulder, but the mother was trying to control her children), "how do you have a real conversation?"

"Why not somebody's house?" Christa asked.

"I was trying to get out of my house," Arie said.

"Not exactly neutral ground," I said, and Arie nodded agreement.  I realized that we were of similar minds: the inevitable conversation was going to be painful and ugly, but at least we were both interested in minimizing the pain.

"True," Christa said.

"What brings you guys out here," I asked.

"The same," Christa said, glancing over her shoulder at Zach.  "We wanted to spend some time together in private, but both of our families are around.  And I guess public privacy is better than nothing."

"Excuse me."  The mother behind us was trying to get our attention again.  "If you are not going to play, do you mind if we go first?"

"Certainly," Christa said graciously, "go right ahead."  We stepped back and let them play through.

The first of the two boys got his ball through the windmill on the first try.

"Goddammit," Arie said (the Indian lady flashed her another ugly look).  "How does he do that?  We tried it and we just couldn't."

"It's not that hard," Christa said.  "...Is it?"

"Hey, you got it on your first try," Zach said.  "Yes you did, my snoogy-woogy-kins."

"Ignore him, he's drunk on pheromones," Christa said, deadpan.

"I um uh I see," I said.

"All right, you guys," Christa said.  Behind her, Zach awaited his turn at the windmill hole.  "The next group is about five holes behind us, so we have that much privacy to work things out in."  'We??'  "What's going on between you two?"

"He can't keep his emotions to himself," Arie said.

"She's impatient and jealous," I said.

"Okay," Christa said.  "Justify.  Arie first."

Arie said, "You saw him.  He's been draped all over Faith and Jenny all week.  I don't want a boyfriend who can't remember where his interest lies.  And besides.  Jenny?  That's his sister.  A little over the top, if you know what I mean."

"All right," Christa said, turning to me.  "Rebuttal."

Zach pushed her in the ass with both hands.  She squeaked.  "There you go," he said.

"What the?" she said.

He shrugged, grinned.  "I gave you your butt back.  Rebuttal."

"Don't make me go for my magic 8-ball, mister," she said.

"Why did you even have her butt," Arie asked.

"All right," Christa said, "this halfwit comedian aside.  Derek.  What do you have to say to that?"

"I think it's ridiculous," I said.  "If my friends are in pain, I want to help them.  Arie, suppose I were to tell you that you weren't allowed to go online and help your friends when they need it.  How would you react to that?"

"I'd break up with you," she said.  "You can't do that to me.  You can't make me do that.  I won't stop helping my friends just because you..."

Her face changed.  "Oh," she said.

Christa and I blinked at each other.

"Boy, I feel stupid," Arie said.

"You should," I said.

"Derek!" Christa said.  "That was rude and extremely impolite.  Apologize.  Now."

"What, it's the truth," I said.

"Derek, even Zach knows when to keep his mouth shut sometimes.  Maybe not all of the time, but sometimes.  If you want somebody to forgive you, you don't go insulting them."  Christa's eyes were fierce and I could tell she was well and truly angry.

"'msorry," I mumbled.

"I can't hear you," Christa warned.

"I'm SORRY, okay??" I said.

The echo rebounded back to me.

Zach looked over his shoulder at me.  "Dude, I hope you're not surprised if I tell you that half the park is looking at you."

"At least I'm not naked," I growled.

"You will be soon," Christa promised.  "All right, Derek, your turn to press charges."

"Fine," I said.  "If she doesn't want to put up with me, well, that's her problem and her choice.  But I think it's unfair for her to expect me to not pay attention to anyone but her.  That's not what we do.  That's not how people work.  We have lots of friends and lots of loved ones.  And, for me, it's important to go help people when they have problems."

"I see," said Christa.  "Arie?  Responses?"

Arie shrugged morosely.  "I've got none."

"Well, I do," Christa said.  "First off.  Derek, what's this crap about just letting Arie walk away from you?"

I blinked my confusion to her.  "Well—  What am I supposed to do?  If she doesn't like me, then—"

"Then you offer to compromise," Christa said.  "Ever heard that word, Derek?  You don't just try it once and then walk away.  You try it once—and then you adjust.  You fix things and then you try it again.  Your way would be like...  I dunno, you try to build a car from scratch or something and then call it a failure when you try it the first time and it doesn't move.  No.  You step back and take a good hard look."

"And then maybe notice that the car's missing something important, say, wheels," Zach interjected.  He walked over to the side of the windmill, and I suddenly realized that, while Christa chewed us out, he'd been successfully sending that golf ball through the hole over and over.

"Oh great," Arie said.  Her hands were in her pockets and she stared glumly at the ground.  "So our relationship doesn't have wheels?"

"Nonsense," Christa said.  "Your relationship has wheels.  It has wheels and brakes and power steering and everything.  This is more like the occupants squabbling over who gets to choose the radio station.  But even stupid things like that can shake it all apart.  You've got to learn to be flexible."

"Listen to the lady," Zach said.  "She knows what she's talking about.  She saved us from a pretty pickle last month."

"She did?" Arie asked, interested despite herself.  "What?"

"Oh, God, Zach, don't tell them that," Christa said, blushing scarlet.

"Why not?" Zach asked.  "They're friends.  I trust them.  You trust them.  They won't tell if we ask them not to."

Christa waved.  "You guys have fun with that."  She dropped her golf ball onto the starting tee for the windmill hole and squared off.

"Well, see," said Zach.  "This was just after our one-month anniversary."  They'd hit their two-month just last week.  "We'd only done it, like...  I dunno, five or six times at that point?  And her first was just a mess, 'cause, I totally screwed up no question about it, but, anyway.  So ever since her first, we've been working towards a more, you know, mutual experience, right?"

Arie and I nodded.  One of the bizarre mysteries of male-female interactions is that a guy can get his rocks off during sex without even noticing his partner isn't enjoying herself.  I'm pretty sure even Zach's not that oblivious, but there are some guys out there with the mental capacity of a teaspoon.

"So, a few days after our one-month anniversary—on which, yeah, we did it, and it was fun but, you know, nothing to write home about—so a few days after that, she comes up to me and she says..."  His face took on a slightly melodramatic cast, and he conveyed her voice with a sort of breathy falsetto.  " 'Zach,' she says...  'Zach...  I hate to tell you this, but...  You're terrible at eating pussy.' "

Arie burst out laughing.

"That's not what I sa-aaid!" came Christa's protest, bouncing off the windmill.

"Yeah, well, close enough, sweetie," Zach tossed over his shoulder.  "So, anyway.  'Zach,' she says, 'Zach.  You have got to learn to do this better.  I'm sorry, honey, but, you do.'  And now naturally I wasn't all that pleased about hearing this from her, because every guy secretly likes to think he's a terrific lover, and I think it's almost as important to us as penis length.  But so anyway.

"So I'm like, Well how do I do that, Christa, and she said, 'I dunno, why don't you talk to a doctor or something?  I know they have people who study these things.  Go find one.'

"And obviously I'm like, I am not gonna go to a doctor to ask him how to have sex!  And Christa's like, 'Well, if you don't get your act together, we won't be having sex, because, when it comes to the bedroom, you suck.' "

Arie's eyebrows jumped.  I glanced at Christa.  She seemed very intent on getting that golf ball through the windmill.

"Now, at this point," Zach said, "I got angry.  I hate to admit it, but I did.  I figured, if it was that important to her, you know, why didn't she say something?  I mean, it had only been four weeks, but five or six times in four weeks is pretty regular compared to normal—since, you know, 'normal' means zero.  She'd never said anything during any of those five or six times.  I felt like...  I thought it was unfair.  It was like failing a pop quiz your teacher had told you he wouldn't give.  You know?"

Arie and I nodded.

"And so I got a little fed up and said some nasty things about her ability as a lover, and for a few days there it looked like our first anniversary might also be our last—"  He shook his head.  "It wasn't pretty.

"But eventually we came back to each other and we were like, you know, 'Look, you're more important to me than that, let's try and make this work,' and we, well...  We figured some stuff out."

"Like?" Arie said.

"Well...  We have to do research," said Zach.  "On the Internet, thankfully.  But we need to, you know, take a look at the prevailing wisdom out there.  All the Betty Dodson stuff and like Alfred Kinsey and stuff."

"Sounds like a lot of work," Arie observed.

"And you know anybody who wouldn't want to do that kind of research?" I asked.

"Good point," Arie said.

"A-aand," Zach said.  "The point is that it's all practical knowledge, right?  I mean, it's not just stuff you learn, it's stuff you do.  So we do do it.  We have to practice."  He grinned.  "—On each other."

"Oh-hhhhh," said Arie and I simultaneously.

"And so we try things and we talk about whether we like them or not, and that first anniversary wasn't our last.  And in thinking it over, I kinda realized..."  He shrugged.  "It's sort of like the whole relationship in miniature.  You have to be able to listen to each other, and you can't let your pride get in the way, and if you do those things you'll have tons of fun.  And you can't just give up.  Assuming it'll work on the first try is...  Asinine."

Christa appeared suddenly behind him and placed her hands on his hips, fingers fanning out.  Zach looked over his shoulder.  Arie and I blinked at each other.  "What?" I said.  "I don't get it."

Christa's grinning face bobbed up over Zach's shoulder.  She pointed.  "Ass..."  She fanned her hands out again: five fingers on one side, four on the other.  "In..."  She placed her hands on his hips.  "Nine.  Asinine."  She seemed inordinately pleased with herself.

Zach scrubbed his face with a hand.

"That's the sort of terrible joke Zach would make," I cried.

"Dear Lord," Arie said.  "It's...  It's contagious."

"Well, we knew she was civilizing him; we might have expected some of it might leak in reverse."

"No," Arie said, covering her eyes.  "Never.  Save me."

Zach looked over his shoulder at Christa's beaming face.  "I don't know whether to be proud...  Or incredibly depressed."

"Depressed," I said, "please.  Let us maintain some vestiges of civilization."

"Oh.  Guys," Christa said.  "The next group is almost here.  We gotta clear this hole and move on."

"I'll go," Zach said.  He put his blue golf ball on the tee.  "There goes my blue ball," he said.

"Quiet, you," Christa said, "or I'll hit it."

"Hey, I've been hitting it all day," Zach said brightly, "it ain't hurt a bit."

"Fine," Christa said, "quiet you...  Or I'll give you more of 'em."

"Oh!" said Zach.  "Well, better take care of that hole, then."  He squinted.  "With my blue ball.  Get the blue ball into the hole here, baby."

Christa squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.

Zach putted.  The ball sailed cleanly through the gaps in the windmill blades, went into the tower and out its left side, and then straight into the hole, as the windmill obstacle was designed to send it.  Hole in one.

