For my first day of work, I wear freshly washed jeans and a black t-shirt.
Martine keeps me in the kitchen with two other girls my age.
One is very tall, over six feet, and has long blonde hair she keeps in a braid.
The other one is my height with red hair.
Celine and Carolina.
'C' names bother me for some reason.

The fact that they don't speak much English doesn't help either.
Martine has the tall one, Carolina, work out front at the counter.
Celine gets to be a waitress.
I get stuck with baking the rest of the things off.

I don't mind it at all.
Concerning myself with cups and teaspoons takes my mind off things.
Time doesn't get measured.
I just make the cakes, ice them and decorate them with candies.
To me, it's mindless work.
To Martine, they are perfectly cute things that will sell better than her own.

"They are so cute!"
"Tasty."
"Wonderful! You do a better job than I could."
"Can you make these again tomorrow?"

What else am I going to be doing?
Sitting at 'home' while waiting for packages to arrive from America?
Right.
I could but that would be amazingly boring.
Especially with Marc gone.

Lucky for me, he's there when I get back.
Why wouldn't he be?
It's a bit late when I get done at work.
Almost 9:00.
He's been here for four hours by himself.

But, he seems happy.
The reason is pretty clear.
A stack of books sit on the kitchen table.
They aren't old or beaten like I'd expect.
They are all in perfect condition.
And smell just like a pristine library.

"Some entertainment that doesn't require straining your eyes or getting naked," he jokes, handing me one of the books. "It's not hard to find English copies of things here, which is a life saver. How was working with Martine?"

"Eye opening," I say, sitting for the first time since 6:30 this morning. "How did your day go?"

"It was likely much less exciting than yours but it was alright. I was bored 90% of the time. Just sat at a desk all day browsing the internet for things that made the day less mind numbing, which reminds me, I got an e-mail from my dad saying they've set the first of our things. Some clothes. They are going to wait until they get here to send more things, just to be on the safe side."

I sigh the most contented sigh in the universe.
My clothes will be here soon.
Some of them anyway.
It might seem small but they are parts of me.

Lesson #2:
When you have nothing that's your own, you appreciate all you get much more.
Every tiny thing has a meaning that way.
You take care of it more.
You don't just toss it aside for stupid reasons like...
It's too baggy.
It's a bit too tight.
The material isn't soft enough.

And money.
It's this horrible, horrible thing we need.
Turtles can live without money.
Why can't humans?
It's lamesauce.

"At least you got to sit at a desk in a comfortable chair. I never had a spare moment," I tell him. "But tomorrow will be more structured. I get cupcake duty."

"You're great at baking cupcakes and stuff," Marc lightly beams. "That will be better than, what, the 'everything duty' she had you on, today? It'd have to be."

"Maybe so but I'm not complaining either way. Doing all that work made my mind switch off fully for the first time since we've been here. It's basically its way of saying that, as long as we both find something we're good at and keep doing it, things won't be so bad," I say.

"I won't let them get 'so bad', Rose but, you're right," he says, reaching over to take my hand in his. "It will get better and better. It has to. The universe is going to reward us for pulling ourselves out of lives doomed to be boring and passionless. It just has to."

Nothing has to happen.
We can hope it works the way we want.
We shouldn't expect it.

So, I go make cupcakes for the next four days.
He sits and plays online, reading whatever they give him.
He reads while he waits for me to come home.
We crash hard when I do.

But, when it comes to my day off.
He's not there.
I get to sit in the small house with my choice of books.
Considering Kate.
In Her Shoes.
Chasing Harry Winston.
Jasmine.
Pride and Prejudice.

Only one of those books is my speed.
Mr. Darcy, though an ass at first, turns out to be Prince Charming.
Who would have thought?
I can't bring myself to read the others.
They look boring.
Except Jasmine.
I read that one, too.

I laid out in the backyard's short grass to read in sunlight.
Pure, wonderful, brilliant, warm sunlight.
It feels different here.
Lighter. Not in luminosity.
Lighter in surrounding.

July should be 115 in the shade.
It's only 85 here.
That's summer hoodie weather at home.
A light sweater.
You could get away with a long sleeved shirt.

Here, I wear a dress.
Pink with a short skirt, no socks.
Barefoot.
This is the first time I feel...
At home.

I forget about reading for a while.
Instead, I clean.
Everything gets scrubbed down and dusted.
I hated cleaning before now.
But, since all this is my own space, it's different.
I want it to be perfect.

Martine comes by to pick me up long before dinner.
She wants to teach me to make new things.
She says that I have a talent.
I never considered it all to be one.
It just so happens that everything I throw together works.

"Do you miss home," is the question of hers that evokes the biggest response from me as she shows me how to de-bone a chicken. "I feel you must. You are so far away from everything and everyone other than Jean-Marco."

"I miss some parts."

It's not a lie but it's not exactly the truth.
I miss it. Sure.
That doesn't mean I am running back there any time soon.

"What do you miss the most," she innocently asks.

"Everything. There isn't one thing I miss more than the other. I try not to think about it these days, though. My parents are just happy that I am safe and know that I am being taken care in some way," I tell her. "That is all I could ask for."

She pats me on the back.
I wish, almost, she would hug me.
I need a hug in the worst of ways right now.
Her questions about home make me want to cry.
And, when Marc arrives and he wraps his arms around me, I can't help but.

Martine pulls Paul into the kitchen with her.
She understands and maybe feels a bit guilty.
But my focus isn't on her.
It's on the summer air that Marc pulls me out into.
There is no privacy in the house.

And, I thought being outside would help.
It doesn't.
It just gives me the freedom to let even more tears flow.
Marc does his best to wipe them away.
He's not quick enough.
They come in a flood so rapid it affects my lung capacity.

"Rose, please, calm down just a little," he whispers, tucking a piece of my hair behind my left ear with steady fingers. "Did Martine say something to you? Or your mom?"

I shake my head.
My feet move me away from his arm.
The palm of my hands are heavy against my cheeks and eyes as they rub away tears.

"How come you don't feel horrible about leaving the way we did," I start to press, hating the way my voice breaks and shakes. "You have been so good about everything and I have been a mess. Why? Shouldn't I be alright with being so far away? I am...I just..."

"Just hard," he finishes for me.

I nod.
My palms wipe away even more tears.
His take over for mine.

"We haven't even been here for a week," he reminds me, his voice calm and sweet. "I know things could have been handled better but could you imagine if we'd gone to them? They would have split us up completely, Rose. Your dad, and mine, wanted to kill me when we...when we were intimate the first time. Mine still makes reference to it. You know yours does, too. We made this plan and it would have just gone to waste if we didn't take the chance. I don't regret it. I will never regret it and, Rose, no matter what I have to do, I will make it so you don't regret it either. Do you love me?"

"You know I do."

"And I love you," he soothes. "You'll get better. We'll get better. And, so you know, I am amazingly scared. Maybe more than you are."

"How come you don't look like it," I sigh though I am feeling slightly better.

"Because, when I am with you, I can't think about anything else. Knowing that I am doing everything that I can to make sure we have the lives we want, that we have dreamed of, is enough in the moment," he says. "When I am away from you, I think how insane it was to just leave, even though it's not illegal or a terribly bad decision. We are 900% better off than most other run-aways and our parents haven't disowned us. Yet."

"Don't say 'yet'," I smile between turns at wiping at my eyes.

"It got you to smile. That's all I wanted," he tells me as his fingers cradle the back of my neck.

And I am lost again.
Happily this time.
Marc's made me feel better.
The dinner makes it all good.

Now I am looking forward to how things will be in the next few months.
Will we be okay?
Will we be happy?
Will we still have jobs?
Will we still be here?

Only time will tell me these things.
For once, I don't want a crystal ball.
Things developing naturally finally seems like a good idea.

The dinner/feast was fantastic!
I had never been politely forced to eat so much in my whole life.
Marc's uncle had us drink wine with dinner.
It was weird to be treated as an adult by them.
Though, it's not weird to talk to my parents.

They're pissed.
Well, they are so far beyond 'pissed' that there isn't a word for it.
Dad wants me to come home.
He says I have made a mistake.
Mom was crying.
She told me to come home, that she understands.

She doesn't get it.
I don't want to go home now.
Not even 1% of me wants to go back.
They don't want to hear that.
Still, they said they will send some of my things.
Clothes, books, shoes.
The things I was concerned most about.

The second thing I was concerned about gets addressed.
Marc is going to work with his uncle; Paul.
I am going to work with his aunt; Martine.
Paul runs a newspaper.
Martine has a coffee shop.
I have never made coffee.
Not even instant.
Still, she assures me that I will find something there I am good at.
We both start in three days.

It's after 10 o'clock when we get back to the house.
Our house.
Our house.
That, for some reason, doesn't sound right.
But, it's just us.
Alone.

We talk about the conversations we had with our parents.
Neither were very happy.
My parents are concerned about school.
So are his.
But, what is more important?
Learning it first hand or being stuck in a classroom?

I like the first option more.
Right now anyway.

"Are you excited to go shopping tomorrow with Aunt Martine," Marc asks while we both get ready for bed. Him in fresh boxers. Me in the new panties and t-shirt that were included in my backpack. "I think she really likes you, even though you're skinny."

"So are you," I shoot back playfully. "And we're only shopping for, what, food?"

"Food from an open market," he corrects. "It's the most amazing, fresh food on the planet. How much money did you have in your wallet?"

"Maybe $150 American plus I have the birthday money I got from grandpa in my pocket," I tell him. "So, all together, $250. How much do you have?"

"A lot more than that but you should that exchanged while you're out tomorrow and have aunt Martine take you to some shops to buy, well, some things you will need. Underwear, bras, stuff like that," he suggests. "Just basic stuff to hold you over until your stuff arrives. I am going to do the same with uncle Paul tomorrow."

"Do you really think we can make this work, Marc?"

A smile stretches across his face, bright and beautiful.
He walks over to me and, amazingly, his arms wrap around me.
They are a combination of things.
Warm.
Safe.
Assuring.
Loving.
Confident.
All the other things I wish I could, and am trying to, be.

His hands smooth over my hair and shoulders.
He kisses my forehead.
Then, he pulls away just enough so I can see him smile again.

"We can do anything. Honestly, Rose, we are two of the most responsible people on the planet and we know how to cope in high stress situations. Here, it's just us. We don't have to please our parents, die to keep decent grades or worry about getting to spend time together," he says. "We'll be okay, Rose."

"How do you know we will be?"

"Because I love you. That's reason enough to know something will be good," he tells me.

I consider him to be right.
Things will be okay.
We just have to work at it.
Love is worth it.
Always is.
I think.

We sleep cuddled together tight.
It was just one more perfect moment with him.
Knowing there are more helps my mind to relax.
I get to rest but not dream.
That's okay, though.
I don't need to dream.
I have one wrapped around me.

The next morning is overly sunny.
I can get away with wearing the same jeans I arrived in.
I am not quite ready to wear those dresses.
Martine doesn't make a big deal about anything.
Even the fact that I am not perfectly made up.
How could I be anyway?
I have nothing to make myself up with.

"Don't worry about anything at all," she tells me as we leave the market, hands full of things she insists we need for the house. "Your parents understand there are worse places you can be in the world. And, Marc, he loves you. Even someone afflicted with blindness could see that. He wouldn't have done this if he didn't."

"Thank you for everything," I manage to say without my voice cracking. "This something we planned but I didn't think we'd ever follow through. I told him all the reasons why we shouldn't."

"He must have thought of a thousand more reasons why being here was better for you both in the end," Martine smiles. "Don't let all this weigh heavy on your shoulders, my dearest. Treat it as you getting the chance at life that not a lot of others get. Do you know how many people dream of just packing their things and leaving to start anew?"

Hundreds.
Thousands.
Millions.
Everyone dreams of running away at times.
Just...so few do it.

They talk themselves out of it.
They come up with reasons to stay stuck.
Marc saw that being stuck wouldn't suit us anymore.
I was used to it.
It was everything I knew.
Mom. Dad. Seth. Jonah.
Cheating boyfriend.
Betrayed by a best friend.

Now, there is more.
Brilliant sun.
Marc. Me. Us alone.
And, for some reason, that is okay.

I get my money exchanged.
There is nowhere near the same amount I had before.
Still, it's enough to get basic things.
Everything in black except socks.
Those stay crisp white.
I got some cheap t-shirts.
They will do until my stuff can get here.

Martine helps me bring things into the house.
She doesn't stay, though.
There is a matter of putting her own things away and making dinner.
We are expected to go again tonight.
I don't mind it at all.
There are only a limited number of things I can make as a main course.

Marc is there to help me.
He puts the groceries away.
I put clothes into one of the small, but long, dressers in our room.

"It's nice to see you in such a good mood instead of an unsure one," Marc notes when he joins me upstairs. "Did you have a good time with Martine?"

"Sure," I say, not quite beaming. "It was a nice day, I suppose. I guess I need a little more time to get used to everything. You know, I have never been away from my parents without having some kind of supervision before. It's a strange new thing to me."

"I understand. This place will start to feel more like home once all the dust is settled and you're able to look over at your night stand to see your favorite book. It might take a little while but it will happen," he says, taking a seat on the very edge of the bed. "You will like working with Martine. Once she finds out how well you bake, she will try to capitalize on it. She can teach you all sorts of things since she went to a culinary school. Granted that was a long time ago."

A life of making pies, cakes and cookies.
Fudge, crackers and brownies.
Maybe that won't be so bad.
It beats being a hooker.
Or drug mule.

"Making cake is better than sitting through a boring math class any day. Do you know what you are going to be doing," I ask, sitting next to him.

He nods.

"Proof-reading for the time being, which is going to be a little bit of a challenge since I am not so great with German. It will be better than nothing, though," he muses. "And it's a stepping stone to what I have always wanted to do anyway; write. Enough of this! What do you want to do tonight? We have a whole backyard and I'm sure the sky will be clear."

"We have no telescope," I remind him.

"You don't need one all the time. Sometimes, stars are better viewed without aid," he says, gently pushing his shoulder into mine. "It helps keep their secrets hidden. You know what, I will ask uncle Paul for his book on constellations and we can try to find them all when we get home."

His use of the word "home" has a dual effect.
It makes me smile while my heart breaks.
This is home now.
It will never be my parents house again.
Sure, I may go back there but it won't ever really be home again.

"Not all of them but most," I correct him. "We can't do it all at once."

"Of course," he agrees. "Just a few then. I don't think I will be paying much attention to them anyway. Not with you sitting beside me."

He's nothing if not honest.
So, my broken heart starts to pull its peices together.
With my satellite orbiting me, things will be fine.
Better than fine.
Stellar.

Grandma and grandpa felt the need to bring presents.
Plural.
Neither of the things are that great.
Seth brought me flowers.
I know he swiped them from somewhere.
Must have been the only thing that he could get his hands on.
Well, that was legal, anyway.

By 10:00, mom is up making the kitchen more suitable.
Cleaning it is first. (It's cleaner than most operation rooms already.)
Then she goes to get the cake.
Grandma goes with her.
Dad, Seth and grandpa went to Mr. Foster's wife's place to pick up the dinner.

I get to stay home.
Wallowing in my misery.
I should have asked to go to Paris.
We should have run away.
Being sensible is possibly the dumbest thing in the existance of the world.

Still, the whole day isn't bad.
The only person to actually say "Happy Birthday" to me was Marc.
And that was via text message.
How wonderful.
He is already pushing himself to not care enough to call.

I think that's why I have a better time around my family.
Just like I did last year.
And the one before that.
I didn't have someone else to worry about.
Why should I worry tonight?

It's after 7:00 when we finally get to the cake.
Dad lights all 17 candles.
I blow them out and make a wish.

I wish...I wish I was better.

Better at what?
I don't know.
Better able to handle myself.
Better at being myself to begin with.
That would help.

"Did you wish for a pony," Seth jokes, sending everyone (but me) into a small fit of laughter. "No, seriously Rose, what did you wish for?"

"She can't tell you what she wished for, Seth. That would prevent it from coming true," my grandmother tells him as she pats my shoulder. "Whatever you wished for, Rosemary, I am sure it will come true."

"I hope so," I smile, really wanting to burst at the seams.

Mom suggests Seth and I go for a drive.
He drives.
I ride.
Major difference.

He takes me to the park Marc and I frequent.
We sit on the swings next to each other.
There is a nice silence between us before he has to go ruin it.

"Have you seen Marc today?"

"No."

"Heard from him at all?"

"He sent me a text message but that is about it."

"Yeah, well, he's been busy."

"With what?"

"That."

