Sacred (14 page)

I turned my head and his kiss landed in my hair.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I know you like me the most. And Saturday night, I’ll show you how much I like you back.”

He rubbed his hips against mine, and I felt his hardness pushing against me.

“Go on to the library, get your book,” he said softly, letting me go at last.

I stumbled away from him, straightening my clothes and pushing my hair back from my face. My heart fluttered in my chest like a trapped bird.

Saturday night.

I hadn’t given too much thought to my virginity. My parents weren’t religious and had never really tried to convince me and Ronny that we should wait until we were married to have sex. I knew from old pictures and the way Daddy sometimes teased Mom that she had lived with someone before they met, an artist type named Kenneth.

But I hadn’t thought I’d be one of those girls who did it in high school, either. I had more important things to think about—taking care of Delilah, getting into college.

Now, though, I’d made a promise. The words were out there … Saturday night. Three more days.

Even though my parents weren’t abstinence advocates, they were fond of “suggesting” that both Ronny and I wait “until you’re eighteen and in love,” and my father would always tack on, “and it wouldn’t hurt you to wait until after college, either.” Smugly, I had always thought that there was
no way
I’d be one of those girls who risks everything just because of hormones, because of some silly boy.

Still, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was curious about what it would be like—not just the act of sex, but being on the other side of that line, virginity. Would I feel different? Would I
be
different?

The idea of being different appealed to me a lot lately. I didn’t much want to be what I was.… How much worse could different be?

He was there. In his chair, at the library. I wandered around in the nonfiction section, flipping through a collection of Sylvia Plath’s poetry, and quietly watched him read.

He had beautiful lips. They were full and soft, and he parted them slightly when he relaxed, which he always did when he was reading. And he had excellent posture. Even leaning back in his chair, there was a quality of straightness about the way he sat, as if he was always paying attention, always ready to react, if he needed to.

When he did rise—to fetch another book, to get a drink of water from the fountain—it was graceful, balanced.

I had thought I was subtle in my observation of him, but when Will looked up, his eyes found mine at once.

“Hello, Scarlett,” he said. “Would you like to sit down?”

I tried my best to keep from blushing as I walked across the room, Plath’s collection tucked under my arm. I lowered myself to perch on the chair across from him.

“Hey,” I said softly. His deep, green gaze seemed to be looking for something in my face. I guessed that he didn’t find it, because he finally grimaced and looked away, out the window to the gray sky.

“What are you reading?” I asked. I wanted, desperately, for his eyes to turn back to me.

He closed the book in his hands so I could see the title.
Jewish Mysticism
.

“I didn’t know our library had anything like that.”

“It doesn’t. I brought it from home.”

Right. Will’s father was a professor of religious studies.

“Is it your dad’s?”

He nodded. “I’ve been reading a lot of his books lately.”

Then I noticed the name of the author: Rabbi Martin Cohen.

“Wait. Your dad
wrote
it?”

He nodded again.

“And your dad’s a rabbi? That’s kind of like a priest, isn’t it?”

Will chuckled. “Hardly. Rabbis aren’t half men like priests; they get married, have families.”

“Whoa.
Half men?
That’s pretty harsh, isn’t it?”

Will shrugged.

I didn’t know what to say next. “Well,” I started at last, “does he say anything interesting?”

He looked down at the book’s cover, as if considering
something. Then he thrust the book at me. “Here,” he said. “Take it. See for yourself.”

The book was heavy and smelled both dusty and somehow sweet. I breathed in its scent deeply.

“I love the smell of books,” I admitted when I saw Will watching me.

He smiled. “I do too,” he said. “Nothing better.”

It was nice to sit like that, together, in the library. We looked out together at the gray sky.

“It looks like it might rain,” he said.

“Maybe this weekend,” I hoped aloud, wondering if rain might forestall Andy’s plans.

Will’s face was quizzical. “Isn’t your big party this weekend?”

“Saturday. Are you coming?”

He ignored my question, asking, “Then why would you want it to rain?”

I didn’t know how to answer. “I just like the rain,” I offered at last, lamely.

Will clearly didn’t buy it, but he didn’t press me.

“So, are you coming to the party?” I asked again.

