Heart Ball
by Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net

If you are under the age of 18, or otherwise forbidden by law to read electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do something else.

This material is Copyright, 2001, Uther Pendragon. All rights reserved. I specifically grant the right of downloading and keeping ONE electronic copy for your personal reading so long as this notice is included. Reposting requires previous permission.

All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

Heart Ball
by Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net

Part 9
Continued from Part 8

Freshman girls occupied the front seats of the bus Steve rode, well away from the freshman boys in the back. When the bus paused for a slow freight, one of the girls approached Steve shyly. "Are you the Steve who saved Amy Jensen?" she asked.

"I'm the Steve who drove her to the hospital," he answered. "Shannon saved her, Shannon and the doctors." The girl went back to her seat and whispered to her friends.

"What's this, Steve?" one of the few juniors on the bus asked. "Robbing the cradle? She looks like she has a crush on you." Steve, unable to come up with a sensible response, gave no response at all. The crossing gates began to clang, ending the incident.

Steve hurried to English class. Shannon got there a minute before the bell. Steve grinned when he saw her, and she returned that smile with interest. They traded disks slowly enough for each to feel the other's fingers, but quickly enough to be in their own seats before the bell had finished ringing.

Mrs. Foster saw some of it, but decided against commenting. Students were always exchanging things; this exchange was technically outside of class time and didn't stretch the PDA rule much. She'd make a comment if either showed that they hadn't read the assignment.

They were both on top of the material, of course. Steve, who hadn't many other chances to shine in front of his girl, had moved English from his last homework priority to his first.

The next chance to see her was lunch. By the time they had transferred the clock-radio from his backpack to hers, she was joined by two of her friends. They had heard of Shannon's grounding by now, and they were being supportive. Steve wished that they would be supportive some other time.

To top it off, Heather joined them. "I heard about your grounding," she said. "That sucks."

"We were looking forward to the Ball, too," Shannon said. "Now, it looks like we won't be going."

"Ken and I will miss you two," Heather said. "We owe you a lot."

"Ken and you?" Steve asked.

"Yeah. He asked me to be his date to the ball. And that wouldn't have happened without Shannon."

Shannon picked up her own tray when he picked up his, they -- all knowing he would normally take her dirty dishes back with his -- guessed that she wanted the moment alone with him. The two of them left the others still sitting at the table. "Love you," he said as they walked towards the wash area.

"Likewise," she said as they were suddenly surrounded by a mob of kids moving in the opposite direction. Then they parted for the rest of the day.

Steve couldn't read Shannon's letter until after he got home from work and shoveled the walk. When he did read it, he was devastated. She didn't want the talk about their future sexual activities, and most of his last letter had been just that.

He wrote a heartfelt apology. But he did end up with a set of questions:

It had been harder to get to sleep at nine o'clock than Shannon had expected, and it was harder to wake up at two- thirty. She'd read Steve's letter as soon as possible, but turned to homework and the housework her mother assigned her right afterwards.

Now, she decided to put off her excursions into the rest of the house and only deal with the letter. She wanted to save the fantasy and, after thinking for a minute, decided to save the entire letter onto a disk she could keep.

It had been awfully fresh of him to sneak the kiss down there into the letter. On the other hand, it was sexy to think about. It was a little dirty, too; but Shannon was feeling a lot happier about being dirty these days. Look where being a good girl got her, after all.

Still, that didn't mean Steve got to decide whether she would permit that.

The whole letter was sweet. She didn't grade Steve on his love notes, whether being called a naiad was really a compliment. Intent was more than enough. And his intent was clear.

That was a little weird. Boys were a little weird. But still, she answered him.

She hoped he liked that. She wanted him to think of her as sexually desirable -- maybe not sexually available, but sexually desirable.

Did she want him imagining her taking her shower? What was sexy about taking a shower? Boys, she told herself again, were weird.

Weirder still was the bit about the store manager embarrassing his wife. He couldn't enjoy making her blush like that could he? Would Steve embarrass her in front of other people because he liked to see her blush?

On the other hand, she liked the fantasy and would tell him so. She couldn't expect him to write her fantasies -- or anything, really, if all she told him was the parts she didn't like.

Some times he was so smart, and other times he acted like such an idiot.