"Okay," Christa said.  "My turn."  Her ball was white with a forest-green stripe.  "Hmm, I don't know if I can do this..."

"Just keep track of the pattern, kiddo," Zach said.  He started counting in time with the spinning windmill rotor.  "Nope...  Nope...  Nope...  Nope..."

Christa putted.  The ball went straight and true.  Hole in one for her too.

Christa giggled and jumped up and down.

Arie hastily stepped to one side, indicating with her hand.  "Great," I said.

I dropped my red ball and lined up on the hole in the base of the windmill tower.  Whoosh...  Whoosh...  Whoosh...  Whoosh went the windmill blades.

I struck.  The ball rebounded off the windmill blade.  "Ohh," Zach winced.

"No, no," Arie said, "you gotta watch the pattern of the windmill."

"I can't," I said, "if I look away, my ball will go wild.  I can't aim and watch the windmill at the same time."

"Try it," Arie said, and this time the combative tone was gone from her voice.  "Maybe you can do it this time."

I took a deep breath, reset the ball, and focused.

It didn't hit the windmill blade this time, but—true to my prediction—that was only because it went wild and hit the tower itself, far to the left of the hole.

I sighed.  "This isn't working."

"Arie," said Christa.  "How about this.  Derek, you focus on aiming the ball.  Arie, you watch the windmill and tell him when to go.  How does that sound?"

Arie and I looked at each other.  "Sure," we said.

I aimed.  Arie watched.

"Go," Arie said, and I swung.  The ball sailed cleanly...  And hit a windmill blade.  "No," Arie said, "you swung too slow, you gotta swing faster than that—"

"Well, how am I supposed to—" I said.

"Guys!" Zach's voice cut through our nascent argument.  "Remember what the wise sage and master Zachary Crane told you."

"Talk," Christa said.  "Arie, next time you need to tell him how fast you want the ball to go.  And Derek, you can ask ahead of time too.  I'm sure you guys can work this out."

"How fast is your—" Arie said.

"Uh," I said.  I swung normally, a graceful swooping arc.

"And how fast does the ball go when that happens," she asked.

I hit the ball this time.  It not only hit the windmill blade, but also went wide.

Arie squinted at the ground.  "Okay, so if I..."  She was silent for several seconds.  "No, I can't.  Can you...  Can you try it like this:"  She demonstrated with her own club.  Her swing was faster, a flick in one direction followed by a flick in another.

"Uh..."  I squinted.  "Sure.  I think."

"Try it," she said.

I tried it.  The ball rocketed away a lot faster than usual.  I half expected it to crack the windmill blade.

"Yeah, I can...  Sure.  Yeah.  I can do that," I said.

"Okay," Arie said.  "Ready?"

I reset my ball and focused.  "Ready."

"Go," Arie said.

The next sound we heard was the ball rattling around inside the tower.

And the next sound we heard after that was the clatter of it rolling into the hole.

Zach and Christa whooped and applauded.  The people behind us, evidently being polite, joined in.

"We did it," I said.  I felt a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth—but hesitated.  Was it okay?  Should I—

Arie looked up at me.  She smiled.  "Yeah, we did.  But...  Now we also gotta do mine."

"Oh Lord," I said.

Sa.6

By the time Arie, Zach, Derek and Christa arrived, somewhat late because they'd had to swing by and pick up Jenny, the party was in full swing.  There was none of this "fashionably-late" stuff; evidently Meredith had gathered a pretty punctual crowd around her.  There were a few presents, mostly the slim unmistakable profiles of DVD cases, of CD cases, of hardcover and paperback books; more often it was just an envelope with a gift card.  Regardless, with (let's see here...  Six plus four plus...) fourteen people in attendance, there was quite a bit of stuff piling up.  Though of course Zach's was nothing more than a gag license from a novelty store, something to do with how being sixteen is all the driver's license you need; but hey, it's Zach; and it made Meredith laugh, which knowing Zach was the whole point, so, who are any of us to complain.

And through it all, Meredith, curling golden hair and bright gray eyes, the charm of her laughter and the warmth of her smile, circulating, the gracious hostess and yet also the center of the party, managing to simultaneously serve and be served by the party around her.

Greetings.  I'm Brandon Chambers.  And you heard it here first: if you ever find someone who never stops captivating you, never let them go.

But, of course, there was more on her mind.  "Excuse me," she said.  "I have a quick announcement to make.

"My parents actually aren't in the house right now, due to a...  Certain development in the family.  As you know—or, if you don't, you're about to know...  My brother, Michael, returned home this week from boarding school.  He was sent away because some of his behavioral habits got out of control, namely those related to...  Controlled substances.  Recently he graduated from the inpatient program, and he returned to us on Monday.  Unfortunately the program doesn't seem to have done much.  Last night, because of...  Some things I said, we uncovered evidence that he had...  Returned to his old ways.  Because he's reached his legal majority—"

"Reached his what?" Zach called.

"Being a major, stupid," Sajel said, "as opposed to being a minor?  Duh..."

"Oh," said Zach.  "I didn't know they have that."

"Because he's reached his majority," Meredith continued, "he was..."  She sighed, grimaced.  "Arrested.  The police called my parents down to make some statements.  They should be back soon, but they're not here right now.  So.  I thought it might be appropriate for you all to know.  My brother is gone, and...  It's basically my fault."

"Like anyone's gonna complain," Arie said immediately.

"So he's actually not here," Stasya said.

"No," Meredith said, "he's not.  At least, not at the moment.  My parents honestly aren't sure how to respond to this.  What's going to happen to him in the near future is...  Up for debate."

"How much did they find?" Zach asked.

"How should I know," Meredith said.

"Why do you care?" Sajel said.

"I'll take some!" Zach said brightly.

The room dissolved into laughter.  Sajel suggested that Zach might as well, since he couldn't get any dumber.  Jane said "Eeeeww!"—her normal response to anything vaguely dirty, illegal or otherwise morally corrupt—even while giggling.  Gavin jumped up and called second dibs, at which point Emily grabbed him and tried to drag him down again.  Jenny, I think, was used to us by now: she laughed as hard as anyone else.  And Jeff Gainesborough sat and smiled, a loner watching the crowds.

As the room fell back to individual conversations, I pulled Meredith gently aside into the kitchen.  "Meredith, you...  You didn't have to say that."

"Yes, I did," she said.  "I'd have to explain where my parents were going."

"Yeah, but..."  I still wasn't sure why she thought her actions were a matter of reproach.  "I don't understand why you're casting yourself as a villain in this.  I think you did a good job."

She smiled at me then, something infinitely sad, like wisdom from beyond ages.  "I guess it's something I'll never be able to explain to you."

"Well..." I said.  "Regardless...  I'm behind you one hundred percent.  Whatever you think is right for you...  I'm with you all the way."

"Thank you, Brandon," she said.  And when we were finished hugging, she was the same old Meredith I've always known: bright, cheerful, always upbeat.  But somehow I had a feeling that I ought to get to the bottom of this.

A little bit lost in thought, I followed Meredith back into the crowd in the family room, arriving just in time to hear Sajel ask, "So, what's up with them?"

"Who?  Oh," said Christa.  "We, uh.  We ran into them at Golf Park.  We talked."

"What are you talking about," Zach said, "we laid the verbal smackdown on their ass.  We talked some sense into them."

"Who?" I said, suddenly tuning into the conversation.

Sajel pointed.  "Derek and Arie."

I looked.  Yes, there they were.  Derek bent his head to murmur something to her, and she giggled a little bit.

"Now, they're still not, you know, actively touching each other or anything," Sajel said.  "But at least they're near each other.  Pretty big difference from before."

"Yeah," I said, "someone's done an impressive job."

"It was all Christa here," Zach said, draping his arm around her shoulders.

"No, actually, you helped a lot too," Christa said.  "I think that story about the compromising really got to them."

"Aah," Zach said, waving it off, "only because it was about sex."

"I'm sorry what?" Meredith said suddenly, and I realized that she'd been zoned out, too, until that very second.  "All I heard was the word 'sex'."

"Wow, Meredith," Sajel said.  "Mind like a sewer.  Good job.  Plus four points."

"No, actually, it's a well-documented phenomenon," I said.  "You know how, even if you're in a crowded room, you can hear when someone says your name?"

Sajel nodded.  "Yeah."

"Well, it's basically the same.  Your brain just naturally filters for certain sounds and words, and one of them is the word 'sex'."

Across the room, Stasya called out, "Wait: who just said the word 'sex'?"

"What?" Jane said from near the television.  "Somebody just said 'sex'?"

"I dunno!" Stasya said, frustrated, "I can't tell who said it!"

Sajel glared at me.  "Good job, Brandon."

"Penis," Zach said brightly.  Oddly enough, no one noticed.

Leaving Meredith in safe hands for the moment, I wandered over to where Jane and Jeff were standing—not really talking to each other, but with just enough space in between them that I could squeeze in.  "Soo..." I said.  "How's it goin'?"

"Well, I'm—" Jeff said.

"Actually, it's—" Jane said.

They stopped.  They glanced past me at each other.  "Oh, I'm sorry, were you—"  "My apologies, I should've—"

"Jane, Jeff Gainesborough, Jeff, Jane Myers," I said, feeling particularly pleased with myself.  Meredith had invited Jane because she wanted her to be here, but Jane is not precisely the type of person who gets out and circulates.  She's very shy, for whatever reason, at least until you get to know her.  Jeff is, really, much the same.  Now maybe these two would have someone to talk to—and a way to make friendships with members of the other group they wouldn't normally associate with.  "Jeff knows Meredith through her best friend Stasya," I said.  "And Jane and I used to date.  A while back."

"Yeah, a little," Jane said, and I realized I should not have brought that up.  There were still raw wounds there for her.  Truth for true, they were there for me too, but when you've got someone like Meredith to focus on, a lot of other things fall by the wayside.

After that, there was silence for a while.  I glanced around me and waited for one of them to bring up a topic—but neither did.  Jane seemed still a bit angry, and Jeff (it occurred to me suddenly) was not really the type to initiate conversations of his own accord.  He was comfortable with silence, a rare and noteworthy feature amongst people our age—but damned inconvenient if you're trying to get two people to make friends with each other.  Especially since Jane was bristling so much—at this rate she'd wander off and I'd never get them in the same place again.  Then I'd feel stupid.  Jeff was a nice guy, and Jane...  Well, to be honest, I felt like I owed her, a little bit.  Now was a chance to pay off that debt.

"So, uhm," I said, picking a topic and throwing it at random.  "Jeff, you're a...  Sophomore, right?"