He points ahead of us.
Marc stands across the way, leaning against a cab.
A backpack sits on his shoulder.

"What does he think he's doing," I ask Seth, praying he's got some kind of answer.

"He's giving you what you are too afraid to take for yourself," he says. "Look, I am the only one that knows that he's doing this so you better take it while you have the chance. He has your passport and tickets. You just have to make the choice to go with him or not."

I can't go.
Can I?
Seth knows.
He will blab at some point.
But, when he does, it will be too late to do anything about.
I'll be gone.
And, if I don't go, I will regret it for the rest of my life.
I can't imagine staying the way I have been.

So, I hug Seth then run to Marc.
Really run.
He just couldn't get this out of his head.
And, he's accepting full responsibility for all my actions.

We slide into the cab.
He hands me a backpack he had sitting on the floor.
Everything I will need is inside.
Passport, another t-shirt, socks, panties and my wallet.
Seth must have swiped that for him, too.

"They are going to kill us for this," I say, completely disregarding the speeding driver.

"They have to find us first," Marc responds. "Don't worry about anything anymore, Rose. I couldn't leave this idea alone. Leaving you would have been too hard and, if you really want me to be honest, I would rather give up a life of journalism greatness to be with you."

"You're insane."

"I'd only be insane it I hadn't done this, Rose. You can't argue anymore. You're here with me so, on some level, you wanted to run, too. It doesn't matter what your reasons were. It just counts that you're here."

"And where are we supposed to be going," I ask, still mildly insistant on knowing every small detail.

"The less you know, the better right now," he says firmly. "Either you can consider that romantic or protective, it's up to you but, really, it will help you stay out of trouble just in case."

"In case what? Someone accuses you of kidnapping me?"

He nods.
And I kind of understand.
My dad will be livid.
Mom will be pissed but see it as romantic.
Seth and Jonah...well...they won't really care.
His parents will want blood just as much as mine.

In the end, what does it matter?
Being here is holding us down.
School, parents, expectations.
What kind of life is that?
None.

The airport is crowded.
Thankfully.
We get through undetected though no one is looking for us yet.
We have no baggage to check.
It makes it easier to get through security.
Easier to get onto the plane.
Easier to leave everything we know behind.

I'm not sorry to the people on the ground.
I have stopped feeling sorry for myself.
Perhaps the wish I made will come true.
This will make me better.
It will force me to find out what I am made of.

It's a 12 hour flight to Germany.
A small airport is where we end up.
It's the afternoon.
Only three people stand in the main floor of the airport.
Two are employees.
The other is tall, built and looks just like the male version of Marc's mother.

"Jean-Marco, we have recieved a string of angry calls from your mother already," he greets us. "Along with yours, his sweet Rosemary. Are you absolutely sure that you are willing to stay?"

"Yes," Marc tells him with absolute conviction.

"Then I will continue to deal with the phone calls," his uncle smiles. "Your aunt has been busy since yesterday arranging everything in our old house for the two of you. She is looking very much forward to seeing you and meeting your Rosemary."

Your Rosemary.


Oddly, I like the way he says that.
It's cute and sweet.
Just like the house he brings us to.
It's small and brick with very light blue shutters on all the windows.
Flowers in all sorts of bright shades line the unpaved driveway.

"You have everything you need inside," his uncle tells us as we pile out of his car. "Electric, great plumbing, a shed in the back with full vegetable garden. Your aunt has brought in some clothes that belonged to Himmel and Bess for you to have until you can afford more or your parents send your things."

We both thank him before we get a tour of the house.
An open livingroom.
Small kitchen with duck themed curtains and butter yellow fridge.
One bedroom sits up stairs.
There isn't too much to look at.
White flowy curtains on all the windows.
A white based floral bed spread.
Small brown night tables on each side of the bed.

I haven't seen a phone.
No T.V.
No computers.
The only modern convinence is the microwave.
It looks very old, though.
Like from the 1970's.
It matches the fridge.

"So, the two of you should get settled. You know we live just down the street so, if you need anything, you shouldn't hesitate to come to us," his uncle offers. "And, tonight, you are coming to dinner. Your aunt is making a feast for you two. Don't break her heart by saying you won't come."

"We'll be there," I finally feel comfortable enough to say.

"Good," he smiles. "Come tonight at 6:30. We will talk about you going to work then."

Yeah.
Downside to this cute house in Germany away from our parents?
Work.
It can't be too bad.
Marc gets to write.
I get to..well...I don't know yet but I am sure they have a plan for me.

The plan right now is to get used to this house.
This yard.
This new country.
And the clothes seperated by a black garment bag in the closet.
Bess' clothes are pretty.
Flowy dresses in pastels.
Himmel's clothes are more modern.
Jeans, t-shirts and a few button downs.

"What do you think of all this," Marc casually asks as he empties the contents of his backpack onto the bed. "From the looks of it, they went all out to get this house in good enough shape for us to move into."

"The house is nice but, Marc, I don't know about all this," I say, my fingers and eyes too concerned with the fabric of one of the dresses before me to even look back at him. "What if they come here to get us to come home? What if we don't like it here?"

"If they do, there is nothing they can do that can make us go back if we don't want to and, if by some odd chance we don't like it here, then we'll go home. But, Rose, do you already regret running away?"

"No," I say, not understanding if it's the truth or not. "I just don't want my parents to hate me. I want all my things; my clothes, my shoes, my books. Don't you want your things? What if they refuse to send it all? We will have to...."

"We'll just have to make the best of it," he finishes for me. "The best we can do is relax about it and hope for the best of the best."

Right. Hope.
I have never grasped that concept.
It's taken me running half a world away to get it.

Lesson #1: Learned.

JULY

Talking about running away was one thing.
Planning it out is another.
We decided against it in the end.
What would it get us?
A small house in the country with no electricity.
Four angry parents.
Ruined futures.
Yeah, basically, things neither of us really wants.
Still, the plan is there if we ever feel inclined to use it.

My birthday is next week.
On a Friday.
Dad will be here then.
He told me, on the phone, he's found me something nice.
Seth is coming in with grandma and grandpa on Wednesday.
The house will be full again.
I hate it already.

"It won't be so bad," Marc reasons as we lay on his trampoline. "Of course, it means I can't sneak in but you can always sneak out here with me. My bed will always welcome you and your oddly candy cane striped pajamas."

"I like them," I smile.

I slide closer to him.
My leg goes over his.
My arm goes around his waist.
His fingers push through my hair.

"Are you nervous about the summer ending? You understand you have nothing to worry about when it comes to me," he says as his fingers dance along the sensitive parts of my neck. "I will be home every single chance I get."

"Can we not talk about this now? You'll just make me upset," I tell him.

"Rose, I don't mean to make you upset with talk of this but, realistically, it needs to be talked about. I am sure you worry about it."

"No, I haven't even thought about it," I honestly tell him. "Why would I even worry? If you find someone else..."

"I won't," he interjects.

"You might," I stress. "And, if you do, that's life. Things change when you least expect them to and, with you so far away, it's bound to happen at some point. Right?"

"It's wonderful to know you have such faith in me. Do you remember the talk we had before; I am your satellite. In millions of years, has the moon ever given up on the Earth? No. It's not said, 'Oh, I think I will go orbit Mars for a while'. I have no intention whatsoever of being with anyone else," he says adamantly.

"You say that now."

"Can't you just accept that as truth? Keeping you believing it will probably be the death of me," Marc concludes.

Maybe it will be.
I just don't believe in a real 'forever'.
People leave because their hearts change.
Not because they don't care.

Do I think he will care about me forever?
Yes.
Love me forever?
More than likely not.

I don't think about it anymore after that night.
That's a lie.
Marc's put it in my head and now it's at the forefront of all my thoughts.
We should have run away.
I wouldn't have to plot a goodbye out in advance.

I'll be strong.
He will leave.
I will go to school and find the first new guy I can.

New guy + me = get over it.
Maybe.
I suppose.
Perhaps.
No.
Who am I kidding?
That would be the worst thing possible.

I will go and become one of those girls that counts things down on a calendar.
Red circles for the day he comes home.
Black X's for the days between visits.
A broken heart for the day he has to leave.
Yeah.
That will all look nice among dates for tests and holidays.

By the time Saturday rolls around, and I am half way over it, I have to find a cake.
Mom is still mad at me for not wanting to grow up.
As such, she's refused to make a cake for the 'party'.
The bakery will have to do it.

"Alright," she says when we walk in. "The book with the cakes is at the counter. You should go look in it while I try to find some cupcakes for your father. He will be home tonight."

"Sure, mom," I roll my eyes.

"And, Rose, get something simple," she reminds me. "Nothing with little plastic toys and crazy colors. Remember, your grandparents are going to be there."

It's my birthday.
I should have any kind of cake I want.
So, on purpose, I write down the order number of the Princess Barbie cake.
And, for the colors, I write down bright pink and yellow.

Sure, it gets an odd look from the woman behind the counter.
No.
I don't really care.
The whole purpose was to piss mom off.
Not to mention getting a reaction from grandma.

Mom gets her cupcakes.
I tell her my cake is white with pink roses on it.
She's happy with the lie.
So am I.
Just means she will be all that more surprised at the actual cake.

Dad is home when we get back.
I am glad to see him.
He will save me, momentarily, from my mom's overbearingness.

"Rose! You will never guess what I got you for your birthday," dad greets me when I walk into the house. "Well, you will have to once you go up and see it. I know you didn't like the clothes your mother got you but, hey, I know your style."

"Somehow, I doubt that, dad," I tell him, still happy that he thinks he does.

"Go up to your room and then tell me you doubt me," he says.

So I go up.
The bed is covered in bags.
Not just any bags.
Nice bags that look as if they contain high end clothes.
Yet...

They contain t-shirts printed with odd things.
Jeans with custom patches.
Dresses with fun prints.
Heels with anime scenes splashed on them.

Maybe he does know my style!

"Who helped you pick all this stuff out, dad? I know you didn't just stumble upon a shop while you were away," I say, pulling a lime green and white gingham printed retro-looking dress up to my chest.

"I wish I could take all the credit but Jean-Marco helped me find a shop in Chicago that was your taste," he tells me. "As for picking the things out, the girls in the shop asked me about the stuff you like and they picked it all out. I just took the chance that you'd actually wear the stuff."

"I will! All the time. This stuff will definately replace my clothes when school starts again."

"Just glad you like it," he says smugly, looking over to my mother. "Enjoy them."

I will.
More than mom's clothes.
More than anything.
Well, I would have loved a car.
It's alright, though.
Clothes, shoes and diamonds are a girl's best friend.

Yes, I am aware that I am saying that to make myself feel better.
But I love the clothes.
I can't wait for the party.
For the cake.
To wear the yellow t-shirt with a blue duck on it.
It will be an awesome day.

I hope.
Of course, my hopes always get dashed.
Mom found out about the Princess cake.
She cancelled it.
Instead, she is getting plain chocolate.

I know she did it just because I liked dad's clothes more.
Don't really care.
She should get over it.
They both need to get over things.

Wow.
This is me not really caring about what they think.
Or anyone for that matter.
And, to be honest, it scares me.
Not enough to make me stop.
Start.
Whichever is correct.

All the pretty clothes go into my closet.
All the crappy clothes mom bought get stuffed in the back.
I will never wear them anyway.
Not even when grandma and grandpa come in.
The stuff is just too boring and ugly.
Though, it would have been perfect for Germany.

The dance was lame.
I got all dressed up for, basically, nothing.
At least I got to wear Chanel.
I'll have to thank grandma for that later.

I got on the dance floor three times.
Once was with grandpa.
We danced to "My Girl".
Seth and I danced to "Singin' In the Rain".
And, well, there is the dance I will remember forever.
Marc and I moved to "At Last".
Etta James never sounded so wonderful.

Saying goodbye to Seth and grandpa was hard.
So was sleeping in my own small bed the night I got home.
I miss the big, super nice one at grandpa's.
It was firm and perfectly held space for two bodies.
Comfortable. Sweet. Nice.
The pillows at home don't smell like Marc.
The ones I left did.

Morning comes too roughly.
Sunlight coupled with instant heat blows.
I will it to snow.
The temperature climbs to 107.
In the shade.
By noon.

Mom made lunch before she left to shop with Marc's mom.
I eat it in the livingroom while watching some lame show on VH1.
My mind is blank.
In a good way.
But mom coming home ruins it.

"Rose, come with me, I bought you some new things for school," she almost sings as she walks through the door. "It's all new. Consider it an upgrade."

Rose 2.0.
I don't want that yet.
Mom's ideas are much different than my own.
The clothes she bought are pretty but not my style.
Trousers. Tunics. Very basic t-shirts. A long chocolate brown duster.

"What do you think of them," she asks happily as I sort through each item sprawled out on her bed. "I know it all looks strange now but, really, Rose, I want you to start dressing your age."

"What age do you think I am, mom? I am 16. Not 21," I remind her.

"Rose, I am very well aware of how old you are. You are going to be a Senior this year in school and you need to look more grown up. T-shirts and jeans are fine when you are home but, you need to start being more serious about your studies," she counters. "Just try them out. If you don't like them, you can wear all the t-shirts you want."

"Mom, I know you mean well, but I don't want to change the way I dress," I tell her outright. "These clothes are nice. I will keep them. Just in case but, I won't wear them every day."

"Fine, have it your way," she exhales sharply, all the while keeping calm. "One day, you will have to grow up, Rose. You can't be a kid forever. You have a boyfriend that you sleep with yet you can't find it within yourself to wear a dress. I just...I don't understand you sometimes."

"I don't like dresses all that much. I have some. I wear them. You have seen me wear them," I counter. "And what does it matter if I sleep with him? Not every girl that has sex wears a dress, mom. I mean, if we're going to be honest about it, it would give us easier access but..."

"That is just crude, Rose," mom sighs.

"But honest," I emphasize. "Just let me wear my jeans."

She lets me walk out of the room.
She doesn't seem to mind that I lock myself in my room.
At least I don't have to deal with Seth.
Or Jonah.
Or even Marc.

Why do I have to wear stuff with flowers on it to be considered a girl?
I wear pink.
I like kitties. And rainbows.
Not to mention, I have boobs.
I can wear what I always do and still make Marc want to rip it off.
That's enough for me.

He sent me a text an hour into my self-inflicted lock down.
The park at ten?
I told him I would be there.
Dad is gone.
Mom will be asleep by then.
Getting out of the house will be easy.

Well, it was easy.
I swept my hair back, put on a white t-shirt and left via bike.
No one will come looking for me.
I can enjoy the heat of the night in the grass at the park.
Doesn't hurt that Marc's already there.
I see him from the sidewalk.

Long jean shorts.
Black muscle shirt.
Converse with no socks.
His telescope is set up, pointed at the moon.

"Hey, Rose, I was just about to call you," Marc tells me as I toss my bike onto the grass. "I am almost done with this chart. Do you want to just lay with me here for a while? You know, just to do it."

"Anything is better than sitting alone in my room," I tell him. "When do you have to be home?"

"Whenever I want," he laughs. "You know how my parents are. I'm 18 and, according to them, I am capable of making good, rational decisions. Can't think of anything better than laying out in an open field with your head on my shoulder."

Neither can I.
So, when he finishes his chart and packs up his telescope, we lie together.
Side by side.
My left hand clasped in his right.
Our eyes pointed upward to the stars.

"What do you want for your birthday," Marc asks from nowhere. "It's coming up. The 17th of next month, right?"

"Yeah," I push out. "Anything you get will be nice though, you don't have to get anything. I probably won't even have a party or anything like that. Just cake with mom and dad."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know I don't have to but I want to," he says, looking over to me. "Tell me what you want."

"To leave," I tell him, meaning it whole heartedly. "You know, I have it a whole lot better than a lot of kids do but, and I have never told anyone this, I just want to run away from everything. Just go somewhere where I can't be found."

"Where would you want to go? I have a passport and $5,000 saved from all the graduation money I got," he informs me. "If you want to run, I will run with you."

"Be serious," I shrug him off, sitting up. "You'd never run away from home. Ever. Why would you want to? You have it so good at home. You don't have to deal with absent parents and brothers that treat you like crap."

"I couldn't be more serious, Rose. I am tired of being responsible and rational and reliable. Maybe running away would do us both good," he shocks me by saying. "Let's do something completely spotaneous and stupid. For once, while we can. Tell your mom tomorrow that you want to visit your grandparents in Paris. I will tell mine the same. They'll have to let us go. Once we're there, slipping out of view would be only too easy."

"Thought about this much," I half-sarcastically ask.