That was the problem. Would she let him? Her mother wouldn't tell; the bodice rippers made it out to be so special; but the idea was so gross. Whatever, it was her body and her decision. He couldn't say that they would.

His tanned back would get burned, what about the insides of her thighs? Still, it was his fantasy and his sunburn. Wouldn't do to admit that, though.

And she did love them both. It didn't hurt that he was fantasizing about being married to her, either.

Tuesday morning, Steve checked with his mom about inviting Ken home with him. "Of course," she said. "We haven't seen him for a while."

Steve got a big smile with his disk. He was puzzled as well as apologetic. But there wasn't time to talk.

"Must you two pass those disks around during class?" Mrs. Foster said.

"No, ma'm. We'll wait until lunch next time," Steve responded. Mrs. Foster hadn't been asking, and the answer communicated to Shannon.

All they could trade was 'love you's as they left class.

Neither Shannon nor Steve had been at all reticent about Shannon's grounding and the reason. The story had spread, as had Mrs. Jensen's version. In the way of stories, complicating details had been lost. A few kids, on the distant ends of two different communications chains, learned two stories. In one, two seniors had saved a baby's life by rushing it to the hospital. In the other, a babysitter and her boyfriend had been caught stark naked fucking on the living room rug when the parents got home early.

Most of the stories had them discovered by the child who came out feeling sick. No student, not even the occasional virgin who had herself snuck a boyfriend into homes when she was babysitting, was willing to consider anything short of naked coitus. The story demanded that much.

One oasis of disbelief consisted of Shannon's close friends. Diane summed up the consensus. "Steve might get her into bed, but he's not getting her onto some sofa or rug in a stranger's house. Not Shannon! Matter of fact, Steve probably should start saving up now for the silk sheets."

Most of Steve's friends didn't believe that there were any virgins (except, in some cases, themselves) in the senior class. But among that group Ken's question made some impression. "Let's see. Steve, Shannon, and the baby are there. That's all. Steve's not telling this; Shannon's not telling this; the baby couldn't tell this. Who's telling this?"

"Ken," Mr. Babaian had said after hearing that response, "I foresee a great future for you in abstract math. But I'll never understand either your success in student politics or your interest in it."

Meanwhile, the subjects of all this gossip met for lunch. "Sorry for that letter," said Steve. "I hadn't read yours about not pushing yet."

"Well, you shouldn't have pushed anyway," Shannon answered, thinking about the genital kiss. "But I loved the rest of the story anyhow."

And, before Steve could figure that out, they were joined by another two of her friends. "Don't you wish that you could come to the committee meetings, at least?" Steve asked.

"I'd kill for that," she said.

He looked a little odd at that remark, but neither of them pursued the subject.

"Look, guys," Steve said after a little chatter, "I think we're all agreed that Shannon's parents were way out of line. I certainly think so, but Shannon gets to brood on that 24 hours a day. Can't we talk about something else?"

For a minute they couldn't. Then one of the girls started talking about the digital camera she had and the pictures of the group that she had taken. The pictures were on her web page.

"That's another restriction," Shannon said. "I can't browse the web except for homework, and my mother watches to make sure. Can you send those pictures to Steve? Steve, would you pass them on?"

"Sure! Just put 'Shannon' as the first word on the subject line. I'm on a few spam lists, and I might toss it otherwise." He wrote down his screen name for the girl. Then the two of them passed out a few more copies for anyone who might want to write her. "It takes a long time," he warned them. "You'll see her before she gets the disk, let alone reads it." Still, getting mail again was a little more freedom.

"I have other friends, though. With you guys, I don't really need e-mail. But my dad cut off my computer from the phone lines. I can't access that account at all."

Steve clamped his jaw to keep from correcting her. 'Not in front of her friends,' he kept telling himself.

Joyce wasn't so reticent. "It doesn't work that way. Tell her, Steve."

"You can connect from anywhere. My dad connects from all over the state. Well, half over the state. That's why you use a password."

"Could you?" Shannon asked. "I mean connect from your computer?"

"I couldn't. I don't know the password. But you could."

"Why don't you know the password? You gave it to me."

"You didn't change your password? I told you to."

"I didn't see the sense," she said. "Besides, I liked what it said." Steve buried his head in his hands. By now, he was sure, the entire table knew the password was stVlvSshN. Well, maybe his trick of capitalization hadn't been spilled yet.