"Yep," he said.  "Good ol'."

"Who's your English teacher," I asked.

"Crasilneck," Jeff said.

"Oh wow," Jane said.  "I had him.  How are you doing in that class?"

"I'm..."  Jeff shrugged.  "Surviving."  He gave a wry smile.  " 'Three hours of reading and writing a night,' " he said, quoting Mr. Crasilneck's known-throughout-school credo for determining whether he was assigning his students enough homework.

"Lucky," Jane said.  "It always took me four."

"What'd you get in that class," Jeff asked.

"A," Jane said.

"Well, that explains why it took you four hours," Jeff said, smiling.  "I get B-minuses and call it a victory."

"I thought about doing that," Jane admitted.  "I thought about doing that a lot.  But, I mean...  He's just an old teacher.  I'm not gonna let him get me down."

"What math did you take," Jeff asked.

"Algebra II with Meninsky," Jane said.

I had gotten lost the minute they mentioned Crasilneck.  Of course, I remembered the guy—Jane and I had been together through the second half of that year—but I'd lucked out and gotten Arvantely myself.  Now, seeing that they were at least talking to each other—and with some animation; school is an important topic to Jane—I felt confident enough to take my leave.

Meredith snagged me.  "Brandon, can you give me a hand?  We're out of cookies."  Her mother had started a plate of them circulating, and now they were all gone.

"Heehee.  It's, like, a real actual party," I said.

"Except with Pepperidge Farm instead of hors d'oeuvre," she said.

In the kitchen Meredith broke open another box of cookies—Mrs. Levine had gotten several of the huge packs that are like as large as a box from Macy's or something; the scary thing is that she'd fit an entire box onto the plate—and started arranging them in concentric circles.  I gave her a hand.

"Not quite what I expected on my sixteenth birthday," Meredith said.

"What," I asked, "not-what-I-expected worse or not-what-I-expected better?"

She paused, a handful of cookies clutched in her hands.  "I dunno," she said.  "Better in some ways.  Worse in others."

"More worse or more better," I asked.

She turned to me, smiling.  "Not everything is quite that simple, Brandon."

"Sure it is," I said.  She was, of course, right, but upbeat optimism seemed more important than deep thoughts at the moment.  "Are you happy?  Are you having fun?  Are you with people you like?"

She thought for a moment.  "Yes," she said.  "I love my friends, I love my boyfriend, I love my family.  But...  The real question is, am I the kind of person I want to be."

More of the ongoing puzzle fell into place.  "Well, I can only speak for myself," I said, "but I figure that if I manage to make about half my goals, I'm doing pretty well.  And, I can only speak for myself, but, I think you're just fine as you are.  I mean, if you were any more pure or virtuous, you'd probably ascend up to Heaven right this instant and I'd never get to see you again."

Meredith laughed.  "Selfish, aren't we?"

I beamed.  "Yep."

"Well, that's okay," she said, stepping into my arms.  "Because I love you."

"And I love you," I said.

I leaned in to kiss her, but she said, "Aack, aack, nope, no.  You'll spoil the makeup."

"The make—!  Ugh.  Okay, that's enough.  Come on."  I took her hand and brought her back to the family room.

"Okay, guys," I said loudly, garnering everyone's attention, "everybody, I need a vote here.  Who here thinks makeup is a good idea?"

There was a ripple of consideration around the circle.  Some hands went up; some went down again; some wobbled.

"Who here thinks makeup is a good idea if it means you can't kiss your girlfriend," I asked.

"Me!—me!—oh wait," Zach said.

"Naaaaah," Caleb said.

"Yucky," Stasya agreed.

"Thumbs down," Derek said.

"Okay, so," I said, gesturing to Meredith.  "Makeup.  Makeup equals No kiss girlfriend.  I want her to get rid of it.  Who agrees?"

Just about every hand in the room went up.  And at this point, no amount of makeup could have possibly hidden how much Meredith was blushing.

"See, there," I said, grinning.  "The jury has spoken.  Looking nice is all well and good, but only if it doesn't interfere with your boyfriend's ability to show you just how nice he thinks you look."  Meredith gave me a weak grin in return.

"In that case, she should just go naked," Zach said.

Everybody stared at him.

"You know...  He's got a point," Gavin mused.

"It's only logical," Arie put in.

"I think it makes sense," Derek said.

"What, that Meredith should go naked?" Arie said caustically.

Meredith found her voice somewhere.  "Hey, if I'm going down, I'm taking you all with me."

"So what you're saying is..." Sajel said.

"We should all go naked!" Zach exclaimed.

There was a massive amount of collective blinking as we mulled this proposition over.

"I'm down with it," Christa said.

"Hey, we've mostly all been through The Program anyway," Gavin said.

"I haven't," Jane said.

"Neither have I," Jenny said.

"Then you don't have to go naked," Meredith told them.  "No one does.  But if anyone wants to...  Hey, it's a free country."

No one moved.

"...Okay, uhm, somebody has to—" she said.

No one moved.

"I think Zach should have to go first," I said.  "Since it was his idea."

"No, you came up with it earlier today," Meredith contradicted.

"So you should go first," Christa said, pouncing on the idea.

I blinked.  "How come I always get stuck with initiating these things?"

"It's your lot in life," Sajel said gravely.  " 'Brandon' and 'naked' just go together like peas in a pod."

"That doesn't make sense," Jane said, "one's a noun and one's an adjective."

Sajel snickered.  "A lot of things about Brandon don't make sense."

"...True," said Jane.

I drew a tragic sigh.  "Fine, then, if it must be.  'It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better—' "

"Yeah shut up and get nekkid," Zach said.

Arie rolled her eyes.  "Fine.  I'll come too."  She stepped over to where I was standing and pulled off her shirt.  By the time I had started on mine, she was working on her pants.

"Hmm," Zach said.  "Arie's still naked."  And indeed, she had shaved her nether regions, and anyone who wanted to could see a lot.

Arie looked around at us suddenly and covered herself with a hand.  "Err.  Some places on the Internet, uh.  Suggest that you, uh.  That, uh, for reasons of hygeine."

"What she's really trying to say is," Christa interrupted smoothly, "that, according to current wisdom, if you shave down there, it feels better during sex."

"Really?" Stasya asked.  "Does it?"

Arie blushed crimson.  "Mm-hmm," she said in a tiny voice.

"Oooo," said Stasya, her eyes alight with possibility.

I suddenly noticed how Derek's eyes were fixated on Arie.

"Wait, I'm confused," Jane said.  "What do you mean, 'still naked'?"  She was standing behind us and couldn't see.

Arie turned.

"Oh my God," said Jane.  "Can you...  Do that?"  Next to her, Jeff's eyebrows climbed like rockets, but he somehow kept his composure.

"You can do a lot more than that, sweetie," Arie said blandly.

Zach and Christa were half unclothed at this point, and I reached over to unfasten the single closure at the neck of Meredith's shirt.  "Your turn."

Meredith shook her head.  "I don't know why I let you folks get away with this."

When her shirt came off, it was like the floodgates opened.  There was a lot of scrambling around as people tried to find logical storage places for their clothes so that things wouldn't get mixed up (something we clearly not had thought of), but within a few minutes, the only person who still had clothes on was Jane.  There were surprises everywhere.  For one, Arie wasn't the only naked one down below: Jenny was, too.  Jenny!  (Derek's eyes bugged out at that one.)  The fact that Caleb went with it surprised me a little—he'd never been in The Program.  But then, he's twenty.  Maybe you pick up a bit more confidence at that age.  Plus, he had Stasya to cover for him.  It was also surprising (at least to me) that Jeff joined in; people like him just prefer to blend into the background.  But then, having clothes on might have made him stand out.

And then there was Sajel.  I wouldn't have been at all surprised if she'd declined, but evidently she'd decided to come clean.  Christa saw it first: "Wait, Sajel, what's that on your..."  And then trailed off as Sajel turned around.

Silence fell as if by magic.

"Oh my God," Meredith gasped.  Her hand covered her mouth involuntarily.  "I had no idea."

Sajel sighed into the wall.  "Now you know why I'd never enter The Program."

"Or why you always refuse to wear a two-piece bathing suit," Christa murmured.

I knew—I'd seen them before.  But no one else had.  At least until now.

"It was...  An accident," Sajel said.  "When I was young there was a tree in the backyard over my house, a really big one, like, two hundred years old.  My room was right near it.  And one day, there was a storm, and lightning, and it...  Came down.  Took a chunk out of my room, set the house on fire, broke all the windows, including the one my bed was under...  Came down right on me.  I don't know how I'm still alive."

She had been lying on her back when it happened, so the only scars visible from the front side was one on her arm and another down near her hip, where branches had gone straight through her eight-year-old body.  But I knew (she'd showed me) where the gaps in her hair were, and her shoulders and back and buttocks and upper thighs were a criss-cross of scar tissue.  The few that were lower on her legs she had passed off as more normal childhood injuries.  And she had never had a boyfriend, nor a sexual partner other than me.

"I guess that's why you never seem to be interested in dating," Meredith said.

"What would I do?" Sajel said, turning around again, giving us her normal side—which was well-formed and beautiful—and the deep, ancient pain in her eyes.  "The first time he hugged me, he'd notice...  And then what would happen?  He might break up with me, he might not...  He might tell everyone he knows, he might not...  I might be ruined, I might not..."

"Saje, anyone who'd skip over you just because of that...  Well, you probably wouldn't want him anyway."  Surprisingly, it was Zach who spoke.

"Yeah but..." Sajel said, scooping hair away.  "I know I'm not the greatest of girlfriends either.  I tease everybody all the time—you, Zach, you know.  Sometimes I feel like I can't open my mouth without saying something negative.  And I'm not all that pretty and nobody looks at me like they would a potential girlfriend, just as a normal friend, and...  God, I don't know what I'm going to do."

Christa hugged her.  "Hush.  It's okay.  You'll find someone.  We all have our burdens to bear."  And Zach's arms descended around them both, and Sajel cried.

Meredith and I traded glances, and our hands found each other.

Jeff spoke up from behind me: "Now that's every man's fantasy right there."  And the room dissolved into laughter again, while Sajel wiped her eyes and tried to muster her composure.

The front door opened, and I heard footsteps.  "Hi, guys," Mrs. Levine said, "how's the party Oh my goodness."

Meredith and I turned and waved.  "Hi, Mom.  We're just encouraging a little outreach."

"Yes, I, uhm.  I can see that," Mrs. Levine said.

"Wow," said Mr. Levine, coming up behind her.  "Certainly makes me remember my younger days."

"Roger," Mrs. Levine scolded.

