Tricks (7 page)

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me, taking control. Before we

started, I had no clear idea about our roles. Who's on top and who's not means

nothing when you aren't

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completely positive

that you belong in either

position. But that night, one kiss and need struck with enough force to erase

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all doubt, all hesitation.

I didn't wait for Loren to say it was okay, didn't ask

him to show me what to do.

Pure animal instinct led me

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just where I wanted to go.

It wasn't tender. Wasn't

pretty. It was a raw, naked

joining, energized from years of dreaming about what it

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could be like, or should be

like. I gave, he took, and when it was over, like Adam,

I shook at the forbidden

taste of new awareness.

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Afterward, with his head

nested gently against my

chest, Loren whispered,

Are you sure you've

never done that before?

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"Never." My voice floated up from a deep haze of contentment. "But I want to do it again." It was a long

few minutes before I could.

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Since That Day

I've grown more and more confident in the part I'm supposed to play. Loren is older.

More experienced. Wiser,

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in many ways. He is also

softer. Passive. Anxious to please me, let me have

my way. He has become

my favorite teacher ever.

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I can barely make it through each week, pretending to be the same old Seth at home, when a short drive will

allow the new, improved Seth

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to come out and play. I am torn, wanting to keep

my dad satisfied, when

I know Loren is waiting to satisfy me. One day soon

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I'll have to decide which

Seth I can live without.

Until then, Improved Seth will

have to escape when he can.

And he's escaped tonight.

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By the Time

I knock on Loren's door, treading a maelstrom of love and lust, I have

almost made up my mind to leave Dad and home in

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my wake and move to

Louisville before

I graduate in June.

I know it's not long, but I'm sick of pretending.

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Loren opens the door.

I don't wait for his greeting before pushing inside and yanking him tight up against me. "God, I've missed you!"

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He stiffens, and I finally

take a good look at the worry sculpted in his face.
I
missed you,
too. Come on. Sit down.

*

Something is definitely

wrong. I follow him to the couch, afraid to ask what it is. What

kind of bad news do I have

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to hear now? He couldn't be

sick, could he? No. Too young.

Too healthy. Unless... No!

Stop it. Just ask. I search his eyes. "What's wrong?"

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Nothing.
He takes my hand.

I mean, nothing major.

Relax, Seth. It's just...
He

reaches toward the coffee

table, picks up a letter.

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I got this today.
He cradles the paper protectively, like he doesn't want me to know

what's there.
You know I go to
school at Louisville Seminary...

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Uh-huh. Louisville Presbyterian

Theological Seminary. Studying

marriage and family therapy.

I nod my head, but I'm

totally confused. "Yes. So?"

*

A requirement for my BA
is three months of "field

study." They're sending

me to a congregation in

New York for the summer.

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Something Thick

But tasteless rises up my

throat, into my mouth.

I break out in a panicky

sweat. "Congregation?

You mean, like a priest?"

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He manages a thin smile.

More like a minister, but
yes. That is my calling.

But you knew that.

He rests a hand on my knee.

*

"I don't know. I guess..."

Guess? What else would a seminarian have planned?

But what about me? Us?

"What does that mean for us?"

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Time apart. You can't

come with me. I'll be

living at the church.
He lets

that sink in.
Don't worry

now I don't leave until May.

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Don't worry? He hacked

me off at the knees.

But it's only temporary.

"You're coming back, right?"

The silence screams.

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A Poem by Whitney Lang
Scream

I whisper and you close

your eyes. I speak and you turn away. If I

scream, will you finally

hear

me beg you to hold me

close to you, promise

you'll never let go? Do

my tears

upset you? Can you

see them fall on fallow

ground--the soil of your head?

Fear is a better friend than you, who feels nothing, beneath the weight of my pain.

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Whitney I Despise Shopping

But it's Paige's idea of heaven, so we're going to Capitola Mall.

Mom hangs out with Paige's mom and
encourages
our friendship.

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She wouldn't, if she knew anything at all about Paige other than that her mom

plays a mean game of tennis. But she doesn't, so we're on our way to the mall.

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Did you go out with Lucas last

night? Paige
broke up with her last

boyfriend a few months ago and dates

vicariously through me. Voyeuristic ho!

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I don't mind entertaining her--or

making her jealous, either. "Actually, we spent most of the day together.

We hung out down at the Boardwalk."

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Uh-huh. And what else?
Voyeuristic

enough to want details beyond arcade games and carnival rides.

Have you two done the dirty yet?

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I swear, she's panting. I could

make her day--her month, even-- by inventing something juicy. But

where would that leave what's left

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of my reputation? Do I care? Jeez.

My reputation might just improve

if people believed I was having

regular sex with someone

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as delicious as Lucas. One thing for sure. Whatever I tell Paige

will most definitely get around.

She's not very good at secrets.

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Maybe I'll just keep her guessing.