"More than you can even imagine," he says. "We can go."

"It's a nice notion but, Marc, we can't actually do that. Our parents would track us down and kill us at some point," I tell him.

"Who cares? We said just a while ago that summer was meant to do whatever we wanted and we both want to go away," he points out. "Let's go."

He's crazy.
We can't leave.
Can we?
My parents would let me go to Paris.
So would his.
But, where would we go from there?

This is a stupid plan.
I am more stupid for agreeing to it.
We only live once.
Might as well do as many stupid things as possible.
I'd rather never wonder 'what if'.

If that means I go to Paris and run away with Marc, so be it.
I will gladly do it just to see the end result.
Happy or miserable, it's better than wondering.

So, I ride my bike home at 1 a.m.
Next to Marc.
The idea stays too fresh in my head.
I crawl into Marc's bed.
He whispers plans in my ear.

Go to Germany.
There is a nice little town there, where his uncle lives.
He runs a newspaper.
He could help us escape suburbia.
We could live there until we get ready to come back.
Stay forever if we want.

Forever.
The word has never had a bigger meaning until it stares me in the face.
Am I willing to give up comfort and money for freedom and happiness?

Yes.
I think I am.
Strike that.
I know I am.

"Do you think you will be happy so far away from home," I ask him, being careful to keep it a whisper. "What will this mean for us? Just leaving, Marc?"

"It means we can be happy. We don't have to worry about anything our parents want us to. No school, no more having to do anything we don't want," he says. "Things at first might not be easy but, as long as you are at my side, I don't care."

"Me either."

I wonder instantly if that is a lie.
I would care.
Just not that much.
And, really, I guess, that is what counts most.

It's too hot to sleep once the sun comes up.
Grandpa won't turn the air conditioner on until at least noon.
So, I am forced to get up at 7:00.
A shower only helps the early heat a little.
Of course, that relief is short lived when I get downstairs.

Seth is cooking breakfast.
Marc and Grandpa are sitting on the couch going through scrapbooks.
I hate that they seem happy.
I want more sleep. Hours and hours more.

"Good morning sweet princess," my grandpa coos from the couch. "I hope you slept well. Sorry about how hot it gets upstairs in the morning but your grandmother would kill me if I left the air conditioner on after I got up, which was at 5:30. Like always."

All I can do is nod.
I'm too tired to speak.
Leaving him and Marc alone is the smart thing right now.
The only thing that will keep me from being cranky all day is food.
Real food.

"Mornin' Rose," Seth throws over his shoulder. "Did the smell of my delicious pancakes wake you up?"

"I wish. It was how I was roasting alive upstairs," I tell him.

"Well, yeah, I should have told you that they have some strange new rules and shit," Seth says as he slides a plate in front of me. "Have these. Once grandpa goes to meet with his senior chess club, you can go back to sleep in my room if you want."

"You know Seth, it's a little disturbing how nice you are being to me, how nice you were being to me before you left," I observe outloud. "What's made you...change? For real. Not that I want you to go back to being a blazing asshole but..."

Seth laughs a little then turns back to his pancakes.
He is quick with the stack.
Or maybe I just think he is because I eat the first one in record time.
It's not until he sits across from me that I realize my piggy-ness.

"I thought we've been over this before but it could have been the weed," Seth shrugs. "Seriously though, I am growing up, Rosie. Jonah can be the 'blazing asshole' of the house now that I'm gone. He won't, though. He will turn straight with Noodle and I both gone. And you, you need someone that you can actually come to."

"I can go to mom," I tell him.

"Not about certain things," he reminds me quickly. "Who are you going to go to cry about how things end when Marc has to go to school in, hmm...a few months? Me. Mom won't really care if you're sulking around. Neither will dad or Jonah. I swear, maybe this next school year, you should think about getting some friends."

My eyes roll.
Maybe I should really get some friends next year.
I really don't have any that I can truly count on anymore.
Save for Marc and, well, he kind of has to care.
For now.

"Seriously, Rosie, I can't be an asshole forever. Girls don't dig that anymore," he adds.

"I knew that is what it would all come down to," I sigh. "Girls and what they would want. Yeah. Assholes aren't very appealing to most girls but there are some that can't get enough of them. Why don't you just go out with those?"

"Because those kinds of girls are whores," Seth snorts. "And do you really think I want to date a whore? Okay. You might think that but that isn't the case. I want to have a good girlfriend. Someone that I don't have to worry about sleeping with my best friend."

"Well, with Noodle as your best friend, you never have to worry about that," I shoot at him.

Seth can't help but agree.
Noodle scares girls away.
Literally, which is sad.
He's super gross and crude and just sick.
At least I think so anyway.

I wash our breakfast dishes while Seth goes to straighten up his bed.
I am dying to go back to sleep.
It would be better if Marc could stay with me.
But he can't.
Grandpa ropes him, and Seth, to go with him to his chess club meeting.

Maybe that is for the best.
I sleep hard in Seth's cold bedroom under his pile of clean blankets.
I dream about cowboys and the west.
It was funny because Marc and Seth were wearing hats and carried guns.
Seth looked like an idiot.
Marc looked hot.

They aren't home when I wake up.
I have no calls on my cellphone from either one of them.
I decide to just curl up on the couch to watch T.V.
I hate everything that's on.
It's all mind numbing.
Boring.
Stupid.
Sickening.


"Honey, we're home," my grandpa happily trumpets as he bursts into the house. "Rose, don't get up! You stay right there, stay comfortable. I have the boys bringing in dinner and the DVD's they wanted to watch with you. I have to pop out for a while. Think you guys will be okay without me?"

"I am sure we will, grandpa," I smile.

"That's great, Rose. Let me know if these boys give you a hard time," he tells me before he kisses my forehead. "I will be back before 10 o'clock. Boys! Bring Rosie some dinner! She's been sleeping and needs food. Don't make her wait."

"Don't worry, I'm on it," Marc says as he turns the corner to the livingroom holding two plates. Pizza.

Grandpa pats his shoulder.
"Good boy" is what he tells Marc before he leaves.
Marc hands me a plate, drops down next to me and sighs.

"Long day," I ask.

"The longest. I knew that it probably would be but I didn't think it would feel like two eternies back to back," Marc jokes. "And, it made me miss you. It sucks that we were in the same house all morning and I didn't even talk to you."

"Hey, I know how my grandpa is," I tell him. "I missed you, too, though. I was dying to sneak down and crawl into your bed but, when I tried, my grandpa was walking down the hallway to do a bed check, I guess. It was all so...old-school."

Marc laughs and kisses my temple.
I want more than that.
Seth doesn't even register in my mind as I throw our plates onto the coffee table.
He smirks and rests his hands on my hips the moment I straddle his lap.

"I like this," he says, his voice low and sexy.

"What else would you like," I can't help but ask.

"To not see this," Seth chimes is as he walks into the room. "I don't care what you guys do as long as it's not on the couch. It would be too hard to explain stains on it."

Marc and I blush.
I fall off him.
We eat pizza and watch one of the DVD's.
Halfway through anyway.
Seth says he will cover for Marc and I so we can retire to the guest room.

Marc locks the door.
I turn on the small black and white T.V. for light.
He wraps his arms around me, turning me to pure liquid heat.
Again.
He's good at it.

"Do you think it's actually in you to be quiet," Marc jokes in a whisper.

His teeth drag themselves, slow, beyond slow, against my neck.
He knows how much that supresses my thought process.
How much I like it.

"No," I tell him truthfully. "But I can try."

'Trying' instantly makes things harder to control.
His warm hands contrast harshly with the cold room.
The skin on my arms perks up into bumps.
But, this time, instead of being submissive, I take some kind of lead.

I kiss him.
Hard.
His kiss follows suit and, things start falling away.
T-shirts.
Jeans.
Underwear.
Shyness.

We make it quick.
Hot but quick.
Seth doesn't break us up.
There was no need.
We are done and dressed again long before 10.

We eat more pizza.
And, when grandpa gets back, I go up to my bedroom.
I take another shower then go to sleep.
This time, not alone.
Marc succeeds in sneaking up to my room after midnight.

Suddenly, the heat doesn't matter anymore.
Marc's damp hair and warm arms keep me too happy to care.

My grandpa West is awesome.
The meaning of the word, of course.
He is where I get my writing 'talents' from, according to my dad.
Marc and Seth had been talking about him forever.
So, it seems only natural that we'd go visit him and my grandmother.

My grandmother is quiet traditional in her manner.
She cooks, cleans, does errands and manages to get it all done before noon.
All she wears are dresses that belonged to her mother.
They are pretty and make her look young despite her long white hair.

Knowing I will get to see them later has made me happy.
More so because I know I can sleep on the way there.
Really sleep.
I won't have to worry about Seth drawing on my face.
Or Jonah flicking things into my mouth.

I get up at 7:00 to do my make-up.
My grandmother complains if I don't have at least mascara on.
She complains about a lot of things when it comes to me.
I wear pants too much.
I am too skinny.
I don't know how to take care of myself the right way.

Grandpa lets it all go.
He says more women should be like me.
Do what they want, not what's expected.
Live their lives to the fullest without any regrets.
He likes my mom for the same reason.


That's why I wear jeans.
And a t-shirt.
And lots of cute bracelets.
Grandpa will like them. Grandmother will hate them.
It's a win-win situation.

"I put some money and one of my credit cards in your wallet in case you need them," my mother tells me when I come down stairs with my backpack. "Do you know if Marc will stop for breakfast? You two need to eat before you leave."

"He's probably eaten already and thank you," I tell her.

"Then you should have something. I know there isn't much time until he plans to leave but it's better than eating candy the entire trip," she muses while trying to find something, anything suitable for a quick breakfast.

"Mama, will be fine. Breakfast or no breakfast. I am sure that we will stop for gas and lunch," I remind her. "Don't worry about anything. I have my cellphone, fully charged, medicine for everything I can imagine, extra clothes in case I need them and, thanks to you and dad, even more money."

She smiles and pats my head encouragingly.
I know that she's happy that I am so organized.
Marc is rubbing off on me.
In more ways than one.

She says she loves me before I go outside to meet Marc.
He's tossing his own backpack into the trunk of his car.
Jeans. Olive t-shirt. Perfect hair.
He has only one bracelet on. A brown leather one that ties around his left wrist.
He takes my backpack, tosses it in with his own and shuts the trunk.

We get into the car.
He backs out and we're on our way.
But I get annoyed quick.
He's chosen to bring only his classical C.D.'s.
The violins are good for romance.
They are not, however, good for long car trips.

He's not a stupid boy.
He knows, immediately, that this isn't my cup of tea, so to speak.

"I completely understand that you aren't liking this so far but, I swear to you, by the time we get to your grandparents house, you will like it as much as I do," he says, reaching over to pat my leg. "But, just in case, if you brought some C.D.'s of your own, we can switch to them when I stop for gas."

"It's fine," I lie. "It's just not what I'm used to."

"You didn't bring your C.D.'s, did you," he asks, gently poking my leg.

"No," I shake my head. "I didn't. Okay. We should move on to another subject. What made you want to go visit Seth and my grandparents all of a sudden? I mean, you didn't even mention it to me at all yesterday, or the day before that."

"I didn't plan on going to visit them. Seth called and made it seem like the perfect time of the year to go visit," he says. "Your grandmother is in Vegas with her bridge club and Thursday night, there is going to be some kind of award's ceremony for your grandfather's last published piece. It promises to be amazing!"

Award's ceremony?
Grandpa likes his throphies so I know he won't pass that up for the world.
Seth won't pass up free food.
And, Marc, this will be something he can use as a learning expierence.

Meanwhile, I will get to lounge around and be a princess for two days.
And that is exactly what happens when we arrive.
Grandpa makes a big deal about how pretty I am.
Then he makes a big deal about how talented Marc is.

He shows me to the room I always stay in and I fall in love.
Again.
It's so pretty!
Blue walls with white trim, a huge comfortable bed and giant window with a terrace.
Seth and Jonah always got the downstairs rooms.
They're small and drab and cowboy themed.

"Well, my little princess, you make yourself comfortable," my grandpa tells me when he drops my backpack on the bed. "Seth and your boyfriend are going to get the dinner I ordered because, you know, I am a horrible cook."

What?
Did Seth tell him about me and Marc?
Or did he figure it out himself?
Or was he just being sarcastic?

"How did you know he was my boyfriend," I ask him quick, forgetting all he just said about the dinner I am dying for.

"Seth told your grandmother and I about it when we asked him to catch us up on things," my grandpa says. "Don't worry about anything. I'm a cool grandpa. Just not cool enough to let the two of you stay in the same room. He's staying downstairs in the room next to Seth's."

"Are you sure it's okay? I know how much grandma always tells me that I shouldn't get involved with anyone until I am done with school and..."

"She's not here," grandpa reminds me with a smile and a pat on my shoulder. "So, while we're waiting for them to get back, unpack your stuff and get comfortable! You get to choose the Pay Per View movie tonight."

He bounces out of the room.
He is probably going to check if there is any ice-cream in the freezer.
I drop everything out onto the bed and put it away in the dressers.
Then, I join my grandpa downstairs.
He's exactly where I hoped to find him; putting out ice-cream pints to thaw.

"Seth said you liked the Karamel Sutra," he laughs. "Such a play on words, don't ya think? He got Chunky Monkey. Jeez, kiddo, the things come up with these days. So, you gonna tell me how you met your booooyfrrrieeennd?"

I hate that he stretches out the word but I laugh anyway.

"He's been Seth's friend forever, though I'm not sure why. They are as different as night and day," I tell him, taking a seat at the table. "It's only recently that we have started to hang out together. We get along really well, and, I have had a crush on him for a very long time."

"Finally got the courage to talk to him," grandpa asks, sitting next to me.

"Not exactly," I say. "He came after me one night after Seth and Jonah totally humiliated me to make sure that I was alright."

"Oh, a gentleman," my grandpa half teases. "I am just happy that you found someone that is both smart and caring. You deserve someone like that. Every girl does. Now, my dear, go find a movie on for us all. With your grandmother gone, there is no need for us to all sit around this huge table. The couch and recliners are just as capable as these chairs are of supporting us and plates."

He winks and nudges me.
My grandpa is too cool. Too nice. Too cheeky.
Seth and Marc come back as I turn the T.V. on.
I find a movie on.
"Shutter".
Yeah, a horror movie is awesome to watch while you're eating.

I get comfortable on the couch so I can accept the plate my grandpa brings for me.
Seth sits next to me in the recliner.
Marc sits on the couch with me.
Grandpa takes the other, newer recliner.

And, we sit there staring at the T.V. and eating more than we should.
It's such fun that, after the one movie is over, we rent another.
Grandpa says you can't eat ice-cream without watching a movie.
We all tend to agree.

No one really moves until after midnight.
Grandpa goes to bed.
Seth and Marc go pass out in their rooms.
I, on the other hand, go wash our dishes.
I hate them being left in the sink.

Summer is awesome.
It couldn't get much better than this.
Could it?

Why, yes, it could.
My grandpa's bedroom is upstairs and at the back of the house.
It'll be easy to sneak into Marc's bedroom.

I head upstairs.
Change into some pajamas and open the bedroom door.
My grandpa is coming down the hallway.
For no reason at all.
No.
He might be cool but he's smart.
Bed checks.

So, I shut the door and get into bed.
I can't sleep.
My stomach is too full.
But, after a while, I settle down enough to fall asleep.
Out of boredom.

June

I don't understand his logic.
We are a couple in 2008, not 1958.
I don't do bikes.
Not since I was six and Seth pushed me off mine.
I had to get stitches. Lots of them.

"Don't look at me like I'm crazy. You said this was what summer was all about, being free. This is my last real summer and I am very intent on dragging you through it with me," Marc says to me as he flicks the pink and white streamers on the bike that is, I think, supposed to be mine. "What's so wrong with this?"

"We aren't eight," I remind him. "People our age would kill for a car and you have one but you are so insistant on making us ride these bikes down to the park. What if I fall? Unlike you, I have to show my face at school come August."

He smiles.
I instantly conceed. Almost.
I know if I stay strong, even for one more second, he will have to try harder.
So I do.
And he does.

Marc slides between the bikes so his arms can fly around me.
He's much too good to pass up.
At least he wanted to do things with me.
Even if they were gay things like riding bikes to the park.

But, once I was on the bike and we were off, it didn't seem so bad.
How could it?
The heat was clouded out by a breeze.
My hair, I'm sure, looked super awesome flowing around me.
Best of all, not once did I falter with my balance.
I rode like a pro. Kinda.