"Meredith, it's your party," he said, "and whatever you want to do is fine with us.  But if this somehow gets back to us as a cause for trouble, we're not going to cover for you."

Meredith gulped.

"Roger, is that really necessary?" Mrs. Levine asked.

"I hope it isn't," he said, smiling.  "I'm not trying to threaten you or anything, Meredith, but it comes down to one thing: it's your party.  And what happens here is your responsibility.  I don't know if all this is a good idea, so I'll trust your judgment, but that means you've got to make sure it stays a good idea.  And if things start getting out of hand, you need to get in and put a stop to it.  We'll help you if you need it, but it all comes down to you."

Meredith nodded.  "I understand."

"Good," her father said, smiling.  "Have fun, kiddo."  He headed back towards the stairs.

"And I'm gonna get you some towels," Mrs. Levine said.

"And we've gotta finish with those cookies," Meredith said.

"And take all that makeup off," I told her.  Using some water and a damp paper towel, she did.

It was strange: we'd been around each other a lot; we'd had sex; we were getting married for Christ's sake, at least probably...  And yet, we'd never been naked together at the same time, except for having sex and aftermath cuddling.  We'd never just done things naked, in other words.  (Except for on Thursday, when we followed Michael around, but that doesn't count.)  And let me tell you, even just laying out cookies becomes something else entirely when the person who's helping you has got no clothes on.

And what it meant was that, when Meredith and I brought back the tray of cookies, we brought back something else too.

"Wow, Brandon!" Zach said.  "Strutting your stuff, eh?"  He pointed, and if anyone else hadn't noticed I had a boner, they sure saw it now.

I admit it: I almost dropped the cookies and ran.  But Meredith sallied in return: "Right, like you haven't got one, hugging two girls at once."  Sajel seemed okay now, but he was still wrapped around Christa.

"Guilty as charged," Zach pronounced.  "But Christa seems okay with it."

"Actually, I'm not," Christa said, looking up over her shoulder at him.  "I wish you'd stop poking me."

"Hey, I could poke you in other places if you want," Zach said, eyebrows waggling.

"Aww—" Jane said, covering her face with her hands in disgust.

"Are you sure you can handle it, Zach," Derek called.  "Maybe you'd better practice it first."

Arie, across the room, burst out laughing.  Meredith and I traded confused glances.  Practice?  Huh?  Was there something we had missed?

Mrs. Levine came back in with an armload of beach towels.  "Okay," she said, "everybody stand up for a minute."  And while everyone who had been occupying the couches and chairs stood up, she spread the towels over them.  Instantly I saw the wisdom in her actions.  You never think about it, but, really: if you're hosting a nude party, do you honestly want everyone's bare bums on your couch?  Yeah, didn't think so.  "Try not to make too much of a mess," she said, grinning, and headed out.

And then stopped.  "Why, Jane.  Not joining the festivities?"

Jane shrugged, averting her eyes, clearly uncomfortable with the attention.  "No."

"Why not?" Mrs. Levine asked.

"Don't want to," Jane said.  And then: "I haven't got a boyfriend anyway."

"Neither do I," I offered.

"Yeah, I'd think not," Jane retorted.

"Neither do I," Jeff offered, leaning in.  "—Well.  Girlfriend, I mean.  Dangit, I haven't got either of 'em.  But you don't see that stopping me."

"Yeah, but..." Jane protested.  "You were in The Program."

"Caleb wasn't," I said.  "Sajel wasn't.  Jenny wasn't."

"Jenny?" Jane asked.  "Derek's sister?"

"Yeah, she's over there," I said, pointing.  But that was basically the whole rest of the room; how should I pick her out?  Inspiration struck: "The other one who shaves down there."

"Oh," said Jane.

Mrs. Levine saw too.  "My goodness," she said, her eyebrows skyrocketing.

"And besides," I said.  "You could be in The Program, too, if you signed up."

"No," Jane said, eyes wide.

Meredith looked over.  "No what?"

"No, I'm not entering The Program," Jane said.

"Why not?" Meredith said.  "You don't have anything to hide, do you?  —The way Sajel does," she added hastily, when it looked like Jane might take offense.  "I mean, yeah, we all have private parts.  But, it's a new world nowadays.  You can have a right to bare whatever you want."

"But what if you don't want to?" Jane asked.

"Why not," Meredith asked.

"I just...  I don't think it's right," Jane said.

"Why not," Meredith said again.  "What's wrong with being proud of the body God gave you?  It's a pretty incredible piece of work, after all.  And you're far from unattractive."

"No, that's not it," Jane said.  "Yeah, it's...  There's nothing wrong with being proud of your body.  But I don't want people touching me."

"That does get intrusive at times," Jeff said.  "It's like, you're trying to get to class and this girl's like, 'No, no, just two more minutes,' and you get in and Crasilneck's like, 'And where have you been, young man.'  Not exactly fun."  I was personally impressed: it was the longest string of words I'd ever heard from Jeff.

"No, that's not it either," Jane said.  "I'm...  I don't think it's right to touch people in that way unless you love them and are going to marry them."

"Why not," Jeff asked.

But Meredith overrode him.  "Well," she said, "no one's gonna do that here.  We respect you."

"Yeah right," Jane said.  "Look at you, you're all...  Uh.  You're...  Um."  She blushed.  "Hard."

I glanced down at myself.  Yep.  Still hard.  "Jane, that's pretty normal," I said.

"Yeah right," she said.

"No, it's true," I said.  "At any given time, about ten percent of all guys in the world are hard.  Why?  No reason.  Some of them may have to pee—you get erections if you really have to go because there's a valve that closes off when you're erect.  Some of them may just be feeling warm and comfortable.  A few of them may be having sex.  And the rest of them just happen to be aroused for some reason.  For instance, one of them happens to have his arm around his naked girlfriend, which is not really usual."

"It's true," Meredith said.  "Guys get erections for no real reason.  Or, sometimes, for the slightest of reasons.  It happens to girls too."  She shrugged.  "Sometimes the strangest things set me off.  It's just part of being alive.  And being aroused doesn't mean you're gonna do something about it.  You learn to live with it.  It's part of being civilized."

"Maybe, but still," Jane said.  "Zach's here.  Like anything's gonna stay civilized for long."

"Zach!" Meredith called.  We couldn't see him from where we were standing.  "If Jane gets naked, are you going to molest her?"

"'Course not," Zach called back.  "I've got my hands full."

"Of what?" Arie asked from somewhere else—she seemed to be on the couch over with Gavin and Erica.

"Err...  You don't wanna know," Zach said.

Christa's bright giggle carried very well over the room.

"Well," Meredith said, turning back to us.  "If he's busy over there, he won't come bother you.  And no one else is going to either."

"Who knows," Jeff said.  "You might like it.  And where better to experiment than among friends?"

That was actually probably the wrong thing to say—in my experience, when Jane finds she likes something, it makes her avoid it even more.  So it was much to my surprise when she looked at us and said, "Well...  Okay.  But I can put my clothes back on at any time."

"Of course," Meredith said.  "No one's making you do anything, Jane.  It's only if you want to."

"All right, I'll..."  Jane tugged at the hem of her tie-dye shirt.  She looked around (belatedly I noticed that Meredith's mom had disappeared).  "Meredith, can I...  Can I go use your bathroom to change?  I don't wanna..."

"Sure, go ahead," Meredith said.  "I'll come with you, if you like."

"Sheesh," I said, grinning.  "How come women always go to the bathroom in packs?"

"No, I'll be...  I..."  Jane looked around helplessly, her mouth opening and closing.  "Actually, I...  Brandon, could you come with me?"

Now it was my turn to gape.  I looked at Meredith.  She seemed as flabbergasted as I was, but seeing my gaze turn, she gestured with head and arms, something to the effect of, Um, sure, I have no problem with it, I think, I'm mostly trying to get over the fact that she asked at ALL...

"Are you sure?" I asked Jane.  I mean, why me?  We sort of have history.

"Just...  I trust you," Jane said.  "I..."

This was all getting really weird really fast.  I glanced back at Meredith and saw her give me a helpless shrugg.  "Uh, sure, then," I said, "well, uh.  Shall we?"

The bathroom was large enough for two people comfortably, maybe three.  Jane immediately stepped into the bathtub, so I leaned against the sink (yikes cold porcelain!) and tried to center myself.  This was weird.  I mean.  This was weird.

Through the mottled glass of the bathtub door I could see Jane's silhouette: the flare of color was her tie-dye shirt, and the columns of blue below that, her jeans.  Then the shirt moved to one side, and suddenly instead there was a pillar of flesh.  I swallowed.

Jane's voice rebounded and echoed oddly in the room:  "Brandon, why did we break up?"

Suddenly I understood some of why I was here.  Aside from a short, abortive relationship during freshman year with some oblivious jerk, I was the only boyfriend she had ever had.  I was the only one who had ever said I loved her, who had ever gotten her a birthday present.  I was the only one who had ever wanted to see what she was about to show, who had ever had any chance (however slim) at seeing what she was about to show.  I was at once her most ardent proponent and her strongest critic.  If she could survive me...  She could survive anyone.

"We broke up because..."  I stared at the door, through the door, into the dim mists of memory.  "Because I felt like you didn't love me enough."

"Well, yeah," she retorted, "you wanted me to have sex with you."

"That's not all I wanted," I said.  "Jane, you cling to your virtue like it's a lifeline.  And I don't just mean your virginity, I mean just the appearance (and also the truth) that you're a good, dutiful girl.  What I had hoped..."  I sighed.  I was going to sound incredibly selfish.  Honestly, I was incredibly selfish.  "What I had hoped, was that I would be more important than that.  That you'd give it up for me."  And selfish for good reason.  Meredith is the brightest star in my sky, but Jane is only a little dimmer.

"They can co-exist, you know," Jane said.

"Not with you spending six hours a day on homework," I said.  "Remember when I asked you to join choir, and you said you couldn't, because your grades in your 'real' classes would suffer?  Remember how many weekends we'd not see each other during, because you had too much work to do?  I felt like I was playing second fiddle.  I felt like I wasn't important to you."

"Brandon—"  A touch of impatience to her voice now.  "Just how important did you want to be?"

I stared at the floor.

"About a month before we broke up, I took one of those online surveys," I said.  "It had twenty-six questions, one for each letter of the alphabet: you know, 'After-school Activity you do' for A, or 'Name' for N.  The entry for Q was, 'Question you want to ask.'  And I answered, 'Contact me privately if you want to know, because I'm sure as hell not saying it in public.'