Will grinned. “Your boyfriend didn’t invite me. Even though he did want to talk with me last week.”

I shook my head. “Yeah,” I said. “Sorry about that. I’ll tell him not to bother you again.”

He shrugged. “I can take care of myself, Scarlett.”

My eyes glanced at his arms, toned and strong. I didn’t doubt that he could take care of himself, whatever the situation.

“So you won’t be at the party?” I was embarrassed to hear sadness in my voice.

“Do you want me to come?”

There was no good way to answer this question. “No” would be rude; “yes” would be too dangerous.

I shrugged. “It would be a good chance for you to get to know some girls,” I said at last. “I could set you up with Lily.”

I was looking at my feet in their green canvas shoes, but I felt the pull of Will’s gaze and looked up. Again, his eyes paralyzed me with their fierceness, their undisguised intention.

“I don’t want to be set up with Lily,” he said.

I looked at him, and he looked at me. I felt myself pulled forward in my seat. Will leaned forward too. It was as if we were two magnets, intractably pulled toward each other—and then I heard the loud clang of the school bell, calling us back to class, back to Earth.

Will stood to leave, and I rose at the same instant. A wave of my hair fell forward and brushed against his arm.

He closed his eyes, just for a second, and he took a breath. “
Almost
nothing better,” he said quietly.

I fumbled to my feet, clutching the book he’d given me, abandoning Plath. “Come to the party if you want,” I managed to say, and I fled from the library, Will’s magnetic pull still calling me.

Saturday afternoon, thunder rumbled the skies. I’d told Andy that maybe he should cancel the party.

“I can’t wait to be alone together too,” he said, “but if I cancel, Lily will never shut up about it.”

When I’d realized that Andy expected me to keep my promise, party or no party, suddenly I decided that the show must go on.

“Yeah,” I said. “Everyone would be pretty bummed if you canceled. You probably couldn’t even get ahold of everyone this late in the game.”

“But we’ll kick everyone out by midnight,” Andy promised. “Did you tell your parents yet that you’re spending the night at Lily’s?”

I had, though I wasn’t fond of lying to them, no matter how distracted they seemed.

Mom hadn’t even heard me, I don’t think, and Daddy had just smiled and said, “That’ll be fun.”

So here I was, sitting at the little desk in my room, smearing my face with green makeup. My hair was pulled up into two tall, tightly wrapped buns, and it was sprayed green. I had found a green Lycra bodysuit in my mom’s workout clothes; I slashed it savagely until it was thoroughly shredded, then splashed green glitter paint randomly across it.

I didn’t have any good shoes to wear, so Lily lent me her gold sequined high-tops. A pair of googly gold glitter antennas attached to a headband that I’d found in a tourist shop downtown completed my outfit. I was an alien.

It was easier for me to look at myself like this, in costume, face painted. I turned my tall mirror toward the room and appraised myself. It was pretty cool—not half bad for a homemade costume.

I’d gained back a bit of the weight, thanks to Lily’s
persistence, but I was definitely still on the thin side. The Lycra was as tight as a second skin, and my small breasts were smashed nearly flat. The green face paint had kind of a sickly glow to it, and I watched my reflection carefully as I smeared black lipstick across my mouth.

I didn’t look beautiful. I looked interesting. I’d seen a movie once where the main character, a high school girl, said that Halloween was an excuse for girls to dress up slutty, and in Halloweens past, I guess I’d enjoyed that myself. Last year, Before Ronny Died, I had dressed up as a sexy pig in a pink leotard, pink tights, a curly little tail, and a pink piggy nose. The year before I’d been a fairy: yellow leotard, yellow tights, wings, colorful face paint.

I wasn’t sure what had compelled my costume choice this year, but looking into my mirror eyes, shrouded in green, I smiled. The green face, the ridiculous hair, the antennas: it felt honest. I felt fierce and dangerous and ready to dance.

“Are you ready yet?” Lily called to me from the front door.

“Almost! Come on up,” I hollered. Then I slipped behind my open door and listened to Lily’s footsteps as she came up the stairs and down the hallway.

Definitely heels, I determined. Of course.