"She trusts you, Steve," Joyce said. "Not that she has any secrets to keep. Honey," she turned to Shannon, "you don't share your password with anybody. Even if you don't have any secrets there, it's just a bad habit. And you should have changed it more than once since then. I bet Steve has changed his."

"Since September? Three times," Steve said. Shannon was taking this lecture from Joyce a lot better than she would have taken it from him.

"As for the rest of us," Joyce said. "We can bring our own disks to Shannon. Going through Steve would only complicate things."

"But you could download my mail?" Shannon asked.

"I'll download your mail. And I'll change your password. Just be a good girl, or I won't tell you what the new one is."

She stuck her tongue out at him. If they had been truly alone, off school property, he would have kissed it. The memory of doing so started to harden him. Luckily, the girls were chattering so much that he could just listen for a while.

After the committee meeting, he and Ken caught the same ride to their neighborhood. "My mom said that I could invite you over," he told Ken. "Want dinner tonight?"

"Sure!" It had been a long time since Ken had visited Steve's family. At first, he'd been so embarrassed by the last visit he'd turned down some invitations. Then, Steve had stopped asking him.

Steve's mom commented on the length of his absence. "Steve prefers Shannon's company to mine," Ken said. "I can't blame him at all."

"Well, you're welcome here. Don't you have to call your mother?" Actually, he didn't. But the phone call was much easier than admitting to Mrs. Anderson that he didn't.

At dinner, Steve's parents complimented Ken on his selection by the U of C. Steve had told them about early selection, the scholarship, and everything. Ken didn't mind telling it again, and they were generous in their praise.

"Chicago made the only decision it could," Steve said suddenly. "All the suspense was whether they would see you for what you are. What I want to know is what Heather sees in you."

"Steve!" his mom said.

"It's all right, Mrs. Anderson," said Ken. "When you find out, Steve, tell me."

"You aren't as hard to like as you think, Ken," Mrs. Anderson said.

This was too close to the comment which had led Ken to embarrassing himself on the earlier visit. He clamped his mouth shut, and the conversation moved away from him.

Afterwards, they went off to Steve's room. "You said once that you owed Shannon big time. I figure that the debt has only grown bigger."

Ken raised an eyebrow.

"You can sic that famous brain of yours onto people when you want to bad enough. Figure out a way to get her mother to allow Shannon to come to Committee meetings. Come on, I know the woman; she is not as bright as her daughter is. She sure isn't as bright as you're supposed to be. Figure out a con. You said it, man; you owe Shannon."

Ken looked at Steve. Did he really think that Ken owed Shannon that much? Did Steve really think that Ken would do something for Shannon that he wouldn't do for Steve -- that he wouldn't do for Mrs. Anderson's son? Maybe not. He hadn't asked in school; he had brought Ken home for a meal with his parents before asking the question. "I'll try," he said.

Soon after he got home, he tried. "Mrs. Bryant? This is Ken Dalton. I'm the student-council president at Shannon's high school."

"I'm sorry, Ken. Shannon isn't permitted to receive phone calls. We've restricted her social life."

"Yes ma'am. You are the person I wanted to talk to. You see, when you restricted her social life, you excused her from an obligation she had made to the school. Shannon was on the committee to plan and work on the Valentine's Day ball. She participated in the planning; her opinions got into the mix. Now that there is work to be done, she is grounded."

"You meet after school, don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am. That's the only way to get a group from across the school together. We've been meeting after school. Of course, we don't expect every student to show up every day. But we do expect three days a week from every member of the committee for work projects, as well as the Saturday morning before the ball. And committee members sign up under that understanding. Now, you've taken one of my committee members away. And another committee member has already begged off work on the Saturday morning."

"Well, you can blame someone else for that," Allison said. She didn't know why she was still listening to this boy.

"Blame wasn't on my mind, ma'am. But I don't think Steve Anderson would have backed out if you hadn't acted. Steve was willing to lose a payday to take Shannon to the ball. He isn't willing to lose a payday to prepare for a dance he won't attend."

"But he stays after school?"

"He did tonight. He doesn't Mondays and Wednesdays. You do know that he works at Hauksbee's don't you?"