"And a few people who read my little blog thing contacted me, and I told them the question I wanted to ask, was..."  I took a deep breath.  " 'Jane, will you marry me.' "

There was silence from the bathtub.

"Now obviously it was a bit premature—I mean, I was fifteen at the time, and you were sixteen, which isn't a whole lot better.  But...  You wanted to know.  And I guess I told you."

"I guess you did," she said.

Then there was further rustling from inside the bathtub.  I scrubbed at my face with one hand and tried to ignore the raw edges of that wound, gnawing at me.  Failure is one of the hardest emotions to cope with, especially something like this.  How do you accept it when you've given someone everything you have, and it still wasn't enough?  Of course, in my case, someone had come along to distract me—Meredith, who did appreciate all that I had given her—but that didn't heal the original wound, just made it easier to ignore.

"I guess you must be thinking of asking Meredith then," Jane said suddenly.  "I mean...  Even I can see how much you guys are into each other."

"No, not really," I said.  And then, sensing her confusion: "Not so much thinking about it as just sort of assuming it'll happen.  Being so sure of it that I don't even have to think about it."  I hoped I wasn't wrong.

A few moments later, the tub door slid open and Jane stepped out.

I'd seen her in bathing suits before—one-piece bathing suits, like Sajel—so there were a few things I knew about her: her long legs a bit wrinkled from less-than-vigilant muscle toning; the always-sagging arc of her shoulders; the twisted, wispy pubic hairs that spread to the inner thigh.  But there was much, much more that I did not know.

Her skin was flawless, fairly pale from days spent indoors and showing none of the sometimes-acne her face was prone to.  Her breasts were full and well-formed, easily the equal of Arie's (which are nothing compared to what you might see on the Internet, but as Arie herself is fond of pointing out, the Web and real life are very different places); her nipples were a little larger than pencil-eraser nubs, surrounded by dark areolas.  Her pubic mat was a dense, tangled thatch of dark gold.  Her hips, quite a bit wider than her shoulders—what a strange thing; I knew she'd gotten it from her mother because I'd met her—narrowed gracefully up to her waist.  Her eyes were large and soulful, a welter of emotions released behind them.

What a thing to see.  Too late, now; but, what a thing to see.

She mustered a faint smile from somewhere.  "Do I pass?"

"When have you not?" I asked.  "I always knew you were beautiful."

"Yes, you certainly told me enough times," Jane said.

"And now that I've seen all of you, you can trust that I'm not lying," I said.

"Your thing seems to agree," she said, giggling a little, and I noticed my erection again.  I gave a weak smile in return.

There was silence for a moment.

"You were wrong," she said finally, so softly I could barely hear.  "I did love you."

"I know," I said, my heart coming up into my throat.  I wasn't sure if I believed it—I mean, who ignores someone they love in favor of homework?—but I couldn't very well say that right now.  Besides, she clearly believed it; and, really, who else would know.  "And I loved you."

"I know," she said.

What a thing to learn.  Too late, now; but, what a thing to learn.

I mustered energy from somewhere.  "Are we ready?"

She looked at herself in the mirror for a short second, seeing her own profile: her proud breasts; the feminine upturned curve of her rear, refusing to be conquered by her slouching; the total lack of clothing.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she said finally.

People stared when we emerged.  Silence fell.

"Uh.  Hi guys," I said.  "This is Jane."

Jane was pale, but she managed a smile and a wave.

Sajel, out of the silence, walked over to us, her stride measured.  They shook hands.  "Hello, Jane," Sajel said.  "Welcome to the club.  And please let me say in a purely platonic non-homosexual way that you are a very attractive young woman."

"Thanks," Jane said, blushing now.  "I think."

"Compliments are good, you like compliments," I said in a pseudo-hypnotic voice.

"Best thing to get besides sex," Jeff said.  Jane blushed, everybody else laughed.  And under the cover of that laughter, Jane took her first step into a larger world.

Sa.7

Oh-Em-Gee.  Oh my God.  How crazy is that.  Jane?  Jane Myers?  With no clothes on??  And built, to boot, those hips are a little crazy but with boobs like that, you'd think she'd be showing 'em off, getting a little more attention?  And she wears a bra, too, when she turned around I could see the lines where the straps had cut into her back...  How come nobody's ever noticed her before?  How come she doesn't preen for attention?

Crazy.  The world's going crazy.

And how come Zach hadn't said a damn thing?

"I dunno, Arie," Meredith said when I asked her.  "That's a good—  Brandon, where's Zach?  Arie just brought up a good point."

Brandon looked over his shoulder at me.  "Why do you need Zach?"

"Why didn't he say anything when Jane came out?" I asked.

"Well, he did promise to behave," Brandon said.

"And do you really expect him not to stretch that definition?  He didn't say anything.  That's not like him."

"Hmm..." Brandon said, squinting, looking all around him.  "Where is he?"

"Christa's not here either," Meredith said.

They blinked at each other.

"Oh, great," I said, the obvious conclusion coming to me.  "Where was he when we couldn't find him at your house?"

Brandon's eyebrows bobbed.  Meredith's reached her hairline.  "Shit," she said (OMG again, by the way).  "I hope they keep quiet.  My parents' bedroom is up there."

"Want to go stop 'em," Brandon asked.

"Is it just me," I said, "or have they been...  A lot more horny recently?"

"You know, I think you're right," Meredith said.  "Christa said that they have sex only, like, twice or four times a month.  Mostly depending on what kind of privacy they can get, but also—and this is the crazy part—evidently Zach's okay with them not doing it."

Brandon and I both gaped at her.

"I know," Meredith said, "that was my reaction too.  But this week, what is it..."

"After that whole snugglefest on Wednesday, I'm betting they found a way to do it," I said.

"And then on Thursday, they snuck off in my house," Brandon said.

"And then today, I bet if we go upstairs, we'll find them bonking on each other," Meredith said.

Brandon looked at her.  "Whose room do you think they chose, yours or Michael's?"

Meredith's eyes crammed shut.  "Yuck.  If they have any sense, they took the guest bedroom across the hall."

"What do you think caused it then," I asked.  "I mean, we've already figured out this isn't normal.  For them or in general.  It's like they suddenly hit the honeymoon phase of their relationship, only, that's normally like the first phase of the relationship."

"Well, as far as I can tell, based on talking to Christa, they were always more like friends-with-benefits than anything else," Meredith said.  "I guess now they're discovering their passion for each other."

I thought about what they'd told us at the miniature golf place, about the work they'd put into their relationship, the understanding they'd reached only a month ago.  With that in mind, the timing made sense.  If anything, I'd be surprised it took them this long to really get into each other.

A sudden longing overtook me.  Derek hadn't touched me since Tuesday.  Zach and Christa were upstairs right now doing unspeakably wonderful things to each other, and here I was: I hadn't gotten any since Tuesday, and I was aching.  I admit it: I love sex.  Maybe I even need sex.  I certainly get cranky if I can't have it.  I don't know what Derek thinks, but for obvious reasons he doesn't complain.  And so the totally hands-off element of the week had me steamed up and frustrated.

But it was more than that.  I loved him so much.  Sometimes it was hard to remember that, because I was so scared of losing him.  I'd like to say I took him to bed that first night because I knew what a gem he was, but I'd be lying; the truth was, I did it because I could (and because I was horny).  But after that I had gotten to know him, and it had been like an endless miracle: finding all these things I liked about him.  His sense of humor, his compassion, his hands on my breasts, his unflinching support.  His willingness—almost a compulsion—to help those in need.  It was something I understood well, very well; for me, it was to atone for my own weakness.  Maybe I can't stand up myself, but I can help someone else get to their feet.  I'm not sure why he did it.  But we loved each other, because we knew we could depend on each other; because we knew that, if one of us fell, the other would be there to help pick us up.

And then Jenny entered his life, desperate and confused; and then Faith entered his life, the most needy little thing in the universe.  And I felt...  Supplanted.  I felt replaced.  I had counted on being his first priority forever; I had counted on his compulsion to help, which should keep him near me forever—because, my God, when do I not need help?  And yet I had been shoved aside.  Did I panic?  You bet I did.

And then after I'd finished panicking, I'd made it worse by failing to realize that, just because he had transferred his first-aid instincts to someone else, it didn't mean he had transferred his love for me to them as well.

He was looking over at me, I realized suddenly—he was looking over at me, something unknown and unhappy in his eyes; but as I met his gaze, he turned away.  And Meredith's hand landed on my shoulder, and she looked at me and said softly, "Go."  And I did.

"Hi," I said to him.

"Hi," he said unhappily, and looked away for a distraction—but Sajel, whom he had been talking to a second ago, was suddenly gone.

"Look," I said, "I—"

"If you're here to blame me some more," he said, "I'm not interested."

"That's a fine way to treat your girlfriend," I said.

"You're not my girlfriend," he said curtly, "we broke up.  Now if you'll excuse me—"

"Derek!—"  My hand darted out to grab his sleeve—great, he didn't have a sleeve.  It faltered, fell.  Tears threatened.  "Derek, wait," I whispered.

He turned back.

"I miss you," I said.  "I miss what we had.  Don't you?"

His eyes were shadowed for a moment.  "Yeah," he said finally, reluctantly.

"Then let's fix this.  Let's sit down and talk this out and fix this.  ...Please."

He stayed.

"Okay," I said.  "We...  Okay.  First thing we need to do, is decide not to get angry.  I'm going to try not to.  Can you try too?"

"I will, but I have been trying that this whole time," he said.  "You haven't been really conducive to calm discussion."

"Well, I'm trying now, okay," I whispered.  Frankly, I was too scared to get angry.  "Will you try too?"

"Fine," he said.  "Fine."

"All right then," I said.

Deep breath.

"I'm sorry for...  I'm sorry for overreacting.  It wasn't appropriate.  It wasn't appropriate at all.  I got scared, sure...  But that wasn't any reason to lash out at you.  All I can say is...  I was scared of losing you."

"And that makes it right?" Derek said.

"No," I said.  "Of course not.  But what I'm trying to say is that...  The reason I overreacted so badly, is because I was so scared of losing you.  Because you're that important to me.  Because I...  I love you that much.  I know we've thrown that around a lot and said it without meaning it, but I mean it now, I really do.  I don't want to lose you."

"And you think I can just forget all that happened this week," Derek asked.

"No," I said.  "Of course not.  But are you also going to tell me that what happened this week was enough to destroy what we have?"

My heart thundered in my throat.  Oh God please don't say yes.  I'd die.  I'd explode.  At the very minimum, I'd cry.  All sounded equally bad to me.

He was silent for a long moment.

"No," he said at last.  "No, it's not.  We have something special."

I breathed a sigh of relief.