We locked the bikes in the rack once at the park.
Marc kept the keys.
I am horrible at losing things. Obviously.

The park is empty save for a few young kids skateboarding.
It's a shame.
The day is perfect and everything looks so nice.
Inviting even.
The first thing we do is something simple; sit in the sand box.

We build horrible looking sand castles before we move to the swings.
Those are my favorite things in the world.
He likes the see-saw.
We spent all day there.
There was no need to leave with the vending machines by the rest areas.
Oh!
And the ice-cream truck.

At the most orange part of the day, we unlock our bikes and push them home.
We don't care that sand sticks to our clothes.
Nor do we mind that our colognes and perfumes have long worn off.
Summer is supposed to make you sweat.

"Did you have fun," Marc finally asks, pulling me from my mind.

"More fun than I thought I would. Was it everything you wanted it to be," I ask him back.

"It was close," he says. "Seriously, I would like to go back sometime soon. Next time we can leave when it's this part of the day. Assuming that you had a good enough time to go back. Can I assume that?"

"You are free to assume whatever you wish, but I would seriously love to go back. We don't even have to take the car," I tell him as we come to a stop between our fences. "What do we do now that we're home? Besides shower, I mean."

Marc slides his bike past him to rest it against the fence.
One of his bracelets almost gets caught around a handle.
I'm weird for noticing such random things.
Or too nervous, still, to notice him move so close to me.
He kisses my forehead.
Smooths my windblown hair down with both his hands.

Screw a shower.
I want to pull him up to my room.
Kiss him. Hug him. Make him really sweat.

"I need to narrow down all the people that submitted applications for my old job. There are sixty and Mr. Foster wants just five potential students," Marc tells me, breaking down my happiness. Only for a second. "The sooner I get them all sorted out, the sooner I can pick 5, the sooner Mr. Foster can take over and I can really, truly be free for a summer of bike rides, bomb pops and, well, just laying in bed making out. Okay?"

"Okay," I smile.

And so we kiss.
He takes the bikes back to his place.
I go into my house.
I move past my father on the couch and my mother in the kitchen.
All I want is a shower.

It won't be disturbed.
Seth and Jonah are both gone.
The house is too quiet without them.
I kind of miss Seth and Jonah yelling between their bedrooms.
In the hallway. In the back yard. The kitchen.
Everywhere really.

I take my wonderful shower.
45 minutes of steaming hot water and luxurious soap.
I put on pajamas pants and a tank top.
I can actually blow dry my hair.
And straighten it.
And, no one ever comes to bother me.

Well, no one does when I'm in the bathroom anyway.
My mother intentionally waits until I'm done to call me to dinner.
I can't get out of eating at the table.
She won't hear of it now that Jonah and Seth are gone.

"What did you and Marc get into today? I didn't think you'd be gone from practically dawn until dusk but...I hope you had a good time," my mother says, trying to initiate some kind of communication at the table.

My dad rolls his eyes.
He doesn't like it when my mom talks about Marc.
He almost hates it when she allows me to spend time with him.
Doesn't matter if I'm alone or not.
Certain events have scarred him.

"We just went down to the park," I tell them, putting to rest the fears that belong to my dad that I was just holed up in Marc's room going through the kama sutra. "You know, just played on the swings and stuff. Had ice-cream. Rode bikes. Stuff like that."

"That actually does sound fun, dear," my mother smiles.

"Better than having you stuck in the house with him," my father sighs.

"Oliver," my mother hushes him.

"Lisel, please. That is what she has been doing for the last week. Just spending all her time in her room, or his. We don't see her. And really, I don't think I like the fact that you are condoning her having sex with Jean-Marco," my father tells her, forgetting that I am even in the room.

We don't have sex all the time.
Not that we don't want to.
The house always has someone in it.
Mom is home.
His mom is home.
It would just be creepy.

Okay.
I shouldn't say that considering certain events.
But mom's pay attention.
Dad's rarely do.

"They aren't having sex," my mother fires back. "It's absolutely possible for the two of them to want to spend time together indoors. If you haven't noticed, it's 800 degrees outside. Did you see how sweaty she was when she came in? It's a miracle she didn't have a heat stroke from being out all day. Though, she does look a bit sunburned."

"You could come up with a million reasons for any little thing that comes up," my dad laughs. "Just...watch out for them. I don't want her to end up pregnant. Or with an STD. Or, well, have a combination of them. Do you hear me, Rose?"

I nod.
What else can I do?
There is no way I can say anything to that.
Even if I could, the words would fail completely or come out jumbled.
Either way, I'd be in trouble.

So, I sit through dinner.
My parents talk about all sorts of things I could care less about.
Dad is going on a business trip Friday.
Mom tells him that she is going to try to go shopping when he is.
She is still on about me getting 'good quality' clothes.

I don't want to do anything.
Wait.
That isn't true.
I want to just spend time with Marc.
Alone.
Don't care where it is, really.

I get stuck doing dishes after dinner.
But it's the price I pay for having complete solitude tonight.
Mom and dad go out for dessert and a drive.
Terribly romantic of dad.
Or so what people would think until they learn the dessert is from Dairy Queen.

Laying on the couch is my favorite thing in the world besides Marc.
I get to watch movies on a big screen, eat brownies and be lazy after a nice day.
How does it get better?
Mom and dad bring a sundae back for me.
I eat that in bed while browsing the internet.

Something happens though.
I get an IM from Seth.
I guess he broke grandma and grandpa down so they'd get him DSL.

Sethasaurus says: Miss me?

No.

Sethasaurus says: Don't miss you either. 'K. I do. Call me. I'm on dial-up.

Dial up is gay.

Sethasaurus says: Sure as fuck it is! Just call me.

I close my laptop, toss my empty sundae container into the trash and grab my phone.
I dial Seth's cellphone number.
He answers half way through "Miss New Booty."

"Hey, baby sister. I just got off the phone with Marc and...well, what are you doing tomorrow," he asks straight away.

"I don't know. Why don't you tell me what I'm doing so that I don't have to guess," I tell him.

"Well, Marc has been wanting to talk to grandpa about his journalism awards and I asked him to come up," Seth says. "He doesn't have anything to do and he wants you to come up with him but doesn't know if you really want to or if you are content staying home. Without him. For two days."

The first sentence end doesn't bother me.
The second makes me start to think.
The third, well, that makes me want to go.

"Tell him I'll go," I tell Seth. "I just need to tell mom what's going on and throw some stuff in a backpack. What time does he want to leave in the morning? Do you even know?"

"Eight," comes Marc's voice on the line. "Be ready. And, don't be so shocked. Every single phone has three-way calling these days. I'll see you in the morning."

"See you tomorrow night," Seth chimes in.

I hang up.
The phone goes on the charger and I bounce down to the kitchen where my mom is.
She's happy with the idea.
Dad isn't.
Mom and I overrule him.
Like always.
I will be, happily, stuck in a car with Marc for nine hours tomorrow.
I can't wait.

Sunlight dances across my back as I move to my stomach.
Marc's fingers tug back the neck of my tank top.
Light kisses make me shiver.
Moist, soft lips adorn the back of my neck, my shoulders.
His body shifts above mine while his hands push my top up.
Warm fingers roll over my belly button.
Gentle but greedy palms cup my breasts.

"Welcome to summer," he whispers against my ear.
I am too busy drowning in him to even try to be sexy.
Not that I need to.
He holds me like this for what seems a long while before pulling away.
He even straightens my top for me when he does.

"It's 10:30 a.m. Our souls are still attached to our bodies so, with complete confidence, I can say that we weren't found out between the time we went to sleep and now," Marc says. "And, to celebrate this momentous occassion, I say we get in my car and kick summer off right; a full breakfast, a movie, lunch, another movie, dinner and then, if you are up for it, another movie."

"I will have to go home and change into something comfortable enough to spend the rest of the day in," I tell him, very unwilling to follow his suit and get out of bed. "And doing that takes money, which is something I don't have."

"But I do," he shoots back. "Come on. Meet me back in my driveway in 45 minutes and we'll make a day of it. It can be our first real date."

A real date?
What does that mean?
He will open doors for me and consider me potential girlfriend material?
He wants to go to another level?
We're already at another level.
Well, sex does that, I guess.
But I agree to go.
Jeans work fine.
So does the plain white t-shirt I throw on.
Summer warrants white.


First up: breakfast.
I order french toast with blueberries and bacon.
He gets the same.
So, while we wait, we're forced to talk.

"So, do you like to be called Marc or Jean-Marco more," I ask him as I line up the different types of syrup at our table. "Because, you know, Marc is so casual but Jean-Marco is more sexy. More French. More...hot."

"I'll answer to either but I like how Jean-Marco sounds coming from you. What about you? Do you prefer Rose or Rosemary or Rosie or would you like me to come up with something more personal," he rambles off.

"I like Rose more so than any other nickname," I tell him. "Now, another question. Just why did you ask me out to this day long date? Did you feel bad for not doing it sooner or did you feel obligated since I basically handed you my virginity on a platter?"

"First off, I offered mine up just as easily as you did yours. I didn't ask you here because I felt like I needed to do anything. I wanted to because I like you. A lot. Of course, you knew that part," he smiles. "Any more questions for me that I can answer in public?"

I shake my head.
We eat breakfast then go to the first movie.
A comedy.
We leave the car parked in the lot to walk to the Taco Bell a few blocks away for lunch.
We watch the second movie.
A horror.
We take the car to find a place to eat dinner.
We settle on the little place on the lake that belongs to Mrs. Frost.


Then, we go back for the last movie.
A romance.
It wasn't even my idea to go watch it.
Marc suggested it.
He puts his arm around me and doesn't mind when I cry like a loser.
He doesn't even make fun of me for it when it's over and my eyes are puffy and red.

"So, be honest and tell me how this date rates on your scale, Miss Rose," Marc says as he pulls back into his driveway.

"I don't have many dates to compare it to but, for me, it rates a 10," I tell him. "After this, I just want to go home, take a long bath and maybe get some sleep. Since you let me stay with you last night, you are welcome to stay with me. Dad is getting up before the crack of dawn to take Jonah down to where the camp bus is picking up kids. You know my mom won't care that you're over."

"Shall I meet you at the back gate at 11, then? I mean, you will have to completely sneak me into the house once everyone is dead asleep," he says, sounding oddly condesending considering he'd done the same to me.

I point that out.
He tries to downplay it, saying it was different.
I ask how.
He says it just is.
I get out and go home.
He basically ruined the whole night.
Totally.

I am angry at him during my bath, while I'm checking e-mails, when I try to sleep.
I keep waiting for tapping pebbles.
None come.
Sleep doesn't either.
I stay up stewing until sunrise.
No sleep doesn't suit me.

"Rosemary, my dear, it's after ten. Would you like some breakfast? I am making Seth banana crepes. Should I make you strawberry ones," my mother asks as she pushes the door open to my room. She notices my state. She can't just leave it alone. "Oh, Rosemary, just what is wrong? Did you not sleep last night?"

I shake my head.
She closes my door and sits with me on my bed.
She looks so small and put together.
I'm jealous of her.

"I didn't sleep at all, mom. I just...I got very angry at Jean-Marco last night," I explain. "He acted as if we had different standards, something that I just cannot stand at all. People should be equal, right?"

"Yes, they should," my mother agrees. "Was he upset that you asked him to sneak into our house instead of letting him in the front door and did you get angry with him because he had you sneak into his?"

"How did you know that? Did his mother say something," I ask her, falling back on my bed, exhausted and frustrated. "I swear, this town is much too small and people talk way too much."

"She told me all about it, throwing in that she heard nothing that would be a cause for concern. Jean-Marco is very sensitive. So, if you want him to come stay with you, he comes in the way he used to," my mother tells me. "Your father doesn't notice as many things as you might thinks and, even when he does, I have a way of making him understand that it's not as bad as it might have seemed."

"Why are you being this amazing about the situation, mom? Most parents would be discouraging this kind of behavior the way dad does," I say, getting comfortable for the first time in 24 hours.

"I do it because I understand how important it is for you to have something like this in your life," she says. "This is something that you will always remember, something that you base every relationship you have on. You can't spend your time angry with Jean-Marco. You should spend it loving him in any way you see fit."

She leaves me to think.
I just roll over and sleep.
And sleep, and sleep and sleep.
A forever passes.
I don't wake up on my own, though.
The knocking on my door does the job.
The clock reads 9:52.
The absence of light instantly tells me it's p.m. over a.m.

I push myself out of bed.
Pulling the door open, I come face to face with Marc.
He looks just as tired as I am.

"I'm sorry. I know that I was stupid last night and I didn't mean to make you angry. You would have gotten into trouble, with your dad at least," he says as he walks into my bedroom. "I couldn't sleep at all last night. I thought about coming over but I knew that you probably wouldn't let me in, not that I blame you. But, when your mom told me you didn't sleep either, I knew that I needed to come over and talk to you."

"When did you talk to my mom," I ask him, disregarding pretty much everything else he's told me.

"She's having a card game with mine and some other ladies right now," he explains. "Your dad is already asleep, she told me, and that it would be okay if I let myself in to come tell you all this, not that I wouldn't have anyway. She just made it easier for me."

I wrap my arms around him.
His fold around me and I am sweetly almost suffocated in his red t-shirt.
He's not going anywhere but I don't want to let him go.
I do, though, so he can bury himself in my sheets.

"Am I welcome to stay here with you tonight," he asks as he cuddles into one of my pillows. "I want to sleep sweetly, not out of sheer exhaustion. I know you do, too. So, please say I can stay. Please, Rose. Let me stay with you."

I want to crawl into bed with him.
I want to tell him to leave.
I want to be strong.
I want to go weak.
That wins.

I crawl in with him and find my perfect place next to him.
His arms are welcoming, like a second home.

"Please don't make me spend a night without you again," he whispers against my ear, his voice sleepy. "I missed you more than you could have imagined."

"And I missed you," I confess in my over-sleepy state. "I love you."

"Oh, Rose, I love you just the same. We should sleep now. Really sleep. I'm tired, so are you. Confessions are coming too quick now," he rambles.

Quiet settles into the room.
And we sleep.
And dream.
And hold each other.
And we aren't sorry for the confessions that came from hazy minds.

My dad is red faced with anger.
Mr. Chandoor is trying to calm him down.
The fact that I come downstairs with my shirt inside out doesn't help matters.
We get yelled at.
Reasoned with.
Yelled at some more.
And then, it's smoothed over.
Mr. Chandoor takes Marc home.
I am made to sit with my dad to talk some more.
He promises not to tell mom.
He goes to bed before she gets back.
I stay up washing the blood off my sheets.
They go through the cycle three times before the stain is dull enough.
I give up at 3 a.m. and make my bed with My Little Pony sheets.

I wake up just in time to get dressed for graduation.
A pretty pink gingham dress.
Matching shoes.
I leave my hair down (for once) so it's wavy and pretty and natural.
My mother loves it.
Jonah and Seth make fun of my shoes.
My dad glares at Marc Chandoor from across the fence when he waves at me.

Mom. Dad. Me. Jonah.
That's the sitting order in the bleachers.
It's hot and I'm glad I wore the dress I did otherwise, I'd die.

"Seth talked to Marc Chandoor this morning when he was washing his car and it seems that Marc was put on house arrest last night," Jonah tells me, sure that I have no idea what's gone on. "When Seth asked him about what happened, Marc clammed up and didn't say anything so, that lead Seth to believe that Marc's in trouble because of you."

"He's in trouble because of himself," I say as calmly as I can. "Not that it's really your business anyway."

"No, it's not, but when information is volunteered, I can't ignore it. Word on the street is that something happened between you guys last night," Johan continues, unaware of the people that are sitting around us, or in spite of them all. "So, did it?"

"No," I lie. "No, shut up, please, Jonah. They are about to start."

Jonah rolls his eyes.
The ceremony starts.
Marc winks at me when he gets his diploma.
Jonah nudges me hard because he notices.
My dad shakes his head because he notices, too.
They all cheer when Seth gets his.
Loud.
Vibrant.
I'm sure he could hear my dad over everyone else.
Seth does a little dance on stage as he walks off.

We go out to dinner right afterward.
Once we're home, Seth and Jonah leave.
Mom and dad go to sleep.
I take a shower, throw on some Candy Land pajamas.

Then, just before I can turn my T.V. on, I hear it.
The tap, tap, tap against my window.
Marc's pebbles.
I don't make him wait.
I head down quick and catch him shoving his extra pebbles into his pocket.