Had Shannon's parents been deaf, they still would have heard all about Steven's work schedule. The discussion went back and forth. Allison was quite surprised to find that she had agreed that Shannon could stay after school the next day and also Monday and Wednesday of the next week.

"I'm very grateful, ma'am. And you'll keep Saturday morning in mind if Shannon behaves well for these days?"

"I'll think about it."

"That is all I ask," said Ken.

Allison had second thoughts, although riding herd on Shannon had been as hard on her nerves as it had been on Shannon's. She waited until Wayne was in bed to broach the subject. "I did tell him I would let her," she said. "But now, I don't know. I do know that I should have asked you."

"Well," said Wayne, "really this is only permission until she misbehaves the first time. I don't mind that you decided for us. I've told you before, I trust your instincts."

"After what she pulled on us for half the year? You trust my instincts?"

"Well, dear, I don't really trust them. I just trust them much better than my own. Besides, that's three days when you don't have to ride herd on her so early. You can leave the realtor's office at the normal quitting time.

Since Shannon seemed to be sleeping longer hours to avoid them, Allison waited until morning to tell her.

Steve was watching TV with his dad and mom when 8:30 came. He couldn't remember a thing about the upstairs bathroom at the Bryants'. So he pictured Shannon getting into the tub at his own house. He hardened at the image of her removing bra and panties to stand there in her glory. He pictured her raising her arms and turning to let to let the spray hit under her arms; her breasts, high and firm when she stood normally, rose and pointed when she did that. At that point, however, he needed to either pay more attention to his cock or less attention to her body. He went back to watching TV.

When he did go to his room, he downloaded his mail, and then Shannon's. He figured that luV%ewE was good enough for her new password. Then answering her disk was the first priority. He had already read it as he ran the new margins. Shannon hadn't understood what he'd said about that, and no wonder.

Confused about what she allowed and didn't allow in these fantasies he sent her, he decided to put it in a separate file. He finished the letter, spell-checked it, and saved it. Then he tried to be hot again.

Steve spell-checked the story and buried the disk in his backpack. He did what he had to on his homework, distracted by flashbacks to his fantasy.

Shannon found it easier to go to sleep that night, and easier to wake up when the music came on softly. She turned the radio off as soon as she was awake, and lay for a minute listening for any motion from her parents.

She would have been glad to turn over and go back to sleep. There were things to do, however. She put on her robe and slippers. Once she got downstairs, she knew what she wanted to do first. She got the glass from the kitchen and poured an inch and a half of creme de menthe into it. The bottle was half full, and her father might notice any greater depletion. She took it back up to her room for the first phase of her misbehavior.

She took a generous swig from the glass, and almost spit the bitter stuff out of her mouth. A little creme de menthe had added complex flavor to a large serving of ice cream. Taken straight, it tasted awful. She poured the rest down the toilet, rinsed her glass twice, and used the facilities. She brushed her teeth to get rid of the last of the taste. Whether she had got rid of the penetrating odor, she couldn't guess.

The bourbon hadn't tasted quite that bad, but it had tasted bad enough. She decided not to sample it again.

Here she was, up when her captors were asleep, free to do almost anything. Except that almost everyone else was asleep, too. It was winter, and she had no desire to wander the empty streets. Her first choice for being a bad girl had tasted awful.

The most fun thing she could imagine was answering Steve's e- mail. All alone in the house, and her best temptation was answering mail. If the devil was the tempter, as some Sunday- school teacher had said, he sure wasn't interested in Shannon.

And Steve's letter was much less tempting than his previous one had been.

He was very apologetic for the pushing, but a little confused about it too.

She packed the disk away, and wished that he had written something hot for her the previous night. She got out the disk of the earlier story and read it twice. She brushed her nipples through the cloth of the nightie while she read it.

This didn't really count as being a bad girl. Her mom had stated quite definitely that masturbation was natural and acceptable. On the other hand, her mom had been embarrassed saying so; that might have been the peak of her embarrassment during that very embarrassing Talk. And she wouldn't have liked to know that her daughter was sitting at the computer reading something addressed particularly to her while stroking herself.

On the other hand, the room was cold. The time it took to shut down the computer rather broke her mood, but Shannon relived the story again when she was safe in bed.