"But, Arie...  There's parts of you I've seen this week that I don't like."  He grimaced.  "Or, at least, that I'm not sure I can handle.  Are you always gonna freak out like this if something happens and I try to help out?  Are you always gonna overreact if something goes wrong?"

I took a deep breath.  "I'm gonna try not to," I said.  "You're right, I do overreact, and it's because of...  Well, actually, I'm not really sure why I do.  But that's better than this time last week, when I didn't know I was overreacting.  Maybe, now that I know it's there, I can control it."  I smiled.  "And if not, you can always remind me."

"I may hold you to that," he said.

"No, I'd want you to remind me," I said.  "You think I like panicking like this?  The more you can head it off, the better!"

He was silent for a moment, regarding me.

"You were right about...  About me being too interested in helping other people," he said finally.  "I should've—"

"No, no," I said, "you did nothing wrong, I'd...  I'd've hated myself if you'd actually left either of them alone because of me."

"Yes, but then it's all your fault, and that's not fair," he said.  "It has to be my fault somewhere.  Or else I can just say, 'Okay, it's her job to change and fix this,' and just sit here."

"Hmm.  Good."

"So.  I should've listened to you.  Because I—"

"Sooo, what's going on over here," Zach said suddenly.  He and Christa had their arms around each other and there was a distinct smugness on both their faces.

Derek gave them a dubious look.  "What's up over here?"

"I think they went off to, ah...  Practice something," I said.

Derek's eyebrows jumped and he gave them both a once-over—particularly Christa, whose fading arousal was still pretty prominent, if you knew what to look for.  Christa, surprisingly, preened under his attentions.

"Oh," Derek said finally.

"Yeah, so," Zach said.  "Our turn.  What's going on over here?"

"We're...  We're talking," I said.

"Ooh," Christa said.  "Any particular reason?"

"Yeah," Derek said flatly.  "Arie's horny."

"No!" I protested.

"Not according to those," Derek said, pointing.  My nipples pointed back to him.

All right, I admit it.  Christa had that particular freshly-fucked look to her—I'm sure everyone could see it, maybe even Jane—and it was turning me on.  I wanted to look like that.  I wanted to be like that.  I was frustrated beyond all reason.

"All right, fine, but it's more than that too!" I said.  "I could walk up to any guy here and try to proposition them if I wanted.  Sure, most of them are attached, but so what—I'm sure Meredith would loan Brandon out if necessary."  I poked him in the chest.  "But I'm not.  I don't want any of those guys.  I want..."  Anger drained into weariness.  Look at this battle we're fighting.  "I want my boyfriend back."  I sighed.  "I want you."

"And what if someone walked up to you right now and said, 'Okay, let's fuck, no strings attached,' " Christa asked.

I sighed.  "I'd probably turn them down."

Derek gazed at me.

"Okay?" I said.  "So.  I'm sorry.  I'm really sorry.  Can we make this work?  'Cause I don't know what I'm gonna do if we can't."

Derek looked at me.

"Come on, man," Zach said.  "You know you wanna."

"You love her," Christa said.  "And it's pretty obvious she loves you too."

"You get along well," Zach said.  "You have a lot of things in common."

"You always smile whenever you see her, Derek," Christa said.

"And sex, man, come on," Zach said, "who can say no to sex."

Derek looked at me.

He smiled and touched my cheek.  "I could never say no to you."

Tension poured out of me in a relieved burst of laughter.  I felt tears on my cheeks.

"You know what I was most scared of," he said.  "That you actually would try and force me to stop talking to them.  Because I could never say no to you.  I love you, Arie."

"I love you, Derek."  I flew into his arms and cried, and he stroked my hair.  It was the first time we had held each other in a long, long time.  We have sex a lot, but it's not often we just...  Touch.

It was nice.

"Okay, uh, great, now that you both are horny," Zach said, and suddenly I noticed Derek's cock, definitely erect, poking at my hip.  "There does happen to be a spare bedroom upstairs, which Christa and I undertook the grueling task of testing out for you, and we can report with great confidence that it is a very good place for some surreptitious fucking."

"Whoa, Zach," Christa said.  "That's a big word.  Where did you learn it?"

Derek and I looked at each other.

"Oh God," Meredith said as we passed, "not another one.  Now it's my house that's turning into a bordello."

"Well, mine's been taken over by my parents," Brandon said, "and we gotta have one in the group somewhere..."

We found the guest bedroom with little trouble; it was the only door open up there, besides a bathroom, and the only one with no personal effects.  We closed the door behind us and noticed the rumpled state of the bedclothes.

"Okay, so," I said.  "The last people in this bed were Zach and Christa.  Does that bother you?"

He blinked.  He shrugged.  "Not particularly."

I grabbed him and pulled him down with me.  His lips landed on mine and we kissed, rolling about the bed, our hands running over each other's flesh, reacquainting ourselves: this curve, this shoulder, this hollow, oh, I know this, I remember this, it's been so long; it's only been a few days, and yet it's been so long...

I wanted everything.  I wanted everything there was to have.  I pushed him over on his back and began to kiss my way down his chest, straying to his nipples once but never losing my goal.

His shaft was firm and warm against my cheek.  And then it was very warm in my mouth.

"Arie," Derek gasped.  "Oh, Arie."

I stroked over his surface with my tongue, feeling the ridges, the bumps, the different texture in the scar tissue where he'd been circumcised, the bulbous, spongy head and the single little slit on its underside, the single vein underneath that was the center of his pleasure.  I love this thing.  Cock.  It's great.

I bobbed my head up and down, letting my lips slide across his length.  My tongue laved his underside, tasting the saltiness, the reddish warmth.  Then I fastened my lips around his head and sucked.

"Oh...  Arie..."

He was close—I could tell.  Only a little more, and he'd shoot in my mouth.  And I wanted that—I love the taste of his cum—but I also knew that we didn't have much time, that it just wasn't appropriate for two people to be fucking in the guest bedroom of someone else's house, that every minute we spent here was another minute closer to getting caught.  If he came now, he'd never be hard in time for round two.  And I wanted him to fuck me more than I wanted him to shoot off in my mouth.

"What?" he said, as I climbed back up him.  "You're not gonna keep going?"

"We can't stay here that long," I said.  Then I grinned.  "It's all your fault, anyway.  You don't recycle fast enough."

Derek rolled his eyes.  "Like anyone could turn around fast enough for you."

I swatted him.  "Shut up."

"But, no, seriously..."  He shrugged.  "I know how much you like it when I come in your mouth."  He chuckled.  "About as much as I like it.  I'm just..."  He shrugged.  "Surprised, is all."

"You know me, full of surprises," I said, lying down next to him.

He looked at me for a moment.  "Arie, is this...  Is this really what you want?"

I blinked at him.  "What?"

"All the...  Ugh.  Okay, you know how they say that humans are driven by basic urges?  You know, like, sleep, food, oxygen, all that stuff."

I nodded.

"Well, Arie, you are driven by sex.  You're not wild or promiscuous or anything, but you take it when it's there, and when you can't, you go out and get it."  A wry smile.  "Literally.  And I keep wondering..."  The humor fell away from his eyes.  "Is this just convenient for you?  I'm just nearby, and so you grab me?  Because..."  His eyes squeezed shut for a moment.  "Because I'm okay with that, honestly.  I..."  He sighed.  "I'm crazy about you.  I'd let you use me if it meant I could be near you.  But...  Don't tell me you love me just to hook me in, okay?  Let's...  Let's be honest."

"Okay," I said.  I climbed astride his hips and leaned down over him.  "I love you."

He frowned.  "Okay, this is just what I'm talking about."

"How do you want me to say it, then?  How can I say it that you'll believe me?"  Tears leaked down my cheeks.  "I can't, that's obvious.  I can say anything I want, but if you won't trust me, then...  Then there's no point."  I climbed off of him.

"Wait, where are you going," he asked, alarmed.

I swiped at my nose with one hand.  "You don't trust me anymore.  You—  You think I'm just u-using you for sex."

"No—no, no, wait," he said.  He leaped up and chased after me, catching me at the door.  "I do trust you.  I want you to stay—"

"And how do I know you're not just saying that because you're desperate too," I said.  "How do I trust you?  How do I know I can trust you?  How do we know we can trust each other?"

We stared at another for a moment.

"I think...  We don't," Derek said finally.  "But we go on anyway.  We hope, and we go on as if we can, and maybe we find out we're right."

"What if we're wrong," I whispered.

"Then we were wrong," he said.  "When is entering a relationship ever not a risk?"

He was right.

"I dunno, Derek, I'm scared."  I turned to face him.  "I dunno who we are anymore."

He took me in his arms, his chin resting on my head.  "Neither do I, hon."

My tears skittered down his chest.

"But I like you more than I dislike you," he said.  "And I think that's what matters."

"Enough to put up with me even when I panic," I said.

"Even enough to put up with you when you push me away," he whispered.

I clung to him.  "I'll take it."

Sa.8

Around nine o'clock the party started winding down.  There had been a number of amusing hijinks in the backyard pool, and by the time the pizzas arrived and everyone came out, it was late enough and cool enough that everyone wanted their clothes back.  Jane had managed for the entire afternoon.  Sure, she hadn't been particularly comfortable, but at least she hadn't bolted.  She stayed mostly with Brandon and Sajel and I, who were content to mostly sit off to one side and watch Zach and Gavin and the others goof off.  I noticed Brandon glancing at Jane from time to time, but I guess that was to be expected: he'd dated her for longer than he had me, and her body had been a forbidden fruit for all that time.  As opposed to mine, which we'd gotten to within about a week.  Perhaps there was, I reflected, a use for abstinence.

What was surprising was the other person who kept glancing at Jane.  "Did you notice Jeff?" I asked Brandon.

"What, that he's stuck on Jane?" he asked.  "Yeah.  I hadn't realized until now."

"I don't think he had either," I said.  "Actually, come to think of it, I don't think they'd ever met each other before."

"True," he said.

And then, after a moment, "I think they might be good for each other."

"Maybe," I said.  "They're both really shy, for starters, and they're both very smart.  And good at schoolwork, to boot."

"But is he low-maintenance enough?" he asked me.

"Probably," I said, "look at him.  He spends most of his time sitting off to one side watching what's going on.  He probably has problems with people getting too near him."

"Hmm," Brandon said, squinting.  "Cool beans.  Good thing I got the idea to get them talking, I guess."

I laughed.  "You're awfully modest."

"What?"  He shrugged.  "I didn't come up with it, it just occurred to me.  I'm just glad I listened."

Meredith and Brandon Chambers: matchmakers extraordinaire.