Lily and I had decided to surprise each other this year with our costumes. I couldn’t wait to see what she’d put together.

The footsteps stopped just outside my door.

“Scar?” she called into my room.

“Arg!” I yelled, leaping out, my hands fierce claws, my gold antennas bouncing ridiculously.

She wasn’t scared, but her loud laughter was almost just as good.

There she stood, her fabulous curves showcased in a red Devil costume. The horns perched saucily in her dark curls; she wore long red false eyelashes; her lips were stained bloodred; the cleavage she was showing, I was pretty sure, could have gotten her arrested in several states. And the skirt was so short that bending over probably wasn’t an option. Her legs were probably warm enough, though; they were encased in above-the-knee red leather boots balanced on three-inch heels.

I had to remember to close my mouth. “You look amazing,” I told her. Suddenly, my green alien garb seemed a little
too
ridiculous.

“I know, right? I got these boots in Italy, of course.
You
look bizarre,” she said. “Fabulous costume.”

We grinned at each other.

“That’s going to be pretty hard to shimmy out of later, if you know what I mean,” Lily said, gesturing to my Lycra suit.

“Shhh!” I said, pointing up the hallway. “My parents!”

Lily shrugged. “I’m just saying.”

I grabbed Lily’s arm and pulled her out of my room. “Come on,” I said, “before you say something even more incriminating.”

But our escape from the house was not without incident. Just outside the front door, Daddy was sweeping the falling leaves from our porch. He looked up at us and smiled vaguely.

“Hi, girls,” he said. “Lily, you look … nice. Neat costume, Scar.”

“Thanks, Daddy,” I said just as Lily answered, “Thanks, John!”

“You girls will be back at Lily’s house by midnight, right?”

I opened and closed my mouth like a fish. Lily jumped in. “Sure, John, absolutely, before the carriage turns back into a pumpkin, ha, ha!”

She yanked me down the pathway, more sure on her tall, pointy heels than I was in the high-tops.

“Way to build a cover story,” she whispered.

“Sorry, sorry,” I said. “I hate lying.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Good thing I’m here.”

It wasn’t far to Andy’s house, but Lily had her parents’ golf cart so she wouldn’t have to walk home in the middle of the night. We climbed in after Lily adjusted her ridiculously short skirt, and then she pulled away from the curb.

The night was cool, almost cold, and I shivered in my thin Lycra skin. Little kids were just starting to pour out onto the streets. Tiny angels, various superheroes, and at least three SpongeBobs bounced excitedly up and down, showing off their costumes to each other and waving their candy-collecting bags. Their parents clustered steps behind them, sipping something warm from mugs, probably cider.

Several of the houses on our street had hung orange lights from their trees, and a variety of jack-o’-lanterns, some scary, some funny, glowed on the porch steps in various states of decay.

Somebody on the street had lit a fire in their fireplace, and the smell of it was warm and spicy. I wanted suddenly, desperately, to be one of the little angels or superheroes—hell, even a SpongeBob, if it meant I could be a kid again—when
all of this was new and exciting, when I could have raced down the street with a passel of friends, screaming “Trick or treat!” at my neighbors’ doors, trading my Tootsie Rolls for my brother’s tiny boxes of Nerds.

But Lily’s golf cart drove me unalterably away from all that, toward Andy’s party, where the dark secrets of adulthood waited to reveal themselves to me.

When we pulled up in front of the Turlington home, the party was already under way. Loud music reverberated through the windows, and I peered at the people wandering toward the house. Lily and I squinted in the dusk, trying to make out who was who behind the masks and face paint.

“That must be Connell,” Lily said, pointing at a guy dressed as the Hulk.

“Any excuse to take off his shirt, that boy takes it,” I agreed.

“He looks pretty good, though,” Lily said, admiringly. “Maybe I’ll save him a dance.”

“
Connell?
” I was incredulous.

“Well, I can’t let you have all the fun, can I?”

I shook my head. “I guess not.”

“I can’t
believe
you’re going to be the first of us to lose it.”

“Shhh,” I commanded. There was no need for the whole
world
to know.

“All right, all right,” she said, lowering her voice an octave. “But you have to tell me
everything
. I want details.”