"You are going to get into a massive amount of trouble coming over here. Jonah told me that Seth found out that you are some kind of house arrest because of what happened last night, and I'm sorry for that, by the way. I should have...," I sputter, watching as he smiles, slow and sexy.

"Can you stop talking for a second, please, Rose? I didn't come here to make you feel bad or to clear up any of Seth's stupid theories, though now I should," Marc says as he walks over to me, reaching out to run his fingers through my hair when close enough. "I told Seth that my father was angry at me, which he is, but he understands what happened. All I got was a slap on the wrist. I just didn't want Seth to know what happened last night between us because I knew that he would get freaked out by it."

"Yeah, well, everyone pretty much thinks they know what we did," I tell him, keeping my voice soft as not to alert my parents to my whereabouts. "My dad thinks that I should be apologetic for the events of last night but I'm not."

"I'm not asking you to be and, really, shouldn't my opinion on the events count for more than what anyone else's," he questions, wrapping his arms around my waist. "I just think that, when we do it again, it needs to be someplace where we can't be discovered so easily."

"I should have been more quiet," I whisper against his shoulder.

"Maybe," he laughs. "Did you hear me complain?"

"Not complain, just give me a warning," I tell him.

"I could hear your dad coming. Being in such an awesome, and dangerous, place makes every sense more sensitive," Marc explains. "The real reason I came here was to tell you how amazing you looked in your pink dress. And, I thought I'd try to convince you to sneak out to come stay with me tonight."

"Are you trying to get me grounded for the rest of my humanly existance," I sigh, pulling away from him. "My father is already hard pressed to trust me. Imagine him waking up tomorrow morning and finding me gone. He'd murder you and lock me away in the basement. I'm not sure which order he'd work in but, it's a good bet, he'd happily do the time for each offense."

"He's getting up early to go golfing with my dad and I know your mom is going with mine to take Allison to the airport at 7. No one will be around to check on you. Or me for that matter," he says. "So, do you want to come or not?"

I look to my window.
They won't check on me.
They will be too concerned about Seth and Jonah passed out on the lawn.
So I go.
We get to his room without any detection.
It's so clean and neat.
I would hate it if it didn't belong to him.

"Don't worry about making any noise. The walls in this house are generously thick," Marc tells me, hinting at last night's vocals. "Seriously, Rose, we can talk and my parents won't hear us. Allison might if she tries hard enough but she could care less what happens in my room, regardless of my company."

"Well, that's nice of her, I suppose," I say, sitting on Marc's bed and moving all the way against the wall.

Marc shuts and locks his door.
He flips the light off then sits next to me on his bed.
I rest my head in his lap, adoring his fingers stroking through my hair.

"Did you really mean what you said in your mom's backyard, Rose, that you aren't sorry for the way things happened last night," Marc asks, twirling my hair carefully around his middle finger.

"Why should I be sorry for that happening? We were careful and, really, it was fun. Maybe the timing wasn't as great as it could have been but I wouldn't take it back," I tell him. "Maybe it was because..."

I stop myself and sit up.
Marc's hand falls out of my hair to land squarely on his lap.

"Because it was with me," he finishes my sentence, a smile pulled on his face. "You give me too much credit for things sometimes. It's really late, though. How about you go ahead to sleep. I need to take a shower and, as soon as I'm done, I'll get in with you."

"Before you go, why did you want me to come stay with you knowing what can potentially happen if someone finds out about this right now," I ask him just before he gets to his bedroom door.

"I realized that I sleep better with than without you," he says, forgetting about his shower momentarily to come sit with me again. "I understand how odd that must sound but, for me, it's the truth. Today was the biggest day of my life, so far, and I wanted to spend it with someone that I am completely head over heels for."

"Oh," I say. "Am I second choice then?"

He laughs, kisses my cheek then leaves.
I have no choice but to crawl underneath his covers.
They are cool against my skin.
I never want to leave.
And just when I think it couldn't get more comfortable, he comes back.
He's warm and dry but his hair is still a little damp.

"It's almost midnight," he whispers. "It's too late for me to tell you that you aren't, nor will you be, a second choice for me. Which choice am I for you?"

"The only one," I tell him without hesitation.

"You are pretty sure of your words and choices. I don't know how you can be, though. I just go from day to day with things most of the time," he says, his arms holding me close to his side.

"From day to day," I note. "Should I be worried that one day you will wake up and decide that you don't want to be with me anymore? Because, if that's the case, I don't know if I want to risk my heart for something like that."

"No. You shouldn't worry about that," he tells me as he strokes through my hair. "Those feelings aren't something I can turn on and off the way girls think we boys can. We are much more complex than you give us credit for."

"I have two brothers, remember," I remind him. "I know boys are sensitive creatures. But, it's after midnight. Can't we sleep?"

He nods.
His hands stroke down my arms.
I close my eyes and get comforable against him.
And, we sleep.
Happily.
Dreamless.
Warmly.

Summer is finally here and I couldn't have asked for a better start.
I'm here with Marc.
The weather is warm.
Jonah leaves in two days.
Seth leaves in five.
I will be on my own with basically no rules.
I couldn't ask for anything better.

Well, that's a lie.
Marc could fall in love with me.
And I could love him back.
But I won't get ahead of myself.
We've already agreed to be together instead of staying in 'grey'.
I like being close to him.
I'm glad he asked me to stay.
He risked so much trouble without being afraid of it.
That's kind of...hot.

At my mother's suggestion, I slept alone.
In my own bed.
I didn't mind all that much because Marc was sleeping alone, too.
My sleep was peaceful.
Sunday was just as nice.
The next week was okay.
The Monday after that was a different story.
Seniors are out for the last week.
Seth and Marc got to stay home to sleep things off.
Jonah and I had to go.

Monday = Final exam grades back (all A's)
Tuesday = Fight at lunch between two Freshman girls.
Wednesday = Seniors picking up prom pictures.
Thursday = The announcement that Principal Donners was retiring.
Friday = 3 months of complete and total freedom.

Seth and Jonah tried to drag me out to a party.
I was content in staying home.
Dad was there.
That meant horror movies until 5 a.m.
Pizza, sticky honey buns and, if mom went to sleep early enough, beer.
My dad's cool.
How cool?
He asked that Marc and his dad to join us.
And they did.

"Wine coolers, that is all you will get," my dad tells me as he sits a 4 pack of them on the coffee table. "Two each. Nurse them as if you just paid $10 each for them. No beer. If you are going to drink anything else, there are sodas in the fridge. Some kool-aid, too."

"Won't Lisel get upset that you are letting her drink at all," Mr. Chandoor asks my father rather casually as he takes his place on the wrap around couch in our living room.

"Not unless I was serving them a host of shots throughout the night. It's the first night of summer. The last before Marc goes off to school, at that! He deserves to have a drink or two before the graduation ceremony tomorrow," my father says, patting Marc's shoulder on his way to the kitchen. "Make yourselves comfortable. Rose, go ahead and put the first movie in."

"Actually, Mr. West, I was hoping that I could talk to Rose while you and my dad watch the first of the movies," Marc speaks up. "That is, if you don't mind, it's just that I really need to talk to her about something before tomorrow morning."

My dad nods.
I put the first movie into DVD for dad and Mr. Chandoor.
Marc leads the way to the kitchen.
Then up to my bedroom.
They don't know we're so far away now.
Mom is with his.
Dad is with his.
We stand in my bedroom.
Alone.

"I know you didn't really want to sit down there with them between us for six hours. I thought I would let us have a small escape. As it is, I don't have anything to really talk to you about. Nothing serious anyway," Marc clarifies once he's sure we're not being spied on. "I didn't know they were going to be so cool about things, though. Think they'll mind us making out on the loveseat while they watch the movies?"

"My dad is awesome but not that awesome," I laugh. "I don't think he'll even notice if we sit with each other instead of having them between us. Honestly, I think they have completely forgotten us being in the house by now."

His eyebrow raises.
He smirks.
I have a mini heart attack.

"If I had lesser control of myself," he clicks his tongue, bringing his body to rest in the bedroom floor, his back against my bedframe. "You are constantly wearing it down and you aren't even aware of it. Maybe that is why it's so effective. You aren't exactly throwing yourself at me but, I know that if I put my arms around you, you wouldn't pull away."

"Why would I pull away? I understand that you are used to it having someone frigid and unwilling to show her emotions, but I rather enjoy your show of affection," I tell him, crossing my arms over my chest so he has nothing to stare at. "You know I'm going to be at graduation tomorrow morning. It's a miracle to me that Seth's survived high school in the normal 4 year span."

"But you get to cheer for me first. I'm a 'C', afterall," he says, reaching his hands out to me. "Could you stop walking around like that and do me a favor, maybe sit over my lap or beside me or something?"

I sit beside him.
Legs out.
His arm falls around my shoulder.
I move closer so my head can rest on his shoulder.
I look down to our legs.
His are SO much longer than mine.
His feet look huge.

"Did I disappoint you by not sitting on your lap," I ask him.

"Only in a minor way. I will survive. Perhaps it was best you sit next to me instead. Having you in such a tempting position might have caused me to forget that we aren't exactly alone tonight," Marc tells me, his fingers dancing along the edge of my short sleeve and my naked arm. "I have to admit, Rose, I like the way you make me feel."

"And just how is that? Horny?"

"Sometimes," he admits with a laugh. "But it's not just that. I feel like I can relax around you. I don't have to worry about saying the wrong thing or being pushed away or put off. I never have to worry about offending you. You are just so...confident in the way you are."

"Confident is far from how I would describe myself. I can barely understand myself half the time. How can you see me the way I can't even see myself," I ask him, throwing an arm around him.

"I just do, I guess," Marc says, reaching for my hand with his free one. "Should we go back downstairs or do you really think they have forgotten about us by now, because, if they have, I want to just stay right here. Well, no, not right here but you know what I mean."

I stand up.
He follows suit.
We go downstairs just to peek at them.
Our dads are caught up in the movie, just like I knew they'd be.
They even drank our wine coolers!

Marc notices and seizes a chance to be alone.
He grabs me up, tossing me playfully over his shoulder.
I applaud his strength.
That is until he drops me high above my bed so I hit the mattress hard.

"What was that for? You had me impressed until you dropped me," I laugh as he dives onto the bed next to me.

"I haven't exactly perfected sweeping you around so you are in prime 'up-against-the-wall' position," he explains, kicking off his shoes. "Are you getting tired of me making sex jokes just yet because I can stop. If you want."

"I rather enjoy them. You wouldn't be the same without them," I joke. "We're here. Pretty much all night. Alone. Should I brace myself for the onslaught of your moves or should I lead you back down to watch movies with...."

He pulls me, by the belt loops, to face him.
His hands slide around my neck.
His palms are warm.
Liquifying.
I shut up and kiss him before he can kiss me.
He smiles against my lips then takes the lead.

Hour one:
Simple, but deep kisses.
His hands in my hair.
Mine in his.

Hour two:
Removal of shirts.
Hands on hotter skin.
Move underneath the covers after turning out the light.

Hour three:
Jeans off.
Harder movements accompany moans.
Moment of truth.

He sits up and leans over to find his jeans.
I lie back, watching his outline in the dark.
I want to say so many things.
"Hurry"
"Stop"
"Are you sure you want this?
"Are you sure you want this...with me?"

He pulls a wrapper from his wallet.
I wonder how long he's carried it around with him.
I can't keep thinking.
Sitting up along with him, I kiss the back of his neck.
His shoulders.
His spine.
He growls low and sexy.
Things happen quick from there.

It's on and we go back to kissing.
Last articles of clothing get removed with hurried fingers.
Pushes.
Pulls.
Low moans.
Hard pains.
Scratches.
Marks.
Pressure.

And then...
A burst of relief.
Complete release.
Arching and moaning, I want more of him.
As much as I can get.

"Rose, keep it down or..."

The door shoots open.
We forgot the lock.
The lights fly on in the overly dark room.
My life, as I know it, is over.
In more ways than one.

"What the hell is...," my dad is quick to stop, almost as quick as Marc is with covering us both up. "Oh. God. Get dressed and get downstairs. Now."

He shuts the door.
No.
Slams it.
Marc dresses as fast as I do.
We're in trouble.
At least this is going to be memorable.

"Don't worry, I will take all the blame for this," Marc says as he zips his jeans. "If anyone is going to get in trouble for this, it will be me, not you."

"Neither of us should be in trouble for any of this. I will just talk to my mom and dad. There is really nothing they can do about it now. So, if my dad's angry, he can just be that way," I say, trying to convince myself, not Marc, with my words. "The worst thing that can happen is I will get grounded. Or you get grounded."

"You know, if your dad was malicious enough, I could go to jail for this," he notes.

"He wouldn't dare to go that far," I tell him. "Please, he's known about Seth and Jonah smoking weed for at least a year now and he's not so much as put his two cents in about their usage of it. This is a minor blip on his radar."

"It's not the same, you know. Seth and Jonah smoking weed can't get them sexually transmitted diseases or make them pregnant. This can, in theory," Marc reminds me. "Besides, you're a girl. Your dad is pissed off, not at you, at me. That's how I intend to keep it."

I roll my eyes.
He wants to be my Hero.
But really, this isn't something I'm ashamed of.
I'm not going to act like I am.
Or like I'm sorry.
I'm not.
I'm glad it happened.
Sure, the timing could have been better but, I wouldn't take it back.
I hope he doesn't either.

I found Seth passed out along side Noodle at the kitchen table.
3:30 in the afternoon.
It's hot on Saturday afternoon but Marc and I walk home.
Side by side.
Hand in hand.
We don't look guilty.
My tank top held well for being worn for almost 24 hours.

We made a plan before we parted.
He asked me to come star gaze on his trampoline tonight at 9.
That gives us time for a few things.
A bath.
Some food.
A nap in my own bed.

With all those things, I still am up and about by 7:00.
And my mother is curious.
Too curious.
She knows we were alone last night.
Seth isn't much protection when there are drugs involved.

"Do you want something to eat that's fresh," my mother asks me as I step into the kitchen. She's putting coffee on. She will drink a small cup while taking her own bath in a while, I'm sure.

"No, I will just make a Hot Pocket or something," I tell her, searching for something, anything sweet in the fridge. "Do we have any cake or cookies or anything of the sort? I need something to make my bloodsugar rise a bit."

"I made brownies for you and Seth before you left last night and didn't think of returning until late in the afternoon," she remarks, dropping sugar cubes into her freshly poured cup of black coffee. "It seems Lorraine was just as upset by Marc's not coming home but I assured her that if you were with Seth, you would be safe."

"We were, mom. Just at Noodle's house for the night. He's got a PlayStation 3 and Marc and I played while he and Seth were talking in another room," I tell my mother, being careful not to mention his smoking because, though she knows he does it, she pretends he doesn't. "Has Seth even gotten back yet? I haven't heard him come in."

My mom shakes her head.
I cut a really big brownie and put it on a plate.
She shoves a fork in my hand.
Makes me take milk for it.

"No, he's called and said he will stay with Norman again tonight," she says. "Enjoy your brownie and peace while he's gone again. Just one more week and he will be gone. So will Jonah. Just tell me, did you speak with Marc about your prom?"

"We have decided not to go after all. I don't really want to see Elliot with someone and he doesn't want to see Julie with someone else so, to spare ourselves, we have decided to just forego the festivities this year," I explain. "Besides, we can go together next year."

"Terrific idea, my dear. I am going to take my bath. I trust that you will bring your plate back down when you get done," my mother says as she starts to walk upstairs. "And please, try to sleep in your bed at some point tonight. Alone."

I ate my brownie.
And another in the kitchen before going out into the backyard.
It's almost 9.
Marc isn't outside yet.
But Allison is.
She is sitting beside the gate on a bench in their yard playing with a lighter.
I know she smokes.
Just cigarettes.

I sit on my swing set and let it sway beneath me.
The toes of my Converse trace lines in the sand.
I hear the gate open.
I don't look up because I know Allison probably hates me.
She and I have never really talked.
She's prep.
I'm dork-chic.
There's a difference.
Besides, having Marc come make me smile will be nice.

"Jean-Marco is gathering his telescope into its case," comes the silken, low female voice as they approach me. "Will you be watching the stars with him?"

I nod.
She...Allison...sits on Marc's swing.
Her right hand holds a cigarette perfectly between two fingers.
Elegantly, she takes a long drag.

"Don't worry, I said nothing to Marc or my mother about seeing you at the doctor's office and, we can be honest here, I know what you were there for. I was there for the same thing," she says, speaking as casually as if we are long time friends. "How long have you been sexually active anyway?"