At about nine, Jeff's mom showed up to pick him up; likewise, Gavin had to leave to take Emily home.  Stasya's curfew was 9:30, but it would take Caleb until then to get her home, so they left as well.  Finally, Jane was removed at about 9:30 as well, winnowing the party down further.

"I think what was really surprising, though," I said to Brandon, "was that Arie and Derek didn't have sex."

"You thought so too?" he exclaimed.  "Man, I thought I was seeing things."

"Nope," I said.  "It's 'cause, after Arie's had sex, she's all bouncy and excited.  And she wasn't anything like that today.  If anything, she seemed...  Worried, really.  Concerned about something."

"To the preclusion of sex?" Brandon said.  "Damn.  Must've been something really worrisome."

"But she and Derek stayed near each other the whole time," I said.  "Which is a good sign.  I mean, seriously, they seemed kinda like glued together."

"It's probably for the best," Brandon said.  "They've always been...  Well, kinda the opposite of Zach and Christa, really.  Benefits-with-friends, as opposed to the other way around."

"Sex but not much else," I agreed.

"Now I guess they're finding the 'friends' part of their relationship.  Which is good news, considering the shakeup they just had."

"Yeah," I agreed.

After people began leaving, the party became a little quieter, but no less intense.  It was only the seven of us—plus Jenny, who looked somewhat left-out as the night progressed—and it was the first time in a while we'd all been gathered together in one place, with time to just talk.

"So," Sajel had said.  "How is everybody?"

"We're okay," I had answered, indicating Brandon and myself.  He was sitting in an armchair and I was sideways across his lap, curled in his arms, where we could talk with everyone and still kiss at the same time.

"We're impressed," Zach had said.  "Saje, none of us had any idea of...  Of...  All that stuff.  If I looked like that, no one would know."

"You were very brave to show us everything," Christa said.

"Yeah, no kidding," Arie said.  She sat next to Derek on the couch, holding one of his hands in her lap.  Something could be going on there, but I doubted anything was; Arie would look a little more uncomfortable otherwise.

"Brandon knew," Sajel said.

Beneath me, Brandon shrugged.  "You asked me never to tell anyone, and I haven't."

Christa smiled to me.  "Isn't it nice to know who can keep a secret?"

"You guys?" I asked, looking at Derek and Arie.

They looked at each other for a long moment.

"We're...  Okay," Derek said, not turning away from her.

There was a flickered exchange of glances between the rest of us.  "Okay?" I said.

"That wasn't the tone of voice from someone who's okay," Jenny observed.  "Maybe someone slightly okay.  But not entirely."

There was a moment of long silence.

"Okay," Arie said finally, "so we're not okay."

"How are you, then," Sajel asked.

They looked at each other again, a blinking consultation.

"Shaken," Derek said finally.

"But not stirred, I hope," Zach asked.

We all looked at him.

"Zach's sense of humor is in dire need of remodeling," Sajel said finally.

"I'll put it on my to-do list," Christa promised.

"Oh no you don't," Arie said suddenly.  "Ms. Asinine."

"Ms. What?" I said.

"She did it," Arie said pointing at Christa.  "It was her bad pun."

"Asinine?" I said.  "Arie, what are you talking about?  Bad puns aren't Christa.  They're Zach."  The thought of Christa making a bad joke was...  Well, unthinkable.  It would be the death of all that's good and true.

"Yeah, Arie, what are you talking about?" Christa asked pleasantly.

Arie's face squinched up, and Derek leaned in to whisper to her.

"And to close the circle," Sajel said.  "How are you, Meredith?  What's it like to be sixteen?"

I thought about it.  "Doesn't feel any different," I said, shifting in Brandon's lap to find a better position.  Brandon's eyes opened wide and he hissed breath.  "Hmm, okay, now it feels different."

Sajel shook her head.  "Dirty.  Terribly dirty.  Now we see what being sixteen has done to you."

"Hey, I'm the only one here who hasn't had sex with her boyfriend today," I said mildly.

"Yeah, but, you will when we go home!" Christa retorted, beaming.

Brandon and I smiled at each other.  "Well," I said, blushing.  "I am sixteen."

Christa giggled uncontrollably.  "It's more like—  Heehee.  It's more like you turned sexteen!"

Everyone turned to stare at her.  There was watershed silence for a moment.

"See," Arie said.  "See.  I told you.  I told you she does it.  It's contagious.  It's obviously contagious."  Then, "God, it's like the end of the world."

"I'd never have believed it," Brandon muttered, "if my own ears had not heard it."

"He's corrupting her," Sajel said.  "He's taken a good, fine young woman and turned her into—  Zach, you are not allowed to look proud about this."

"Hee.  I win," Zach said.

"Win what?" Derek asked.

"Who cares?" Zach said.  "I so win."

"No, more like I win," Arie said.  "I called it."

Sajel reached behind her back with one hand and then brought both together in front of her, a little distance apart.  She moved them up and down, squinting at them.  "Chaos multiplying.  Situation uncertain."

"Hey!" Christa cried.  "So that's where it went!"

"You are not allowed to have this back, young lady," Sajel said, pulling the invisible Magic 8-Ball closer to her.  "Not if you are going to make jokes like that."

"So how are we, then," Zach said, breaking through the hilarity.  "All of us."

Arie looked around.  "We are dazed," she said.  "And confused."

"But that's pretty normal," Derek said.  He beamed suddenly.  "Welcome to life, may I take your order?"

"Yes, I'll have two cheeseburgers and a goat, please," Zach said brightly.

"Why a goat?" Christa said.  "...On-on second thought don't answer that."

At ten-thirty, we closed the door as Sajel left; she had insisted on sticking around and helping to clean up a bit.  There wasn't a whole lot to do—just some towels to start running through the laundry, and some leftover paper plates and plastic cups to hunt down.  Brandon had been at my side for twelve hours at this point.  I have to say, I quite liked it.

Mom was in the kitchen, breaking down pizza boxes.  "Is that everyone?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said, "unless someone snuck up to the guest bedroom again."

"Is that everything?" she asked, looking around the kitchen and family room for overlooked trash.  I guessed she was going to ignore the extracurricular activities that had taken place upstairs.

"I think so," I said.  "If there's anything left, it's well-hidden."

Mom nodded and went over to make her own inspection.  "When do you have to be home, Brandon," she asked over her shoulder.

"Whenever I want, as far as I'm concerned," Brandon said.

My mom frowned.  "When do your parents say you have to be home, Brandon?"

"Actually, they didn't say much," he said.  "There's no set specific time.  They can always call my cellphone if they want me to come back.  But, frankly, even if they had told me when to be home, I wouldn't listen."

"Brandon, that's not a particularly good attitude to take," Mom said.  "In my opinion, there's a certain minimum of respect that you should show to everyone, especially parents."

"No, I feel exactly the same way," Brandon said.  "On the other hand, I also feel that every person is owed a minimum of respect.  And if I don't receive it, it lowers my opinion of the offending person."

"And your parents have offended you," Mom said.

"Yes," Brandon said.

"And so that gives you an excuse to disrespect them?"

"No, of course not," Brandon said.  "I'm not that kind of person.  I'll do what they ask, if they ask it.  But if someone else asks me to do something else—for instance, if my girlfriend asks me to help clean up after her birthday party—I'll do that first.  It gets higher priority."

A wild idea flashed through my head.  "And if that girlfriend asks you to stay the night?" I asked him.

He blinked at me.  "Hmm, well.  I'd say that gets very high priority.  But...  I think we should probably clear it with your parents first."

Mom sighed.  "Meredith, you're sixteen.  I trust you to make adult judgments.  But, like your father said, if you do, you must also take on adult responsibilities.  If this gets you in trouble with Brandon's parents, your father and I will not intercede.

"I understand," I said.

"All right then," Mom said.  She tied closed the black garbage bag and gave it to us.  "Dump this in the garage, will you?"

"Maybe we should ask your parents," I said to Brandon.

"That's probably not a smart idea," he said.  "They'll expressly forbid it.  If I just stay, then I can argue retroactively that, since it wasn't forbidden at the time, I wasn't breaking any—  Hmm, just a second."  He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket.  "Hmm, speak of the devil.  Hello?

"Yes, Dad, I know how late it is.  I'm helping Meredith clean up.

"It was fun.  A lot of people came.  My friends and hers.

"Hmm, well.  As a matter of fact, there was.  It was mostly Zach's idea, but it caught on.

"Dad, most of the people here had been through The Program already.  And those that hadn't, still felt comfortable enough to—

"Dad, even Jane did it.

"No, we did not drug her."

I glanced at him, concerned.

"Dad, I think that you're really overreacting.  Nothing bad happened all—

"No, Meredith's parents took no official stance on the subject.  They said that they consider Meredith to be an adult and capable of making her own decisions.  They also said that, should her decisions incur parental wrath, she would have to face it on her own.

"Wise ones, as far as I'm concerned.  They're letting her make her own mistakes.  I think it's smarter than, let's say, attempting to control your offspring's every move.

"Well, in case you hadn't noticed, you're no longer a teenager.  Things have changed a little bit since then.

"Oh really then?  Why, thank you.  I think I shall.  Actually, I was going to ask you whether I could, but if you're going to give pre-emptive permission—

"I'm sorry Dad, you're breaking up.  I'll see you tomorrow.  Bye."

I blinked at him.  "Was that wise?"

"Was what wise," he asked, stowing away his cellphone.

"Misinterpreting your father's words like that," I said.  I was fairly certain he had said something along the lines of, Well, if you're going to be so immoral, stay there and sleep with your girlfriend tonight.

"It was an opportunity and I took it," Brandon said.  "I would have never gotten a similar one."

"Yes, but..."  I reached out for him.  "I don't want you to get in trouble because of me."

"I think it's a little too late for that," he said wryly.  "If I date you, I'll be in trouble with my parents.  So I might as well be in trouble for a good reason."

"I just don't..."  I sighed.  "I just don't think it's worth the risk you take."

His hand caressed my face.  "Why on earth would it not be?  I get to sleep in the same bed as you tonight.  I get to wake up randomly and see your face.  I get to feel you breathing and smell your hair and kiss you all night long."

Now, who in their right minds would not melt over that?

Mom and Dad met us at the top of the stairs.  They took in our linked hands.  "I take it Brandon's staying," Mom said.

"He is," I said.  "And if there are consequences, we'll face them together."

"You actually got your parents to agree to—" Mom said.  "No.  On second thought, don't tell me.  I think I'm better off not knowing."