She could remember his kissing her nipples for real, and that helped that part of the story. He'd had his lips on her insensitive shoulders and neck, and they had responded. Her thighs would respond more. She stroked her valley and its little clit while imagining him driving in and out of her. She could feel that she was about to come; this brought to mind the pulsing penis she had twice felt in her hand. It would pulse like that inside her.

And, on that image, she climaxed.

She wasn't quite ready for sleep, even so. She lay there thinking about Steve, and sex, and the meadow. She smiled at her memory of how he had felt in her hand, and how she had felt in his hand and against his mouth. And, on the thought that the books did make that kiss out to be wonderful, she drifted off to sleep.

Her awakening was much less pleasant. At breakfast, however, her mom did tell her that she could go to the committee meeting that night. Steve wouldn't be there, of course. Still it was a place that she could talk to others.

"Thanks, Mom," she said. There was no sense in spoiling this relaxation just because they were at war over the other rules.

Steve didn't really think that Ken could persuade Shannon's mother. Still, it was the sort of thing you had to try once you'd thought of it.

On the off chance that Ken might have pulled off his miracle, Steve tried to borrow his mom's car that morning. "I've got things to do this afternoon. Besides, if you want that advance you asked for, I'll have to get to the bank. Do you want me to pick you up at school? Then you could take the money out of your account. You could drive to Hauksbee's after dinner."

They settled on that. Which wouldn't get Steve to the committee meeting, after all.

And Ken had pulled it off! Shannon was waiting outside his homeroom when he got there. "I can go to the Ball committee meetings. Only Monday and Wednesdays. How did you manage that?"

"Ken managed it. Persuasive critter when he wants to be. Anyway, he owes you. Owed."

"Well, I owe both of you. But he won't get what you will when I can see you off campus. Still..."

The bell rang. Mr. Worth shooed Steve into the room, and Shannon was late.

English class was review, and both of them managed to keep their wandering minds from wandering far enough to embarrass either. Mrs. Foster helped by concentrating on the kids who had missed the information the first time through.

"I can't stay today," Steve told Shannon after class. "I tried to get the car, but Mom's picking me up. Enjoy talking with the others, though."

Shannon really would. Steve, after all, communicated by disk. She needed to talk to her friends too.

"You," Steve told Ken after calculus class, "are a genius. We owe you. But Shannon says that she isn't going to give you the smooch that she'll give me."

"That's a real pity. Still, Heather would have objected." He would enjoy a smooch from a pretty girl, but an obligation from Steve was better. An obligation from Shannon was better yet; Steve would feel that obligation more firmly.

"The only problem is that I can't come tonight."

"That might be for the best in the end. I haven't thought this out, but I'll tell you later. I've got to go."

When Shannon's pals joined their table at lunch, she shooed them away. "Look, this is my only time to talk with Steve. You wouldn't hang around after a dance."

"Whooo!" said Daphne. "Watch out for the lunchroom monitors." They crowded to the other end of the table, though. This gave Steve and Shannon more privacy than sharing the table with underclassmen would have.

She gave him her disk. "Did you write one, too?"

"Sure," he said digging through his back-pack. "I didn't think that Ken could bring it off." He handed it to her.

"Include a story?"

"Is that okay?"

"Well, how can I tell? I haven't read it yet." She smiled though.

"You want another story tomorrow?"

"Oh yes. I need something to get me through the night. More about that on the disk."

Well, he thought, they didn't have that particular problem any more. Still, he was never going to understand Shannon.

Most of the rest of their conversation was about Ken's freeing her for the committee meetings.

"Thanks for choosing me over the hen pack," Steve said when he picked up the trays.

"Always will," she answered. "But they've been a help on this too. And they like you, really. But I'll have to spend lunch with them on Monday. PDAs."

"I don't mind that," he said. "That might be the only birthday celebration you'll have this year. PDAs." And they didn't see each other until the end of the school day.

Allison Bryant found that her decision to allow Shannon to stay after school hadn't freed her of any responsibilities at all. While Shannon wouldn't be in the house to sulk at her, she was in her mind to haunt her even earlier.

When the student parking lot was emptying for the day, Allison was among the line of parents who drove in to make pick- ups. She, however, pulled out of the line to park. As the school doors swung open, she caught a glimpse of Shannon in her distinctive skirt. The next time the doors opened, she saw Steven standing beside her. Committee meeting, hah!. She left her car to grab her daughter.