I look over to her quickly.
Shocked.
I haven't said more than six words to her my whole life and...
She wants to know about my sex life.
Well, lack thereof.

"I'm not," I tell her, keeping my voice just above a whisper.

"Oh, well, good for you. It's always better to wait. Well, no. I'm lying. It's not," she smiles. "I remember my first time. My god. It was unsatisfying. I hope yours is better. Well, I mean, if it's going to be with my brother, I doubt it will. You should go to Paris. The men there are extremely open, willing to do anything to please you."

"Allie, please, Rose doesn't want to hear about your slutiness, even when you mask it as life expierence," Marc tells her as he sets up his telescope on the other side of the low fence. "And, you really need to stop pushing France on people. It's seriously overrated."

I know he's right.
It's stuffy.
Not as romantic as it's made out to be.
Well, not my brand of romantic.
I don't really have one to call a 'brand' yet.

"How much of our conversation did you hear," Allison asks, taking another long, slow drag off her cigarette.

"Enough to leave me disturbed. Hey, Rose, come on. I have it all set up. I want to show you Venus," Marc says as he adjusts his scope. "Allison, mom has been looking for you. Your laundry is done and she needs the machine to wash her gardening shoes."

Allison reluctantly stands from the swing and starts across the path toward the gate.
She flips her hair over her shoulder then disappears inside, still puffing the cigarette.
She makes it look so effortless.
Being sexy.
I wish I could be like her.
Instead I have to be careful as I walk toward Marc so I don't trip.

"Did your mother really need to wash her gardening shoes," I ask him as I close the latch on the gate.

"She does, but I think she just used it as an excuse for me to get Allison away from you," Marc says, stepping away from the telescope. "I have it positioned so you can see Venus. You do actually enjoy astronomy, don't you?"

I nod and carefully handle the telescope.
I can see the planet perfectly.
Beautiful and serene looking.
Gorgeous.
Marc steps behind me, leaning over to whisper in my ear.

"Venus is such a lovely planet," he states the obvious. "But, that alone isn't the reason why it's commonly referred to as a feminine planet. You see, Venus really is a woman. Not just a goddess. Venus swirls beautiful clouds to the eye but, beneath them are volcanoes that have completely resurfaced the planet over and over again. Venus reinvents herself to remove scars. She moves to make herself dangeous and attracting. Just like you do."

"I'm hardly Venus' equal. There is nothing dangerous or alluring about me," I say, forgetting a whisper. "Say that I was a planet. How would you envision me?"

"You would be Earth," he says matter of factly. "One of a kind. Perfect for creating the environment for life. The weather is regulated by a close moon. Your tides are beauitful, full of emotion. Your weather is just as varied, ranging from cloudless sunshine drenched days to raging hurricanes that destroy civilizations. You're welcoming. You're bright. You're...a miracle."

I blush for the first time in a long time.
A long time for me anyway.
He just compared me to Earth.
Not Uranus.
Not former planet Pluto.
I'm...a miracle.
A great oddity of space.

"So, if I'm Earth, that would have to mean that you're the moon," I note. "Without the moon, Earth would be like any other planet. Lifeless perhaps with out of control weather and no sense of itself."

"Perhaps I would be the moon. I am, afterall, much more logical than you are," he smiles. "You know more about all this than I would have guessed."

"I watch the History Channel and Discovery Science," I tell him, stepping away from telescope. "Do you plan on showing me any more planets or do you have something else planned for me?"

"Loaded questions get perverted answers, Rose, you know this. You know I have a million things swirling through my mind at any given time about what I would love to do with, for and to you," Mark says. "But, since I am trying to be sensible, I could show you more planets or you could tell me what you and Allison were talking about before I made it out here."

"Show me more planets," I say, stepping back to the telescope.

"Oh, no, no, no. You have made me curious. Come on, what were you two talking about," he asks, catching my wrist before I can reach the telescope. "Was she telling you stories about her sex life because, really, it's uncalled for."

"She was about to but it didn't get that far," I tell him, glad it's so dark he can't see the blush on my cheeks. "But she was curious as to if I were sexually active. It was a bit embarrassing to say 'no' to her."

"I could help with that if you would like me to," he grinned.

"I bet you could," I laugh. "It's just...Allison is so pretty. She could have any guy she wanted. She wears perfect clothes, has perfect hair, perfect teeth and she's smart. She's like superwoman."

Marc rolls his eyes.
He wraps his arms around my waist from behind.
He gently squeezes me close to him.

"She's mean, crass and borders on slutty," Marc tells me in a whisper. "There are a million people that look and act like Allison. They are void on the inside. You aren't. You're full of art and words and creativity and beauty and, honestly, you are the perfect one. They all have to try harder because they know, all those girls that try to intimidate you, they are less than you are. You are smarter. You are naturally gorgeous. You are...Earth."

He kisses the back of my neck.
It makes me smile.
He makes me believe him.
And, as we stand underneath the stars, I glow.
Pure white.

I found a dress in my mother's closet.
It's black and fitting and is so nice.
It feels amazing on!
She bought me a new bra and underthings to wear with it.
It was all waiting for me when I got home on Friday.
I felt safe enough to try it on.
Jonah is out with dad for the weekend again.
Seth has a mountain of homework to do.

With it on, I can't believe how I feel.
Amazing.
I don't even look like myself.
I look older, better, more pretty.
Everything comes off so I don't ruin it.
And all in the nick of time.
Seth comes in, without knocking, just as I pull on my tank top.

"So, I have some of my work done and I was thinking that we should let mom have a night to herself," he says, trying to make up for his previous rudeness. "We could get dinner somewhere then catch up with some of my friends. They are supposed to be having a party at Jason's place."

"I don't feel like going to a raging party tonight," I tell him, hanging the dress my mom gave me in my closet. "You could give me a driving lesson and maybe you could call Noodle, see if he wouldn't mind some company. I could play his PS3 while you guys watch and laugh at my horrible driving skills on Grand Theft Auto."

"Yeah, sure," Seth says, pulling the keys to his car out of his pocket. "Make sure you have comfortable clothes on. We can stay there tonight. I'll call Marc to see if he wants to come. He can keep you company in your soberity."

He leaves.
I stretch in my jeans and tank top.
Comfortable.
I could sleep in them if I have to.
I slide a simple black ponytail holder around my left wrist.
Just in case.

Seth tells me Marc is coming.
They get the front seats.
I take the back so I can stretch out some more.
No one really says anything until we get to Noodle's.
His house is expensive.
Expansive.
Intimidating.
His parents are absent ones.
Mom's away in rehab.
Dad's in Cancun with his mistress.

They set me up with a controller.
Marc stays next to me.
Noodle and Seth go to smoke outside.
I don't get to play though.
Marc uses the aloneness to make up for the hectic week.

"They'll be gone for a while," he tells me as he takes the controller from my hands. "You never told me if you found a dress for prom. I kind of hope you didn't because, well, I wanted to talk to you about my change of mind in going."

"What? You don't want to go now? Is it because of me? Did I do something wrong," I ask him, stringing the words together. "I mean, if you want to go, just not with me, I understand. You can just tell me. I won't hate you."

"You had little to nothing to do with the fact that I changed my mind. It's just the fact that Julie is going to be there with someone and I don't know about being in such a public place with her around," he tells me. "Unless you want to go. I don't want to disappoint you."

"Look Marc, I understand that it's hard for you to even imagine seeing her with someone else but, I really hoping to go with you. If for nothing more than to show Elliot that I am just fine without him," I say, not bothering to hide my disappointment. "But, you were with her for a really long time. I understand that you don't want to go. We can just stay home. Or come here like I know Seth will. Or...whatever you want."

"You sound so disappointed. I know that you understand where I'm coming from but it just doesn't seem fair to take it all back," he says.

"It kind of is unfair but I'm fine with it. Really. You shouldn't do what you don't want to do just because I'm disappointed. I'm sure we can find something else to do next Friday," I tell him, trying to convince myself that it really will be okay.

Marc slides his fingers through my hair.
Slow. Sweet.
The tips brush the back of my neck.
This doesn't help the stinging of him taking his invitation back.
Ok.
Maybe it does.
A little.

I don't need the dress.
Or the underthings.
And really, how big of a deal is prom this year?
Not really for me.
It didn't matter until Marc asked me.
And I still have next year to go.
It will mean more then.

"Please don't be angry with me," Marc whispers.

His arm slides around my shoulders.
I sink into his side, my head resting against him.

"I'm not angry," I sigh against his collar. "Just mildly let down. You can go with me next year. It's will be more awesome since you will be in college anyway."

Seth and Noodle stay gone.
For a long time.
We play video games in Noodle's bedroom.
It's nice.
Light blue walls and carpet.
It reminds me of the sky over the sea in June.

We quit playing at almost midnight.
Seth and Noodle can be heard in the kitchen.
Marc and I pull out Noodle's couch and cuddle up in the light of the muted T.V.

"I will totally go to prom with you next year, even if it's only to make your friends jealous. We can go out that night. We can go to dinner and, if you already have a dress, you can wear it. I'd love to know what it's like," Marc whispers as he twirls my hair around his finger. "That is, if you feel I'm deserving of knowing now."

"Of course you are," I tell him. "Thing is, I can't describe how it looks right. You just have to see it for yourself to know. But, if I go out to dinner in that dress, and you go out with me in a suit to a really nice place to have an expensive dinner, does that mean it's a date?"

"Could be," he whispers against my ear. "Consider it a lighter shade of grey, more white than black."

Just as we are about to kiss, really kiss, Seth and Noodle come back.
They don't stay long.
We act as if we're asleep.
They are too high to notice we're not really.
They walk out with more drugs.
Better drugs.
They'll be flying by the end of the night.

The second the door closes, I feel Marc shift against me.
His knee slides between mine.
His lips kiss my shoulder.

"Are you aware that every time you kiss me, you make me like you more. I don't know whether or not that's a good thing," I tell him, enjoying his kisses on my shoulder, my neck, my jawline. "It makes me confused."

"You aren't the only one," he tells me, falling away. "I think I have it one way but, at the end of the day, it's torn apart. I wonder what you're doing, if you are missing me, wondering why I miss you, wondering if I should come over or call or if I should even be wondering at all. Confused is my best friend right now."

"Confusion should be a girls best friend, after diamonds of course," I joke. "Why are you allowing yourself to be confused? This is what you wanted. Grey. Not black. Not white. The shade inbetween. Isn't it?"

"It's what I thought I wanted. I am unsure about a lot of things right now, Rose. I should be concentarting on school, graduation, going to college in September. Those things all seem so tiny compared to every single thought I have about you," Marc says. "I want to eat lunch with you, I want to walk you to classes, I want to wait at your locker like a puppy. It just isn't healthy. Not exactly sane. I don't know what I'm doing. I just tell you that I don't want to go to prom because I'm not ready to see Julie with someone else and now I'm saying that I don't want to be grey, though the color looks good on us both."

I wonder instantly if he has been smoking.
Shooting up.
But his breath is vanilla-y still from the toothpaste he scrubbed with before coming out.
He's got no track marks.
His clothes actually smell clean. Fresh. Like he always does.

"I hate being in grey," I confess. "I just pretend I do. I thought I could do it. You know, just be with you without having any expectations and keeping my feelings at bay. I like you. You know that. So what now? Do we go back to black or stay in grey or..."

Marc slides his arm around me.
He gets so close.
If it weren't for clothes, we'd be one person.
His teeth find my ear lobe.
He bites into the soft flesh and they rake, rake, rake downward.
Shivers sprinkle up my spine then explode through me.
Not at his teeth.
Not at his warm fingers finding their way underneath my tank top.
They come courtesy of the word he breathes next to my ear.
White.

"Do you mean that," I ask, my voice so soft as his hands stroke down my bare back, fingers hovering above my skin as if it's made of cashmere and he's afraid he'll ruin it. "White can get messy quick."

"Only if it's allowed to be stained," he whispers against my neck.

He slides away from me to lock the bedroom door.
I kick my shoes off.
He does the same.
He stands in front of the T.V. to peel off his t-shirt.
I keep mine on.
I am happy for my clothes.
He watches me.
Treating me as if I am some sort of prey as he crawls up over me.
His muscles stay calm as I extend my hands to hold his shoulders above mine.
He lowers himself slowly, his hands slide to meet mine when our chests collide.

"I am in no way capable for hurting you," Marc assures me as his hands slide underneath my shoulders, his fingers stroking the curls of my hair underneath me. "Surely you must know this and, if you don't, you should. I'm never going to hurt you."

"Your usage of the word 'never' has just damned us. At least you didn't promise me anything," I say, surely ruining the night as it is.

"I'm not big on promises unless I am absolutely sure that I can keep them and nothing is damned unless you keep thinking it is," he says soothingly against my shoulder. "Don't make me repeat myself. I will gladly do it but I think you would get tired of it after a while."

He's right.
I would.
So, I kiss him.
It makes my mind calm.
Bad thing is, it makes my blood race.
And his roaming hands make me moan.
The hours fly past and we don't stop until morning.
And then we sleep on the pull out couch in a spoon.
His shirtless protection helps me relax and dream.
I could do this forever.
I could do anything with him forever.

Ride to school = Marc
First three classes then mom comes to pick me up.
I have a doctor's appointment.
She fills out all the forms in the waiting area.
I get the pleasure of looking around at the other people in the room.
My eyes immediately land on her.
The one person I wish wasn't here.
Allison Chandoor.

She is light like Marc.
They share the same jade eyes and dark hair.
Only hers is pin straight. Long. Glossy.
She wears khaki slacks and a pink/grey pinstriped shirt.
Very put together.
Maybe that's why I completely go from white to deepest red when they call my name.
"Rosemary West"

Mom stays behind.
I get a stupid gown and am told to submit a urine sample then change.
Everything off.
Except my socks.
They make me feel...less exposed, somehow.

"Miss West," the friendly female doctor greets me as she walks into the room holding a clip board. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Your mother has been a patient of mine for many years now. I suppose that's why she trusted me with you."

"Yeah, that's it," I say, trying to sound nervous instead of rude the way the cold is making me want to act.

"I need to ask you a few questions before we begin, if you don't mind," she says, standing across from me, readying her pen by pulling off the cap with her teeth. I shake my head. I don't mind. And...she starts. "Can you please tell me your birthdate?"

"July 17," I tell her. "I'll be 17 then."

Her questions get more personal.
When did you get your first period?
I was 12.
Have you ever had sexual intercourse?
No.
Anal intercourse?
Of course not.
Oral sex?
No.
Had any sexually transmitted diseases?
Obviously not.
Been pregnant?
No, the Catholic church has not recognized me as the next Virgin Mary so...no.
Had an abortion?
You have to be pregnant for that. No.
Smoke?
Secondhand.
Drink?
Nope.
Use drugs?
Occassionally, I will shoot herion.
No.

The exam is quick.
Not painless.
Uncomfortable.
But I get what my mother wants.
I get to go choose where we have lunch before going home.

"I am sure it was a horribly embarrassing moment for you, Rose, but this needed to be done," my mother says while skimming the menu, treating the doctor's visit as if it's a bigger deal than it is. "It won't help protect you from everything so you still need to be careful. And it takes a while for them to work."

"She told me that. Not that I plan to really put them to good use until, well, I am ready for it. I have bigger things on my mind than having sex," I tell her, setting my mind to getting the biggest cheeseburger I can.

"Forgive me but, what has your mind now? Has something happened between you and Marc already," she asks, suddenly too interested for my taste. "I'm not saying that it's wrong if something has, but, if it has, I just hope that you protected yourself."

"It's nothing to do with sex," I mumble, hoping the waitress headed our way hasn't caught the conversation. "More like prom, which I suppose gives off the impression of having sex. I just don't have a dress, couldn't find one I liked and I refuse to ask dad for the $700 I would need for the only one I did. I was kind of hoping you'd have a dress in your closet I could wear. Something. Anything. As long as it fits."

"I will find a few for you tonight," she smiles. "You know, I rather enjoy this, Rose. Sitting with you and talking about your life. I am rather excited about all the things I will learn about you. My time hasn't always been for you, and I'm sorry about that. Your brothers are just very needy people. Always seem to be in trouble."

"Believe it or not, I understand that, mama. I kind of like being in the shadows," I tell her honestly. "It lets me read in peace while you and dad are screaming at Seth for selling pot or trying to make sure Jonah has an audience at whatever play he's going to be in."

My mother looks at me.
No smile.
She suddenly looks sad.

"I am sorry," she says under her beath.

We eat in silence.
I have made her upset.
Something I quickly get over once I get home.
I have better things to do.
Like sit on my bed examining the stupid pills I was given.
These little things will help me not get pregnant.
These things turn some girls into whores.
They don't look like such a big deal.