"Plausible deniability, as they say in the government," Dad said.  He took a long look at Brandon's face.  "But, since you're going to be our official guess, I suppose I must ask that single dreaded question: 'Young man, what are your intentions towards my daughter?' "

Brandon blinked a couple of times, a bemused smile on his face.  "Well..." he said.  "I love your daughter.  Her happiness is my happiness.  Her fights are my fights.  And...  Sooner rather than later, I'm hoping..."  He took a deep breath.  "...That she'll be my wife."

My parents stared at him.  I beamed at him.

Mom noticed.  "I see from your expression that this isn't news to you."

"The sooner, the better," I chirped.

Dad gave a disgruntled noise.  "Looks like she turned sixteen just in time."

"Oh, no, this has been brewing for a while now," I informed him, beaming.

"I don't suppose there's a ring," Mom said.

"There doesn't need to be one, Andy," Dad said.  "You can see it on their faces."

Mom gave us a long look.

"Yes," she said wistfully.  "I suppose I can."  A strange smile crept across her face.  "I suppose this is what my parents saw the first time we came home—that I wasn't their daughter anymore."

"I guess that's why we trusted her so much today," Dad said.

"What choice did we have?" Mom said.

Brandon and I traded glances.  Neither of us had ever seen my parents wax nostalgic like this before.

"Well," my father said.  "I guess there's only one real thing to say, Brandon."  He opened his arms.  "Welcome to the family."

Brandon hugged him, and smiled like the sun.

We had showered together, slow and loving, taking care to get every spot and probably running down about half the house's hot water supply.  If I'd known, I might not have showered earlier today; but hey, that's what happens when you use a swimming pool.  Not to mention when you've got a boyfriend around.  Any excuse.  How many chances will I ever get like this to simply touch him?

Even better, he spent time combing out my hair.  Now, if you've never had this done to you before, I highly recommend it: standing naked together in that warm bathroom, him behind me, running a comb through my hair, straightening out the tangles, feeling the delicious tugging on my scalp, his arms brushing against my shoulders, and being warm and comfortable and pampered.  And horny, that turns you on in a hurry.  I almost grabbed him and slung him over the counter.  But, in the end, I didn't, because it would've ruined the mood, which was more precious than any sex: that delicious feeling of feeling more loved and more in love than you have ever been in your life.

(And Jane gave up her chance at this willingly?)

After that, we spent some time checking things over the computer—e-mail accounts, instant message programs, news sites, blogs, the like—and waiting for our hair to dry.  His went pretty quickly; mine didn't.  So we picked up some novels and read for a while, propped up against the wall—something I'd never done before.  And now we simply lay in the dark on my bed, our arms around each other, talking, enjoying the closeness, enjoying how each other's presence had made the night something special.

"You know who really surprised me," he said.  "Jane."

"Yeah, no kidding," I said.  I was wearing the same pajamas he had found me in; he had borrowed some sweatpants and a t-shirt from my father.  I enjoyed the feeling of his body next to mine; and the thin cloth of shirt across my chest made me feel strangely sensual.  "You think we might see her in The Program some day?"

"I doubt it," he said.  "You remember what she said: her main problem isn't with her body, it's with participating in sex.  She thinks it's wrong.  And when you get down to it, The Program is all about sex."

"No," I said, "not all the way.  It's also about...  There's also an element of, How far will you go?  What counts as 'reasonable'?  If somebody asks you to something you've never done before" (cope with an insane and airheaded Partner) (give the ugliest nerd in school a blowjob) (watch your boyfriend be a crutch to someone else) (stand back and let your girlfriend walk into the lion's den) "can you do it?  Will you rise to the challenge?  Or, will you falter?"

"Hmm," said Brandon.  "That's interesting.  Because, of all the people who might want to avoid sex, Jane would be the one to point to.  But of all the people who refuse to back down from challenges...  It'd also be Jane."

I nodded.  "Weird, huh."

"In other words, the logical solution, if you want her to join The Program, is to present her sexuality as a challenge," Brandon said.  "The problem is, I'm not sure that's possible.  I think for Jane, the challenge inherent in sexuality is repressing it, not unleashing it.  You accuse her of being a prude, and she'll take pride in that."

"Maybe," I said, "but maybe not.  Look at what she did today.  She actually stood up and got naked.  In a room where most of the people that she knew, had been sexually active.  I mean, what?—her and Jeff?  That was like it as far as virgins go.  She wouldn't've done that if she wasn't at least a little open to the idea of sexuality, because she knew that, in this room at least, nudity and sex are related."

"Enh..." he said.  "I dunno.  Jane's good at that whole denial thing."  He grimaced.  "Like my parents.  'If I don't want it to be true, it isn't.  I don't want nudity and sex to be related for me.  So they aren't.' "

"I don't understand how people can live like that," I said, "in such constant...  Denial."

"Neither do I," he said.  "Which is probably why I don't live like that."

"Nope," I said, turning in his grasp to flop over on my stomach, my arm draped across his chest.  I closed my eyes and gave a contented smile.  "You don't.  You live in a world of hard, terrible realism, where everything looks exactly the way it should and nobody's allowed to lie to themselves."

He chuckled.  "You make it sound like a crime."  His hand stroked my hair.

"Well," I sighed.  "I suppose it must be easier to live in a world that changes depending on what you want it to look like."

"Yes, but ultimately more destructive," he said.  "The problem with fighting the world is that the world always wins.  Mostly because it's a little bit bigger."

"But what about people like Gandhi, or Galileo," I said.  "Or Darwin.  Or Martin Luther King.  They fought against the world.  They went against the establishment and tried to change what everybody thought."

"Yes, they did," Brandon said, "and they had a couple of advantages.  For one, they were right.  Humanity tends towards increased knowledge as a whole, and intellectual fads only manage to slow it down.  For two, in Gandhi's and King's case, they didn't work against the system, they worked within it.  Both of them used public opinion against their oppressors.  They got people to notice their plight, which was fundamentally wrong.  And after that, it was just a matter of keeping the pressure up."

He laughed.  "Keep in mind that I'm putting this together from half-remembered social studies classes.  I probably have my facts wrong."

"Maybe," I said.  "But I think you have something there."

We were silent for a time.  His hand stroked my hair, my back.  His heart thumped under my left shoulder.  I felt the expansion-compression of his breathing, the warmth of his body, and sighed and smiled and thought I could die with happiness.

"What are you thinking?" he said.

"Just...  About how happy I am to have you near me," I said.

"Hmm."  I heard the smile lighting his voice.  "I guess that would make two of us, then."  His arm tightened around me momentarily.  Then, in a very different voice: "Is this what it's going to be like when we're married?"

I raised my head.  "What do you mean?"

"Well..."  His eyes were worried.  "You know people get bored of each other after they get married.  I...  I never want that to happen."

I grimaced.  He had a point.

"Well, every couple is different, I think," I said.  "And..."  Hesitating.  God, how embarrassing if I should prove to be wrong.  "It's only been five days for us.  But I haven't gotten bored yet, and I doubt I ever will."

His eyebrows climbed.  "Hmm.  So I guess I'm not the only one who thinks that."

"No," I said, relieved.  "You are not."

"So," he said. "The fact that I haven't even given you a ring...  Out the window?"

I smiled.  "You ask any time you want, love.  But why stand on ceremony?  We know what the answer will be."

He smiled too.  "My parents are gonna love this."

I shrugged.  "Well, they'll have to learn to live with it, I suppose."

"Aren't you the one normally advocating moderation?"

I kissed him.  "Not where my man is involved."

I rolled off of him and turned on my side, inviting him over, and he curled up behind me, his arm around me.  After we had lain there for a while, though, he said, "And now I think we should take off our clothes."

"What?"  Of all the things to come out of right field.  "Brandon, are you—quite possibly—suggesting that we should have sex?"

"Why, no, of course, not, perish the thought," he said.  "I am merely suggesting that—should the opportunity arise—it would be...  Wise.  Of us.  To be prepared.  For the eventuality."

I love how he can make that sound even vaguely scientific.  "That sounds like a very wise proposition to me."

And so, a few moments later, we were naked, curled up around each other.  But now there were other problems: his dick nestled against my ass.  I felt it.  And he felt it.  And soon it became obvious just to what extent he felt it.

"Hmm," I said, wiggling.  "Something's poking me down there.  I wonder what it is."

"I have no idea," he said.  "Let me investigate."  His hand slid across my hip and then down, brushing curls of hair.  "Hmm.  This doesn't seem to be it."

"What did you find?" I asked, suppressing the hitch in my voice.

"I don't know," he said.  "Let me see..."  His fingers groped upwards, passing through my pubic thatch—stopped—groped around as in surprise—skittered frantically upwards until they found something soft and yielding: my breast.

"Nope," he said.  "Isn't it either.  Hmm, I wonder what these do..."  And then his hand on my breast made thinking a purely secondary activity.

This continued for a long and unspeakably pleasant length of time, as he teased me with his fingers, and kissed my neck, and I felt my arousal building until I needed his touch.  I took his hand and led it back to my pussy, tingling and begging for attention.  His fingers found me wet and wanting.

"Hmm," he said.  "Meredith.  It's all wet.  Did you take a weewee?"

"I..."  I stifled a gasp as his fingers found my clit.  "I'm not sure.  Uh.  Let me see."  I lifted my leg—purely unnecessarily—and then reached behind me.  "It might be that thing that was poking me—  Oh!"

His dick unfurled from where it had been trapped between us, and came to rest between my legs.  "This thing," I said, wiggling it back and forth—coincidentally wiping it against my pussy lips, spreading their wetness across him.  "This thing has been getting in the—"

And then he slid up into me in a single deep movement, and we were done fooling around.

My leg steadied, resting atop his.  His hand moved back to my breast, fondling the nipple, cupping it, drawing it out.  My own hand moved back to my clit and massaged it; I had long gotten past the strange embarrassment of playing with myself in his presence.  His arm drew me closer, and I leaned back into his chest, turning my head up to kiss him.  And as always there was his cock inside me, sliding slowly in and out, pushing up into me, spreading my walls in that inexpressible way, the one thing I would never have enough of.

It was slow; it was luxurious; it was sinfully good.  We must have stayed there for ten or fifteen minutes—which may not be long, but let's be honest, Brandon's not a king when it comes to stamina.  And it was enough for me to reach my peak and come down before he gave an almost inaudible moan and I felt him strain and burst and flow into me.  His cum spread tingles of warmth through me—not pleasure, but that delicious wriggling that comes from a good stretch, or from huddling warm under the covers on a cold day.  It was happiness.  That was all.

"Meredith?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you," he murmured, and it was like he had given me the world.

We cuddled together, his arm around me, his member still inside me; our breathing calmed and deepened; the night covered us in its velvet embrace.  We slept.