The drafts were too cold for Shannon where they were standing. And the radiators were probably too hot for Steve in his hooded jacket. She knew they couldn't say anything private in this crowd, which included teachers. "I wish ..." she said. Then she let her eyes do the talking.

Steve's eyes were talking back. Focusing on her. The waves coming off Shannon had him sweating more than the radiators did. The idea of finding an unused classroom was sounding better and better -- damn the PDA rule.

The only way that Allison could get to the door was to slip between two cars in the parental pick-up line. They'd stopped longer than usual, and one car up ahead was beeping its horn repeatedly.

Slowly that beep penetrated Steve's consciousness. His mom was there, standing on the driver's side pushing the horn button again and again. He looked back at Shannon once and ran to the car. Some of his fellow-students hooted at him, and others laughed.

Allison spared one glance towards the head of the line. She could picture the blockage ending suddenly just as she was about to dart between two of the cars. She recognized the offending car, and then she recognized Steve approaching it. As Allison stood back, Steve crossed in front of the car. He was clearly headed for the driver's door.

Steve got behind the wheel; his mom was already sitting on the right side. He got them out of there, his ears burning. "Parting," his mom said, "is such sweet sorrow."

"Now, Mom!"

"Shakespeare, isn't it? Isn't that what you've been studying?"

Once on the street, he could glance at her face. It was red from suppressed laughter.

Allison returned to her car. Steve was leaving, just as the boy had told her. When she looked for Shannon, she was no longer visible through the doorway. For that matter, the crowd had thinned out in this short time.

She was glad that she hadn't confronted Shannon in public as she had intended. When she pictured her again, she had been carrying her coat rather than wearing it. Steven, on the other hand had been dressed for the outdoors.

To be picky, Allison had given Shannon a little more time with Steven with her concession. Still, she and Wayne were just getting used to the idea that Shannon was totally unworthy of their trust, but that didn't mean that they should treat her contemporaries so suspiciously. The boy who had called was an officer of the school government, probably just trying to do his job.

Since her daughter wasn't trustworthy she was justified in checking up on her. It was wrong for her to feel so sneaky and ashamed. Ashamed of herself for what she had done, and ashamed of Shannon for the behavior which had made her do it.

She drove home very thoughtfully.

The Anderson car was silent until they got to the bank. "It isn't funny," said Steve.

"I wasn't the only one laughing. You'll see her in the morning. I part from the one I love for a lot longer than that, with no sympathy from you whatsoever."

Steve knew that there was no comparison. But his sexual desire was a big part of the difference. And he sure wasn't about to mention that to his mother.

"That's not true," he said. "I miss Dad when he's gone, too." Then he asked himself how much of Dad's time with him he'd trade for one hour with Shannon in private. Mom hadn't asked that question, although she probably thought it. Besides that, she had moved over to let him drive -- not important tonight, but something he would have wanted most evenings. He smiled at her.

She took that smile for the signal it was.

"Peace?" she asked.

He appreciated her quirky sense of humor more often than he resented it. This trip was entirely so he could take out cash for Shannon's present. And, as parents went, she and Dad could have been worse. He could sulk through dinner and still drive her car to his job. On the other hand, knowing that would make him feel guilty about taking that advantage. "Peace." It sounded grudging to him, but she took it at face value.

He withdrew more than enough for his gift for Shannon. This business of requiring his mom's signature annoyed him. He intended to keep a stash of money at home.

Shannon concentrated on cutting the fancy hearts out of the red paper for ten minutes. When she had the mechanics down, she joined in the chatting around the table. For once, she wasn't the focus of the conversation; and she enjoyed that. Then Ken asked her to join him at a table a little apart from the group.

"I can't tell you how grateful I am," she began.

"Not grateful enough, Steve tells me, to show it with a kiss." For a moment, she thought he was serious. "Well, you'll have to give my kiss to Steve. Then he'll owe me even more."

"I don't know when I'll be able to do that."

"I can wait," he said. "Maybe you two can't, but I can wait. Enjoying yourself?"

"I only wish that Steve could be here."

"Look. Some things I know; some things I feel; other things I feel are maybe true...."

She cut one side of a heart while he paused.