I attempt an air of mystery. "C'mon,

Paige. You wouldn't want me of screw and tell, would you?"

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We Both Know

She would, and we both know the way I've circumvented her question means I'm still a virgin. Technically, anyway.

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It's the "technically" part that

has now piqued her interest.

Okay, then. How far
have
you

gone? I want every single detail.

*

Ah, what the hell? "We almost

did last week. In fact, we were just about naked...." I tell her the story about not quite getting

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busted, right there on my living

room couch. "You've never seen

two people get dressed so fast.

I didn't even have time to put on

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my bra. Good thing Daddy dropped his keys. Gave me time to hide it under the cushion. Things had to look pretty suspicious, though."

*

Paige giggles.
Oh, yeah. Messy

hair and smeared makeup.

Been there, done that. But what about yesterday? Did you...?

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"Nah. Everything but. Wrong

time of the month and all." Now

that was a big slice of truth. I don't

usually talk about my periods.

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But Paige wants even more.

Did you, like, use your mouth?

Her eyes light up. Is she waiting for a (ha!) blow-by-blow description?

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Why? Need instructions? 'Cause

out can get tips on the Web, you know."

I am something of an expert there, because I checked 'em out myself.

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She laughs.
Nah. That's okay.

I think I've got it figured out.

Just wondering if you have.

Anyway, it's not rocket science.

*

Now I have to laugh. "Except the part

where it goes off like a rocket."

We both bust up, and now she knows

I've got it figured out too.

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Capitola Mall

Isn't huge, but it's big enough.

And, it being Sunday, it's pretty

crowded. I don't mind crowds.

People watching is a fun pastime.

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Paige cruises the parking lot slowly, waiting for someone to vacate a spot close to an entrance. "There's

probably room in the garage."

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Probably. But you never know

what kind of weirdo might be

lurking in a parking garage.

Mom says it's safer out here.

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Is there more than one kind of weirdo? Okay, I can't let

that one slip past. "How many

kinds of weirdos are there?"

*

She doesn't laugh.
Lots. And the worst are the ones you

don't suspect. They're the ones

you invite inside your front door.

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Inside the Mall

I can't help but go on a weirdo

watch. Paige is right. Potential

freaks loiter everywhere, and they come in all shapes, sizes,

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genders, and ages. "Hey, Paige.

Check that out." I point to a boy, maybe six, staring, drop-jawed, through the window of Victoria's

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Secret. "Future weirdo, for sure."

We crack up, but when we're well down the aisle I glance back over my shoulder. He's still there.

*

Paige doesn't notice, could

care less anyway.
Let's go
to the Gap. I need some jeans.

Her focus shift is immediate, intense.

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Mind on her goal, she picks up her pace. So much for people

watching. Faces, bodies, and packages

blur. Motion sickness threatens.

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Finally, Gap in sight, she slows a little. Enough for me to notice a really cute guy sitting outside the door, waiting for someone,

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at least that's my guess. As we

approach, he notices us, too, and the smile he gives me could melt an entire iceberg in two seconds flat.

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Weirdo? Maybe. I mean, he's at least

ten years older than me, and he's def

taken an interest. Do weirdos come

this hot? My guess is no, but I'm not

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here to pick up a guy (yeah, Lucas, remember him?), especially one who could be my--what? Big brother?

Wow, it might be cool to have a big

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brother hot enough to be a rock star.

No, wait. All my friends would want

me to introduce them. Then they

wouldn't be my friends any more,

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because they'd be doing it with my

brother. Scratch all that. Don't want a hot brother, or any brother at all.

Don't even want my sister, and why

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the heck am I thinking all this, anyway, just because some pervert

guy sitting outside the Gap might or might not have checked me out?

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Warped

But who's warped, him or me?

Okay, I'm pretty sure I know the answer. Pretty sure I've gone from appreciating some nice-looking

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(hot) older guy to imagining

I have some fictional brother who is doing unmentionable things with my best friends. I steal a covert glance

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at Paige, who is def not noticing the guy (who is def not my brother) at all, let alone having sex with him.

I need food. Haven't eaten today.

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As Paige and I go inside, I can feel

not-brother's eyes crawling all over my back. I nudge Paige. "Psst. Did

you see that cute guy checking us out?"

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What guy?
She turns, and I follow her eyes, only to find his eyes

locked on me.
Well, he's def

checking
you
out. Talk about

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robbing the cradle, or wanting to.

Like, totally tasteless. C'mon. There's a pair of skinny jeans with my

name on them right over there.

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Someone Should Tell

Paige that "skinny jeans" are most def not her best friend.

She and I are the same age, and about the same height.

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But she's got a lot more

curves. In a way, I envy that.

Paige looks more like a woman.

I, on the other hand, look like a girl.

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Skinny jeans work better for girls.

Still, Paige manages to pour

herself into a pair.
Do they

make my butt look big?