I put them in my drawer by my condoms after I take the first one.
2:15 p.m.
I have to take all the rest at the exact same time until they run out.
Great.
I just doomed myself.

"Rosie, Rosie, Rosie, did you play hooky today," Seth teases as he comes through my bedroom door just over two hours later. He's still sober. I'm glad. "Marc noticed you gone at lunch time and I got suspicious. What made you come home?"

"Had to go to the doctor," I tell him, pulling a pair of blue jean shorts and a long black t-shirt from my lower drawer. "Why was Marc looking for me?"

"He didn't tell me but I found it just off the path of normality. Everytime your name would come up in conversation before he would only speak as if you weren't real, like you were some model in a magazine he would never really know," Seth says. "Then, all of a sudden, he's giving you rides to school and asking about you on a level that I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with."

"What does it matter to you who I ride to school with," I ask him, searching through a box on my dresser that holds my clips and ponytail holders. "Though, I couldn't care less if it makes you uncomfortable. What I do is my business, not yours."

"Usually that is the case, Rosie, but when you start talking to, and more, with a friend of mine, it becomes my business. Don't think I don't get it," Seth starts. "You have had a crush on him for a few years. Ok. He's smart and has a million things lined up for the future. He's kind of good looking."

I shoot him an odd look. Quizzical.

"I'm comfortable enough in my own sexuality to admit that he's attractive," Seth explains as he plays with the clothes on my bed. "You could do worse than him but, Rose, just take care of yourself."

"It's a bit late to play big brother to me," I sigh. "After all the things that happened with Elliot, you never so much as talked to him. Or me. You didn't even care. You just smoked weed in the back yard with Jonah and Noodle and didn't even bother to even act like you knew what was going on with me. Why don't you go do that instead of sitting here with me? Go smoke with Jonah and leave me alone."

He chuckles.
He doesn't leave, he just keeps on chuckling annoyingly.
He sits on my bed and starts to fold the hem of the t-shirt before him upward.
I sit across from him.
Seth looks up to me while his smile disappears.

"I did talk to Elliot just not with my fists the way I wanted to. Yeah, I saw how much it all hurt you and how much of an idiot he is, I know all these things, but did you really want me to sit down and play therapist to you? It wouldn't have been right," he tells me. "I just wonder how well you are. You aren't just using Marc as a rebound kind of thing, are you?"

"I wouldn't know how to do that if I tried," I say. "He's a good guy, though, Seth. And, if it comes as any consolation, nothing has happened with him. Nothing major. It's just nice to be with him."

"Nice enough to go to prom with, too. Yeah. I heard about it. From mom," Seth laughs. "Do you want some advice from me, Rose? Just a little, small bit about life that I actually know?"

I nod.
Seth yawns then pats my shoulder.

"Don't be so serious all the time, Rosie. Have some fun," he says. "The only time that matters is right now. That's why I smoke weed, that's why if I have a test, I study that same morning. That's why you never see me stressed. I have fun. All the time! Follow my advice, little sister. It will do you good."

He pats my head before walking out.
I lie on the clothes I pulled from my drawer.
Then, for whatever reason, I start reflecting on Seth's rightness.
Is rightness a word?
I need to have fun.
More fun.
Don't be so serious.
Do what I want for once.
Have sex. Smoke. Decorate the sidewalk with chalk.
Whatever I want.
Marc. Weed. Pastel shades of pink, blue and yellow hearts with broken lines.
Random boys. Cigarettes. A sun with a smiling face and orange rays.

Now, I just need one thing:
Bravery to do it.
To be who I want.
Just for the summer.

I take a shower.
Enjoy my shorts and t-shirt while having dinner.
Mom made stew.
Dad talks about his upcoming golf game.
Jonah says he needs another suitcase to take with him to camp.
Seth looks to me, knowingly.
He knows I'd rather be somewhere else.
With Marc.
He doesn't tease me, though.
He keeps it to himself.
It makes it easier to relax and sleep later.

For a while anyway.
I was restless in my dreams.
It carried over into reality.
I got myself out of bed just after midnight to go back down to the swing set.
Late spring air is full of warmth.
My hair is wild with the curls I didn't brush from it.
I love how it feels out here.
I made my way to the picnic table near a flower bed.
I laid on it and slept.
Slept better than I could have imagined.
And my dreams calmed.
My breathing and heartbeat followed.

I would be good.
I'd be okay.
I'd be...just fine until my next heart attack.

I didn't sleep last night at all.
I sat up looking at dresses online.
I hated them all.
They were all too sparkly.
Too much like a wedding dress.
Too pink.
Too short.
Too slutty.
I looked for shoes.
Hated them.
Looked at hairstyles.
Hated them too.
If I didn't like my laptop much, I would have killed it.
I shall see if mom will take me to the mall.
Le Orange should have some cool dresses.

I sleep in the new sunlight.
Bask in it.
I feel like a fat, sleepy, lazy cat.
Mom brings me brunch.
I eat it slow, as if it's a luxury.
Strawberries. Pancakes with too much butter. Scrambled eggs.
The tastes are vibrant today.
Summer looms.
So does prom.
So does my life.

Jeans and a green Gumby t-shirt make up my outfit.
I need to get out before Seth and Jonah come home.
So, I go to one place I know I'm wanted; Marc's

"My dear, Rosemary, it's lovely to see you," his mother gushes when she answers the door. "My son has been speaking so nicely of you these past few weeks, such an oddity to me since, before now, I was sure he was more interested in someone else. If you have come looking for him, Jean-Marco is in his bedroom, more than likely still sleeping."

She gave him a solid French name.
I wonder if I should call him that as she leads me to his room.
She knocks.
He doesn't answer.

"Do not be disappointed. I am sure that he will be much more willing to wake if you do the honors," she tells me sweetly in her own cooing, smooth accent. "I shall be downstairs continuing to read if you need my assistance with anything. Or, you could fetch Allison. She should be in her own room."

"Thank you," my voice comes soft, nice but meek and a bit shy.

I wait until she's started down the stairs to turn the knob on Marc's door.
Jean-Marco was indeed asleep.
Shirtless, tangled in rich burgundy sheets, cuddled to a pillow.
He's lucky. He slept.
I try to play it cool.
I sit at his desk chair, feet up on his desk.

"You know I didn't sleep," I test him. He slightly stirs, gripping his pillow tighter to his body. "I concerned myself with finding a dress that apparently doesn't exist in the world outside my imagination. And, here you are; dead asleep without a care in the world."

"I have one," he groans, not bothering to move.

"Which is...? I swear, sometimes, it seems so much more easy to be a boy than it is to be a girl," I sigh. "All you have to worry about is a suit."

"And keeping you happy without overstepping boundaries is so easy," Marc says, finally pushing himself up, his arms wrapping around the pillow to cover his chest. "Actually, you're right. You overthink. You girls do that too much. Just pick a dress. Buy some shoes. It's not your wedding day; it's prom."

His casual tone doesn't affect me.
Much.
His body has a bigger one on me.
I have seen him shirtless.
Just not shirtless in underwear.
Not boxers. Briefs. Black ones.
He doesn't hide himself as he searches for fresh jeans in his closet.
My eyes fall to my lap before he can catch me looking.

"I know the idea seems simple enough for some but I never even gave any kind of thought about going until last night. Perhaps I should have kept that attitude, it would make things easier," I say, mostly to myself. "Does it bother you that I woke you up?"

"No," he says as he struggles with his stiff jeans. "I was just hoping you'd wake me up in a different way if you happened over. Dreaming of it is more like it. Why are you here anyway? Are Seth and Jonah back already?"

"Not that I am aware of. Could be by now. I just really didn't want to be around when they made their appearance," I so willingly confess. "I was hoping to find refuge in your room for a while, even if you aren't here with me."

"First off, I'd never be dumb enough to leave you alone in a room where I am hiding so many embarrassing things and secondly, you are welcome here anytime you know I'm home," Marc tells me as he goes in search for a t-shirt. "I am sure my mother would prefer me to keep your company over any other girl's. She's known your mother forever. She knows you aren't a threat but, instead, probably sees you as an asset."

An asset?
My eyes study the thread in the hem of my t-shirt carefully to keep me distracted.
Marc messes his hair with his left hand.
He finds all his bracelets and slides them on his wrist.
He asks me to stay put while he brushes his teeth.
And I do, quite easily.
I keep myself amused by studying the contrast between my pale skin and the green shirt.
He takes his time.
I wait. And wait. And wait.
Seems like forever before he comes back into the room.

"My mother has informed me that she is off to lunch with your mother," he says, shutting his bedroom door. "Allison is going with them. She invited us along but I declined for both of us. Sunday's, no matter how nice, should be spent getting ready for the next school day."

"You have a bigger day tomorrow than I do. You still have to manage to decide your replacement. Don't worry. I am still set against tossing my hat into the ring for such a job," I tell him. "Having that much responsibility would kill me most likely. I don't do well under pressure."

"Oddly, I am quite aware of that," Marc laughs. "We have an entire house to ourselves and I have free range to play around online. Why don't we look for a dress? I am sure that, with my help, you can find something that you like."

"I was hoping to go to Le Orange sometime within the next week because they have pretty dresses that are a bit more edgy," I say to him, finally standing from the desk chair so my hands can explore the pockets of my jeans freely. "I guess I am just not used to the idea of shopping for such an event. Should I want it to be very formal? Should it fit in?"

"It should be a balance of your personal style and elegance," he simply says. "But, if you are wanting to go to Le Orange, I am more than willing to find, put on and lace up my shoes to take you to browse. Sundays are good for that, too."

I nod.
He puts on his shoes.
And we go.
Marc looks at dresses with me.
Lovely ones.
Orange. Green. Pink. Blue. Black. White. Red.
Sparkles. Rhinestones. Pearls.
Satin. Lace. Silk.
They're all lovely. And expensive.

But there is one.
It catches my eye.
And Marc's.
It's long. Silky. Slinky black with lime green trim.
Bold enough to make a statement.
Understated enough to not cause a scene.
The pricetag inspires a small panic attack.
$650.

"Do all prom dresses cost this much," Marc whispers, his voice suffering from the same sticker shock my heart's in.

"No. They are considerably cheaper but I am not sure about their quality," I tell him. "It's a lot. All I know is that I am not going to spend that much on a prom dress. Maybe a wedding dress when the time comes but...not this. I should just look in my mother's closet. She's got a million dresses."

We leave the store.
He's relieved.
I'm semi-heartbroken.
I liked that dress.
I wonder if my mom's will even fit me.
They had to.

We get back.
My dad's car is in the driveway.
I can hear Seth and Jonah inside the house.
Marc is nice enough to let me retreat with him back to his room.

We remove our shoes.
This is when he decides he likes the way I smell.
He stands behind me to breathe the scent of my hair in.
Deep.
It makes me shiver when he slides the hair away from my neck.
I get nervous when his lips skim the delicate skin on the back of my neck.

"I wish summer would get here quicker. School days seem to linger hopelessly when we are all looking forward to something amazing," he whispers, his breath rolling up the base of my spine.

"I'm hardly amazing," I say, immediately catching my own vanity in thinking he's talking about me.

"Count yourself lucky that I am not one to push you, and myself, into a situation that we have no business being in," he says as he traces a finger along the ringed collar of my t-shirt. "What is it that you like about me, Rose? You know what I appreciate about you. A quick reminder, if you need one; your hair, your smile, your hands, your lips, your brain."

"I like all those things about you," I barely choke out. "It doesn't hurt that you're tall, have great muscles and the deepest, sweetest voice I have heard so close to my ear."

He smiles against the rim of my ear.
Shock flows through me like wildfire.
Not at his smile, at his teeth when they playfully clamp down on the cartilage.
He whispers two words against my neck.
"Like this?"
And I melt.
Liquid.
Beyond that.
Vapor now.

Marc decides not to tease me more so.
In that way, anyway.
He drops on to his bed and invites me to lay with him.
I do.
Curled up to his side while he strokes my hair.

We stay like this for a long while.
So long we fall asleep.
We breathe at the same time.
Our hearts beat sync again.
I'm at peace.
So is he.
So is the all the rest of the world.
That is until we wake.
Until I go home to Seth and Jonah.
Until...I miss him.

If you want it, let me know.

Mom lets me roam around the pharmacy while she talks to the cashier.
I can't hear what they're saying.
Don't really care to.
I am too happy looking at awesome shampoos to want to.
But my mother pulls me away from them by calling me over to her.
The cashier hands my mom the things she bought.
None of which was for me.

I kick my shoes off in my room when I get home.
My mom follows me up and catches me pulling my hair into a high ponytail.
She is still holding the bag from the pharmacy.
I find it only a little odd.

"Rose, I would like to talk to you if you don't have any plans for the next hour or so," my mother tells me as she shuts my bedroom door. "You see, I was thinking about some things while you were in the bath and, I decided, it's about time that I tell you about sex."

No one ever wants to hear their mother say this.
12 or 50.
Sex is off limits.
So, when she drops a box of condoms onto the bed, I almost die.
No, I do.
I blush and my hearing goes fuzzy.

"Mom, this is seriously embarrassing," I tell her as if we are in a crowded room and she's screaming out positions from the Kama Sutra. She doesn't listen.

"I just want to make sure that you are prepared. Summer romances are just fine. You lounge all day in bed with someone that you think set the sun but, you have to be responsible in this day and age," she says, pulling the box of condoms open. "You don't need to get an STD or have a human reminder of what's supposed to be fun with no strings attached."

"I wouldn't say there are no strings attatched," I mumble.

"Doesn't matter, Rose. You still need to prepare yourself. The easiest way to do this is to carry protection with you. You can't always count on someone else having it," she explains as she drops the condoms into my dresser drawer. "Also, I will call my personal doctor Monday morning and set up an appointment so you can attain birth control. Doesn't hurt to be even more cautious."

"I don't need the Pill, mom," I mumble even lower, my cheeks burning bright with shame.

"Oh, yes, you do. It's simply a smart decision to start you on them now," she tells me. "Trust me, it pays to be smart, Rose. You need to be smart over the course of this summer and this next school year. It will be your last. You won't have Jonah around since he's going to camp the first week of June and Seth, well, he will be moving in with your grandparents so he can get used to his new environment. For the first time ever, it will just be me and your father in the house alone with you. There is going to be a great lack of supervision so, as I have said, I would rather you be safe than sorry."

She finally leaves.
I curl up on my bed with a stomach ache.
My mom is thinking about me having sex.
I don't even think about that.
Much.
It's nice that she wants me to be safe but...
She bought me condoms!
She wants me to get on The Pill!
I feel like a whore and I haven't even let a guy anywhere close to my panties.

I collect Marc's flowers from the bathroom.
They now sit on my dresser.
I sit myself down in the middle of my room, on the floor.
Flip through the rest of my mom's magazines.
All the dresses, shoes and bags are so pretty.
The pricetags are heart stopping.

"Have you found anything in them you like," my mother asks, walking into my room holding a tray of what looks to be dinner. "You know, we could always go to New York to get you a few lovely pieces. It's never too early to start having good taste, not that the things you like are bad."

She sits in front of me.
Hands me a fork.
Takes the magazines from me.

"No, but everything looks so nice. Dad would die if we bought anything, though," I tell her. "Thanks for bringing dinner up for me. I guess I either lost track of time or didn't hear you calling for me. You did call for me, didn't you?"

"Yes, but I understand how it is to sit in your room looking through fabulous magazines, envisioning yourself in every flowy dress, even if you won't admit to me that is was what you were doing," my mother smiles. "I wanted to continue my talk with you from earlier but I could see you were uncomfortable."

"It's just...weird...to talk about sex with your mother. I don't know how else to explain it. Like, okay, when you were my age, would you have wanted to talk to your mom about having sex, or even the notion that you were thinking about having sex," I ask her, cutting up the baked chicken on the plate.

"I do understand that, Rose, but it's something that we do need to talk about. If not now, then at some point soon," she says, watching as I cut it up, probably making sure that I'm doing it in a proper way. "When I started to have sexual relationships with men, I was quite naive. I wasn't thinking ahead but, I got lucky. I am still perfectly healthy, I have a wonderful husband and three amazingly gorgeous children. I just want you to be as lucky as I am, without the worry that I walked with for a long time."

I think about it for a split second.
Talking to her is better than talking to dad.
At least she's open about it.
Nothing I can say will shock her.
Hopefully.