"Look," Ken said finally. "This is a guess. I hate acting on a feeling, but...."

"But...."

"But, if I was your mother -- you know what I mean. If I was your mother, I'd check one of these afternoons. She knows that Steve's not supposed to be here Mondays and Wednesdays."

"And she'd crack down."

"She just might let you come here Saturday morning. Of course, that is the only time that we really need workers, any more. I knew that she wouldn't agree if I asked when we were talking, so I left it open. You know her better than I do.

"This is your gamble," Ken continued. "If she finds you've both been at a committee meeting, she certainly won't let you come on Saturday. She might not let you do that, anyway."

"So," Shannon asked, "what are you saying?"

"If you play the afternoons straight, she might let you come on Saturday to decorate the gym. If you cheat on one of these meetings, and she finds out, then you're dead meat on Saturday. You might consider how much you want a little more time with Steve and how much you want that Saturday...

"But," he finished, "I can't guarantee anything."

"Do you really think that she would let me come on Saturday?" Shannon asked.

"I really think that she might. But I can't guarantee anything. It's probably less than a fifty percent likelihood, anyway."

"The thing is," she said "that I'm done being a good girl. If I keep Mom's rules, and then she doesn't let me come Saturday, then they've won."

"Look Shannon," Ken said. He took another breath. "You guys are my friends, both, not only Steve. It's your life, and Steve would say that stronger. You decide what you're going to do...."

"But," he continued, "they are going to win. That's what parents do; that's what adults do. They want certain things from you, and they will get them. They set the rules and are the judges as well. They are going to get what they really want. But that doesn't mean that you lose. You want certain things, yourself. How do you get what you want while they get what they want? Anyway, I'm talking too much. It's your life."

"Thanks," she said. She didn't really know for what, beyond his miracle the night before. He went to deal with something else, and she added her paper heart to the completed pile. She joined yet another table after that, talking about the lousy call at the basketball game the previous Saturday.

It was dark by the time she left school. There were more cars on the streets, and they had their lights on. Dark came early in January; it wasn't really that late. Still, it was the first time that she'd been out after dark in more than a week.

It may have been just her own feelings, but talking with Mom was milder torture, too. "Did you leave school precisely at five?" her mom asked.

"It doesn't work like that. The janitor lets us out and then chains the last door. I think he leaves precisely at five. And, then, it takes a little longer to walk home with the streets full of cars."

"Well, just be careful about crossing the street." That hadn't been what Mom had told her about getting home right after school on other days.

Her chores hadn't eased, and she hadn't expected them to. She still cooked dinner with instruction from Mom. She still washed the dishes afterwards. But she had cooked a lot of meals before this, and loading the dishwasher wasn't exactly hard labor.

She took the dining room table for her homework while her parents were watching TV. Her room might be a refuge, but it had become a prison cell as well.

When sports came on after the news, Allison went into the kitchen for a glass of water. They'd stopped buying snacks which were really intended to be treats for her daughter; still, Shannon had always been good about leaving some for her parents. And the bit she left for them was nice at times like these.

Allison poured herself some Cheerios. Dry, they were better than crackers. And it had been Shannon who taught her that, 16 or 17 years before. Thinking of Shannon-the-toddler, sitting across from Shannon-the-teen, she couldn't avoid having a little of her fondness for the first spilling into her attitude towards the second. Her suspicions this afternoon had been unfounded, after all.

"I suppose," said Shannon, "that calling Steve with a question about algebra is totally impossible."

"Right the first time. Still, you could ask your father. We're here to help you. We're just restricting your social life."

"I just might ask Dad. Where neither of you can help is on 'Romeo and Juliet.' I understood it better than Steve did, and I figured out how to make it clear to him. That's much more help than someone who can explain it to you."

That was an insight which shook Allison. Her little girl had grown up in so many ways.

Later, when she and Wayne were each in their own beds, she tried to explain that to him.

"I think I know what you mean," he replied. "She isn't at some level. She's betwixt and between. That comment about getting clear by explaining something to a person who doesn't have a clue -- that tells something to me I didn't know, or at least I didn't see clearly.

"On the other hand, leading us on about Steven -- that's being a little girl. She was more honest with us at seven."

