Identical

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?

  Rough Play, He Means

  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.

  I Triple Promise

  I’ll give him a call.

  Straight up, I will, because

  one guy will never be

  enough for the likes of me.

  Truth is, I can’t

  believe one anything (guy,

  girl, whatever you

  happen to be into) could be

  enough for anyone.

  Too, too many “anyones” in

  this ol’ world.

  Let’s see. I’m currently

  working on three.

  All different. Smart. Not so.

  Accomplished. Not

  so. Older. Not so. Oh, and

  speaking of Not So,

  better late than never, Mick

  arrives.

  Ty’s Quite Recent Invitation

  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.”

  He Starts to Turn South

  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.

  Kaeleigh

  I Thought Last Block

  Would never come. I’ve had

  Ian on my mind all afternoon.

  I know right now I

  should

  concentrate on Ms. Cavendish

  and her impassioned stage direction.

  But I’m standing here, so close

  to Ian. And he smells good and all

  I

  want to do is kiss him again, like

  we kissed earlier. Because for

  the very first time, a kiss felt right,

  and exactly the way a kiss should

  be,

  instead of like something dirty.

  And what rose up inside of me

  was something so intense

  and so completely new, it

  scared

  me, only it scared me in a good

  way instead of making me want

  to crawl in a hole and die.

  I slip my hand inside Ian’s and

  I don’t

  want anyone to see because

  I’m afraid someone will pull

  me away from him if they

  know.

  Our Fingers Interlock

  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.

  We Have to Unlock

  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.

  Ian, Afraid?

  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.

  Ian Walks Past Her

  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.

  This Afternoon

  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.

  Daddy Isn’t Home

  Not that I expected him to be.

  It’s early yet. I climb down

  from the bike, biting back

  anxiety. “Want to come inside?”

  Ian hesitates. Normally he

  wouldn’t chance it. But today

  whatever he has to say makes

  the risk worthwhile. Okay.

  Knowing spies might lurk,

  we don’t touch until we’re

  through the front door. Once

  it closes, I’m in Ian’s arms.

  Our kiss eclipses all others,

  real, imagined, dreamed of.

  It is the beginning of time,

  it is the end of the ages.

  I can’t breathe, don’t want

  to breathe. I want to give my

  breath to Ian, die in the giving.

  I want to give him more….

  Desire Strikes Like a Cobra

  Sinks its fangs between my legs,

  injects its venom. The heady

  creep wanders from groin to belly.

  I lift Ian’s hands, urge them

  against the throb beneath

  my blouse. “Touch me. Please?”

  He wants to, does, and I love

  his skin on mine. And then

  he moans, Oh, Kaeleigh…

  And suddenly a different

  snake strikes, with lightning

  ferocity. Not cobra, but python,

  threading itself around me,

  squeezing. Hissing, Oh, Kaeleigh.

  Oh yes, that’s right, little flower.

  I jerk back and Ian’s watery eyes

  reflect the horror in my own.

  Oh God, Kaeleigh, what is it?

  Tell me! Then he softens, clay

  in hot-water hands. Please

  tell me. And he starts to cry.

  And I cry too. And I want

  to confess. And I fall so deep

  into his tears that I think I’ll drown.

  “Oh God, Ian. I love you

  so much. If I could tell

  anyone, I would tell you….”

  Anger swells inside him now,

  bloats like August carrion,

  and his eyes fairly sizzle.

  You are all I’ve ever wanted,

  and I want you now with all

  that I am. I don’t mean I want

  sex with you, although I do

  want that, too. I want the part

  of you that you refuse to give.

  And I Think

  He will do as he’s always done

  in the past—stalk away, out

  the door. Rev up his bike,

  leave me here, alone in his

  exhaust. Small. Very small.

  Instead he coaxes me, Please,

  let me hold you. And I look,

  but the python has dissolved

  into the jungle, left me numb

  with confusion and need.

  The need for a friend. The need

  for a lover. The need to trust

  someone, and who can I trust,

  if not Ian? I lean into the warmth

  of him, the truth of him. I look

  up into his eyes, find so much

  love for me there I know I’ll

  never be okay without him in

  my life. My eyes beg him to

  kiss me. And when he does,

  it’s like rain on drought-starved

  desert. I want to give him what he

  asked for. Just as I think I will,

  it full frontal hits me that

  it’s best to let sleeping pythons lie.

  Speaking of Snakes

  I think it’s best for Ian to leave

  before my personal serpent slithers

  home. “I’m not ready to tell you

  everything yet, but I want you to

  know something changed today….”

  Something profound, but I don’t

  say that. “I’ve always loved you

  like a friend, but I want us to be

  more. I want to give you all of me,

  and I will just as soon as I can. Okay?”

  His eyes are red. Bleary.

  But smeared in them is something

  resembling hope. He smiles.

  I’ve waited this long. Guess

  a little longer won’t hurt.

  But please try to trust me. Love

  is meaningless without trust.

  I can’t change what has happened

  in the past, Kaeleigh. I can only

  promise to make the future better.

  And he kisses me again, and

  there is no need for sex, no

  need for hands. No demands.

  No control. Only connection.

  I Walk Ian to His Bike

  Feeling completely disconnected

  without my
fingers twined in his.

  But the idea of spies—Daddy’s,

  Mom’s, or some unknown covert

  operatives—nags. I look right, left,

  over my shoulder, across the street,

  but can’t discern a single person

  who might qualify as a spy.

  Before Ian can put on his helmet,

  I sneak one last delicious kiss.

  “Oh, hey. You wanted to talk to me

  about something, remember?”

  Ian looks nowhere but directly

  into my eyes. Think we covered it.

  Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.

  He straddles the Yamaha, turns

  the key, pauses long enough

  to say, I love you, and he’s gone.

  My Normal MO

  After Ian leaves me alone

  is to run to the refrigerator,

  empty most of it onto a plate

  and smother every bad feeling.

  Like an automaton, I go into

  the kitchen, open the fridge,

  peek inside. But for once,

  nothing shouts, Eat me now!

  Thinking back, I didn’t have

  lunch, didn’t have breakfast.

  I should be starving, and in

  fact, my tummy’s rumbling.

  I grab a bottle of raspberry