Identical (25 page)

Taillights flash red and brakes

squeal displeasure. Guess he saw

me standing here. Guess he has

something to say because he flips

a dangerous U-turn, pulls over

opposite me. I look both ways

three times, decide it’s safe to

cross, and walk real fast (running

would not be cool) in his direction.

I bend into his car. “What’s up?”

He looks into my eyes, licks

his lips.
Give me your hand.

I’ll show you what’s up.
I do,

and he does. And it is.
Haven’t

heard from you. I’m really

surprised. Thought you kind

of liked the play. Was I wrong?

He reaches up, strokes

my cheek gently.
No encore?

And I really did like it because

I’m sicker than he

is. Giving is one thing. Taking—and

enjoying—is something else

altogether. “An encore would

be nice.” I smile. “Maybe nice

is not the right word, though.”

Nice works. So how about it?

When can we get together

again?
He winds his fingers

into my hair. Tugs gently,

brings my face right down

against his. Opens his mouth.

We are tongue on tongue

when the beep of a passing

peeping Tom reminds me

I’m standing beside a quite

public thoroughfare. Any

one could pass by and, oh

yeah, I’m supposed to be

hooking up with Mick.

For once, I’m glad he’s late,

although if he doesn’t show

pretty soon I might just have

to take off with Ty. Sheesh.

I really am sick, aren’t I?

Guess the best thing is to play

coy. “I’ll check my schedule

and get back to you, okay?”

He looks like I slapped him.

Hurt? Pissed? Totally surprised?

What? Does every girl he asks

jump straight into bed (cuffs)

with him? Has he never been

on the far side of “coy”? The

game moves to level two.

Was totally beyond my control.

I didn’t solicit. Didn’t even agree.

So why, pray fucking tell, do I feel

guilty? Guilt is not a Gardella trait.

Certainly not a Raeanne trait. What

the hell is up with me? Mick parks

with an overt flourish. Not much

subtle about Mick. He reminds me

of a Rottweiler. Eighty percent

brawn. Twenty percent affection,

long as you treat him right. I jump

up into the Avalanche, scoot almost

into his lap, give him an over-the-top

kiss, hoping he doesn’t taste guilt.

Whatever he tastes, he likes it, wants

another dose. I stop his tongue (not

to mention his hands) with a single

word. “No.” Then I assuage his obvious

disappointment. “Not enough privacy

here for what I’ve got in mind. Let’s go.”

But I stop him, with a hand on a spot

too high on his thigh to qualify as

“thigh.” “Let’s go to my house.

It’s empty.” And, of course, it

should

be empty, with Manuela out sick.

It’s a gamble, inviting Mick

to my house to party. But Mom’s

campaigning, Daddy’s judging, and

I

am the only one brave enough to

veer from the “should do” straight

into the “want to do.” And that is

so what I’m going to do. Better to

be

a little reckless than like Kaeleigh—

all uptight and frozen all the time.

Okay, so maybe I lean a bit

too far the other way, but

scared

is something I refuse to be. I’d

rather spit in the devil’s face.

So Mick and I will smoke up

and make out in my bedroom.

I don’t

think we’ll get caught, but the very

possibility is half the fun. And, with

a modicum of luck, no one will

know.

And it feels like commitment.

And that begins a tug-of-war

inside me.

I want Ian to give me all of himself.

But that means returning

the priceless gift.

I want to open myself, let him inside.

But how do I give what has

always been taken?

I want to know what it means to be in love.

But in my dictionary, “in love”

is indefinable.

To rehearse. And I feel regret,

and I know Ian feels it too.

At least our love scenes should

come easy for once. If I can

just remember my lines!

Places, everyone,
directs Ms. C.

From the top, no music today.

Reluctantly, I start stage right.

Ian stops me with a gentle hand,

whispers,
We need to talk. Can

I take you home? Please?

Yes. No. Oh God, what does he

want to talk about? A wave

of fear crashes over me. Makes

it hard to draw breath. Still I croak,

“Okay,” look into his eyes, try

to discern what’s hiding there.

I cannot see anything secret.

only love and something

I myself know only too well—fear.

What can he possibly

be afraid of? He’s

the strongest person

I’ve ever known.

I fret on that all

through drama,

flub my lines every

time the thought

blankets my brain,

disrupts rote memory.

Finally the bell rings.

As we gather our things,

I notice Ian barely looks

at me, or at anyone

else for that matter.

And believe me, we

are the focus of more

than one person’s attention.

The one who I notice

most, beaming evil

rays from her charcoal

pencil-smeared eyes,

is the most-likely-to-be

our-next-class-president,

the ever-amiable Madison.

Without so much as a nod,

despite the come-on smile

she gives him, as an obvious

jab at me. What’s up?

Ian slides an arm around

my waist.
Ready?

His touch sends little electric

jolts through parts of my body

I usually try to ignore. “Ready.”

Madison is still staring as we

exit. I can feel her eyes stab

my back, and when I turn, she

mouths a single word.
Slut.

I really don’t get her at all.

But how can I possibly care?

I am hip-to-hip with the most

incredible guy in the universe.

And for once I will let myself

accept our union. At least until

he takes me home and tells me,

as I fear he will,
This is a mistake.

You don’t deserve my love.

Comes laced with autumn chill.

Ian insists I wear his jacket,

and the sharp scent of leather lifts

up underneath the helmet’s face

shield. My arms hug Ian tight,

and as he shifts the Yamaha,

the muscles beneath his Levi

shirt tense and release. Tense

and release. And my body

tenses too. I’ve ridden behind

him many times before. So

why is it suddenly new?

His contours, taut and sinewy,

are exactly the same. The mink

curl of his hair creeps gently

from beneath his helmet. Same.

He commands the big bike

with skill and respect. Same

as always. But I am different.

And I don’t understand

exactly how. And I don’t

understand just why.

All I know is I love how it feels.

And I know I’m going to lose it,

just like I’ve lost everything

important in my life.