That was what she had meant. Well, it was clearer than she could express it. As newlyweds, she and Wayne had planned on a girl for her and a boy for him. After Shannon, they had delayed and then abandoned their plans for another child. Shannon, in so many ways, had turned out to be Wayne's daughter. Allison often wondered whether the boy would have taken after her. But, of course, a second child might have been a second daughter or a boy like Wayne. And did she really want a boy like her? She turned to look at Wayne, and -- pondering that question -- fell asleep.

Being at work, Steve didn't even try to picture Shannon in the shower. He did remember her birthday and buy the fanciest card he could find. This wasn't a time for funny cards.

He figured that his gift for her should be physically small. She could hide it from her parents, who might object to any celebration.

When he got home, he answered her disk before starting his homework.

He spent more time on the fantasy than on the actual letter, although he'd been playing with the idea whenever he could.

He was especially proud of the name, "Brosna."

Then he turned to his homework.

Shannon woke to the music from the clock radio. She'd saved Steve's disk for this privacy, and that was the only thing which got her out of bed. It was cold. She pulled a pair of knee socks on and wrapped an Afghan around her outside her robe while she read his disk.

She read the story first.

Where could they go? Steve's mom wouldn't be at home. Would his dad? Did she want to go to Steve's house? How far did she want to go with Steve? He wasn't the sort of guy who would show her the door if she said "stop." Still, saying "stop" was easier when he was in the place by her invitation.

She decided not to tell him that she'd showered well after nine this night. That helped her feel a little less weird. She teased him about his spelling for a bit and then:

And she did love him, weird as he was. Back in bed, she thought about standing up with him moving in her. She'd seen him standing up, after all, and it jutting out. When she'd felt it jump in her hand, he'd been standing up. If she bent over, and he put it in, would it jump deep inside her? Would it pulse like that? Could she feel his warmth there if he was in her?

Shannon woke easily when the regular alarm went off. With the shortness of the interruption, she had slept a total of nine hours. She hurried to school, getting there just as the doors opened. She enjoyed the conversation of the first kids in, and was waiting -- ready for her first classes -- at Steve's locker when he got there. They exchanged their disks and talked a minute. Then she had to get to home room.

Still, Steve wasn't the only one she enjoyed talking with.

"One of the questions on the test will be a mini-essay," Mrs. Foster told the English class. "It will be a general question about the play as a whole. You can prepare for it, although you'll have to actually write it in class -- and I won't allow notes. It counts for a quarter of the test grade." Not that anyone hadn't heard about it from the previous year's students.

They spent that period on reviewing the whole play.

"I wish we'd had more time for Shakespeare this week," Shannon told Steve at lunch. "My parents think we didn't do anything but make out, but I really learned a lot from the studying we did together."

"I wish we'd had more time for making out. And I learned a lot. You saved my rump." They were in school after all. "But you knew it all, already."

"Not really." It wasn't really true, and it didn't do a boy any good to think that his girl was better at things than he was. Still, it was nice of him to say so. "I knew more, just as you know more about algebra; but explaining and talking about it got me much clearer. If we both go to U of I, do you think we'll have the same classes?"

"It's an idea. We'll mostly have different classes, though. Things like English should be the same. And we get to make our own schedules."

"I bet we're the only kids in the school planning how they can study together next year."

"No bet."

They talked between bites. Some of her friends came over. Then it was time for him to take the trays back.

Shannon hurried home to meet the schedule. She needed to ask her mom about the birthday cake to share with the girls at lunch. She wanted to have the best possible relationship when she asked it. There was a note telling her to vacuum the living room before starting dinner prep. She worked to make it a thorough job. That should contribute to the best possible relationship.

Then, being all alone, she read Steve's story. She'd save the letter until she could answer it without danger of interruptions.

Weird! It was sexy, but still.... A kid almost seeing her parents make love. She knew that happened, but was it healthy to think about such things?

And Brosna? Where did he get that name? Did he really think that she'd let him inflict that on an innocent baby?

At this point, her mom came home. She slipped the disk out of the machine, and put it at the bottom of a short stack of disks. Then she went down to make dinner.

Continued in Part 10
Heart Ball
Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net
2001/01/18
2003/01/27
2005/02/05

This is one of a series of pages holding the novel Heart Ball.

The next page in the series is:
Part 10

The first page in the series is:
Part 1

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