"All my magazines talk about sex," I start off. "I understand that you should use condoms and have birth control to be responsible. I don't want to get an STD or have a baby anymore than you want me to, but I also know that I won't do anything until I'm actually ready to because, even with those things, things can still happen and, I think that you shouldn't just have sex with someone just because they look good without a shirt on."

"You have your father's logical mind but, you see, my love, love is not logical. They are polar opposites. Love can play a million tricks on your mind," she tells me. "Men are wired with the perfect things to say to make us believe they want only us, need only us. We're wired to believe that, if he says it in a certain tone, it must be true. I hope that when the time comes, you can distinguish a lie from the truth because those lies, lies about love, wanting and needing, they hurt more than you could ever know."

She kisses my forehead then leaves.
I eat my dinner while thinking about what she said.
Love can hurt.
I thought I loved Elliot.
But that was a different hurt.
He betrayed me just when I was on the cusp of believing him.
I don't know what I think about Marc.
He's nice.
He's cute.
He's fun.
He's smart.
He's a great kisser.
He's...grey.

I eat my dinner then take the things down to the kitchen.
Mom's sewing in the livingroom while watching The Way We Were.
I leave her alone.
My backyard looks inviting right now.
Well, it's more like the old swing set does.

I rip off my socks and let down my hair.
I want to feel the grass between my toes, the wind in my hair.
The swing still feels nice against the back of my legs.
I start off very slow to test the set's durability out.
Once I determine that it's still in good shape, I swing higher.
And higher.
And higher until it feels like I'm flying.

After a few long minutes of enjoyment, I can feel a new sensation.
A set of new hands wrapping around the chains on the swing.
They slow me down considerably.
I don't get angry because they slide over the chains then over my own hands.

"You looked so adorable out here that I couldn't keep just watching from my window," Marc says from behind me. "Do you want me to push you or would you prefer if I just sat and watched?"

"Swing with me. There is another one and I'm sure that the structure can support you as well as me," I tell him, patting the extra swing's bottom. "Or, you can at least sit here and talk to me about, well, something other than sex because, honestly, I have talked about it enough today."

"With your friends or was it a fate much worse," he asks, sitting himself down on the swing beside mine.

"My mother decided to buy me condoms. It's completely embarrassing to admit but I have to let someone know. I am just happy that she didn't tell me all the details about her sex life before my dad," I spill to him. "I felt that she was on the brink of doing that but, thankfully, she restrained from doing such."

"Lucky you. My mom went into amazing detail about her sex life before my dad when Allison was going through her 'I'll-fuck-anything-that-moves' phase a few years ago. I had the misfortune of being close enough to hear it all," Marc says. "Imagine living with those images in your head forever."

"It would suck," I tell him, unsure of what else to say.

"You have no real idea how much it does," he laughs. "Why are you out here anyway? I thought you'd be really living it up since Seth and Jonah are gone. Aren't they supposed to be back tomorrow afternoon."

"They should be at some point tomorrow but I'm not thinking about it. Or trying not to at least. Don't get me wrong, I love them but they get on my last good nerve most of the time. I almost feel guilty for saying this but, I will be happy being home this summer with them gone," I tell him.

"You shouldn't feel guilty for how you feel," he says quickly. "Your brothers can sometimes be horrible creatures. It will be great for you to have a whole summer to enjoy your backyard without it smelling of weed or having to deal with Seth and Jonah for once. All you will have to deal with is your mom, your dad and, if you are willing, me."

He pushes his shoe against my foot in the dirt underneath the swings.
He bumps his swing into mine.
Our knees collide.
He half smiles and I blush.

"I think I can deal with you, maybe not every single day but...I think every other one should be fine. Summer is still a few weeks away. You have other pressing matters to attend to besides trying to schedule 'grey' time with me," I tell him. "Perhaps, you should find someone to replace you on the newspaper, get some college arrangements finalized...find a date for prom."

"Still looking, it's all in order and I have someone in mind," he answers in correct order.

"Someone in mind," I repeat, mindlessly.

"Yeah, she's cute," he says, unknowingly tearing a small hole in my heart.

"Do I know her," I ask, hoping he will say no.

"Yeah," he says, making the hole he tore larger, it almost starts to bleed. "I just don't know if she'd go. She might not want to with it being so late in the game. Most girls already have dresses and shoes and hair appointments."

I say nothing else.
I just want to go inside.
I want to lay in bed and eat chocolates.
That is what depressed women do, right?
I want to know who she is.
No, I don't.
Hearing her name would make the hole really bleed.

I just nod my head.
Stand up.
Let my head fall back so my eyes look toward the stars.

"You should ask her," I tell him, my eyes closing just in case I start to cry. Or hear her name fall from his mouth. "I doubt she'd say no to you, no matter what hassle she had to go through to get a dress, shoes and find a place to get her hair done."

He stands.
His hands fall into his pockets.
His head falls back like mine did to study the same stars.

"Think you could?"

My the hole in my heart repairs itself quick so it can pump hard.
Does he mean that?
Should I?
I bet it would make a cute picture.
Him kissing my cheek while I have a heart attack in a pretty dress.
At least it would make the yearbook.

I get up early to ride with him to school.
Up front and center.
Early morning daybreak enjoyed from the passenger seat Tuesday.
And Wednesday. Thursday. Friday.
It reads like a page from some odd dream.
Everyday is the same but in a good way.
Much better than riding in the backseat while Seth and Jonah make fart jokes.

They are gone with dad for the weekend.
It's just mom and I tonight.
She made bananas foster for dinner because she said I needed happiness.
She sits down in the livingroom with her sewing.
I took a long bath in her huge tub.
She let me use all her gorgeous smelling things that make me feel like silk.
I cuddle in my bed at 8:00 in a long green/white striped cami and matching shorts.
Something I can't wear when my brothers are home.

The house feels luxurious when all the boys are gone.
Mom spoils me and we indulge in cheesecake for breakfast.
She finds a new way to spoil me this time.
She sends him to my room without notice.
I don't have time to find my jeans before he comes in holding flowers.
Hand picked roses. Thornless. Nice. From his mother's garden.

"Your mother didn't tell me that you'd be sitting in your room wearing the cutest, girliest pajamas I never imagined you'd own," Marc says, laying the roses down on my desk. "If I would have known you were busy having a nice night in, I wouldn't have bothered you. You were probably looking forward to laying in bed, watching Meryl Streep movies and falling asleep to Motion City Soundtrack."

"No one falls asleep to Motion City Soundtrack and, if someone does, they aren't people I want to be friends with. My plans can be altered slightly if you had something else you had wanted to do," I tell him. I don't bother getting up. Don't need to.

He comes over to sit with me.
With my door closed, he skims his lips over my shoulder and up my neck.
I shiver. He smiles.

"I was kind of hoping you'd come out with me tonight. The people from the paper personally requested your presence, of course, I am sure it has something to do with the chocolate pudding you brought us this afternoon," he says. "They are having dinner and then the Juniors are going to be turning in their pieces to see who qualifies for my place next year. It's all very low key at Mr. Foster's wife's place on the lake. Everything is very casual. Jeans and t's and, don't worry about money. It's on me."

"Well, I was kind of hoping that I could have the night to myself, but what kind of girl would I be if I let my pudding loving fans down," I joke. "Yeah. I will go with you. I just, obviously, need to get dressed before we go anywhere because I seriously doubt that Mr. Foster would like to see me in this."

Marc goes to wait downstairs with my mother.
I am sure she is offering him cold coffee and good chocolates.
My closet finds me the perfect things to throw on.
Classic jeans. A pink and white checkered tunic that go with my plaid pink Converse.
My messy hair goes into a messy ponytail.
I stop by my mom's room to spritz on some of her expensive perfume.
And steal some earrings.

I come down to find him holding the coffee I knew he would.
My mother takes the cup from him when she notices me.
She tells us to have fun.
She never tells me when I should come home.
I don't worry about it and enjoy the dinner.
I enjoy the nerds.
I enjoy conversation, the food and dorkdom of everyone.
That is, until Mr. Foster brings up my own writing skills.
Then I just get embarrassed.

"You know, Rose, I was very surprised not to see you come in asking about a Journalism position when the paper started at the beginning of the year. Your teachers have always raved about your essays and reports," he says, casually shocking my cheeks into turning red. "Maybe Marc can convince you to work on the website this summer so you can have a regular place on the team come September."

"Yeah, Rose. Mrs. Allen-Bloom basically uses your papers to show everyone else how they should be done," pipes up dork #1, Phil.

"Phil agrees and Phil never likes anything," Mr. Foster says as he swirls his wine. "When you go home tonight, you should work on a report, something really good so you can throw your hat into the ring for Marc's job."

I tell them I don't want his job.
I will do stuff for the web-site if they want.
I don't really want to do that, either.
Summer is supposed to be lazy.
But they think it's a good idea.
So does Marc.
Mom will, too.

Dinner ends and Marc asks me to stay with him at the lake.
It's nice, warm and just dark enough that it's only safe to stay locked in the car.
I don't do outdoors well so it works out for us both.

"I'm sorry about Mr. Foster. He gets excited about things and goes off half cocked. You don't have to give him anything if you don't want to," Marc offers, sliding his hands behind his head, smushing them between his skull and the headrest. "Just because I have to be stuck doing random things for summer, doesn't mean you have to as well. I am almost positive that you wanted to sleep until noon, bathed in sunlight in cute pajamas, just taunting me."

"That wasn't exactly my goal, but you're close. I had camp for the past two summers and, to be honest, I wanted to just lay in bed with books all day. I don't want to worry about anything other than making sure my skin doesn't get burned or that I distract you too much from your work and your own agenda," I tell him.

"I plan on working as little as humanly possible," he quickly shoots back. "My goal this summer is getting to know you again. We aren't 11 and 12 anymore. We can't just hop on bikes, ride down to the arcade and play air hockey until we run out of quarters."

"Why can't we? It's going to be summertime. Things are meant to be simple, one big long weekend. You are supposed to completely indulge in things that make you happy. And, this is your last strings-free summer," I say as I shift onto my side in my own lowered seat. "Next year, you will come home wiser and used to being on your own. So, don't be so opposed to the arcade, sleeping out on your trampoline and going swimming in Mr. Foster's pool when he goes away on vacation."

Marc smiles and sits his seat upright.
Seat belt clicks and the engine starts.
I copy him in sitting up and buckling in.
He leaves the radio off.
The air conditioner gets cranked up.
We are quiet the whole drive home.
The clock reads 11:21 when he pulls into his driveway.

I don't ask him to come back to the house with me.
We don't kiss in his driveway.
He goes to his room.
I go to mine.
My pajamas go back on.
I sleep with the window open.
No pebbles come soaring through the open way.

Still, it's peaceful and nice.
Summer sounds are setting in.
So is the semi-warm night breeze.
And I sleep.
Very well.
So well that, by the time my mother decides to wake me, I am already up.

We have breakfast.
French toast with whipped cream, syrup and berries.
Coffee, heavy on the cream and sugar.

"I put the flowers that Marc left for you into a vase. I left them in my bathroom in case you wanted to take another long bath today, along with some issues of Vogue, in case you wanted to read and soak at the same time," my mother rambles as we eat slowly. "Just what is happening with the two of you? I suppose you don't want to tell me but, I'm only curious."

"It's an odd shade of grey," I tell her.

"Meaning what, exactly? Should I be worried that you are turning into a whore," she asks, looking at me with an odd seriousness that I can't believe she even has stored in her. "I really have to tell you, Rose, I don't want to have to worry about you, too. Seth and Jonah give my mind a more vast work out than is needed."

"You don't need to worry about me. I am absolutely fine with things right now. Stuff with Elliot just made me realize that I don't need to be so serious. I just want someone to have a great summer with," I say, thinking that I have nipped her anxiousness in the bud.

"When you get done with breakfast, you should get dressed," my mother instantly responds. "Since the house is man-free for a change, I want to take complete advantage of it."

I take this to mean we are going to be having fun.
You know, romance movies that she will translate into English.
Lounging in the livingroom reading books.
Her teaching me to sew the way she can.

That's why I hurry to finish my breakfast.
She isn't nearly done when I finish.
I go upstairs to take a long bath on a full, but not overly full, stomach.
I scattered the petals of one of the roses Marc brought into the water.
I relax for 45 minutes.
Then I put on some jeans. Fitted black t-shirt. Multi-colored plastic wrist bands.
I leave my hair wavy.
It feels organic. It feels so nice.

When I come back downstairs, my mother has on a dress.
Pink with small flowers on it.
Her long hair is braided, like she's getting ready to go somewhere.

"Rose, you look very lovely. Could you please put on some shoes or flip-flops so you can come to the pharmacy with me," she asks of me, pulling the strap of her purse up onto her shoulder.

I nod.
Go put on some socks and shoes.
Come back down to walk with her to the car.
Strap myself in like she does.
Today will be nice.
Maybe she will buy me some nice stuff like she has.
At least I hope.
Living with Seth and Jonah, I deserve it.

Monday morning.
Riding in the backseat of Seth's car while Jonah rides in the front.
They have been teasing me about Marc.
I don't mind it too much. They like him. I like him. He likes me.
School is school is school.
English. Chemistry. History. Lunch with my friends.
Locker check.
No notes. Haven't even seen Marc once.
So far, I hate grey.

Math. Psych. Home Ec.
I made a cake.
Got an "A" because I know how to 'expertly use a star tip'.
Jonah took the bus.
I wait for Seth through his batting practice.
Jenna shows up with her swelling belly.
She doesn't dare sit next to me.
Someone better gets there first.

"How much homework do you have," he asks, his arms folding over his knees when his feet come to rest on the bleacher below us. "And, is that a cake? Where did you get that from?"

"I made it last period," I tell Marc, looking down to the lovely chocolate caramel swirl cake with rich chocolate frosting stars sitting atop it. "No homework. Well, none that I have to turn in until Friday. Why?"

"Just wondering," he says. "You know, batting practice doesn't end until almost 7 and I know a few kids that would love to have some of that cake. Myself included, of course. It would get you out of the heat and put you into the lovely air conditioning that won't ruin your skin."

I look out to watch Seth.
He's holding a bat to his crotch swinging it around, looking like an idiot.
All his friends laugh.
I just smile, tell Marc to grab the cake and follow him to the Journalism room.

Four other people sit there.
Small school.
Three guys. One girl.
They all wear glasses and eye my cake like they haven't seen one in forever.
Marc places it on his master desk.
The teacher, Mr. Foster, my other neighbor, smiles.
He likes my cakes, too.
He's eaten many of them.

"Oh, Miss West, Miss West...did you make this confectionary? It looks as though you did," Mr. Foster says as he studies the cake's detail. "You are more than welcome to stay and see how things work as long as you continue to bring things like these for us all."

"I'll go try to get a knife from the Home Ec. room," one of the guys says, leaving his work on his desk for everyone to see. For everyone to basically swoon over. "Should I find plates, too? Bowls?"

Bowls.
He brings those and a butter knife back.
Everyone eats cake.
I sit with Marc at his Mac Book and have my own.
He types amazingly fast.
No mistakes. Everything pefectly spelled. Amazing grammar.
Oddly, it's a turn on.

An hour and a half later, the whole cake is gone.
Everyone is bouncing from a sugar high.
Their work is done and Marc is giving me a ride home.
His car is so so so nice.
The seats are plush.
Jack Johnson plays once then Damien Rice then Adam Green.
Regina Spektor comes on as he pulls into his driveway.

"You can come in if you want," Marc says as we get out. "My dad is back home. Of course, you know that since yours is back, too. He usually just hangs out in the livingroom when my mom is gone, watching old Westerns on the big screen."

"I should at least eat dinner first," I tell him, starting to walk around the back of his car to the sidewalk. "Come out to the backyard later. You know the gate's always open."

He catches me at the edge of the fence when my feet hit the sidewalk.
It's quick. Over in an instant but he kisses me.
He mumbles about wanting to do that all day. I say I had, too.
He goes inside.
I go home to eat dinner with my mom, dad and Jonah.

Dad brought me a snowglobe back because those are always the perfect gift.
My mom finally gives me the shirts LeAnne gave her to give to me.
Vintage ones from the '80's.
I put them away and, as I'm folding the last ones, I hear tapping against my window.
First, I think it's just Seth throwing stones to get me to get him dinner.
Then, I think it's Jonah trying to get my attention for Seth.
But Seth hasn't come home, I remember.
Jonah's in his room talking to some girl on the phone.

I crawl across my bed to get to the window.
And, there he is.
Marc standing down below with pebbles from his mom's fish tank in hand.

I head downstairs quickly.
Smiling all the way.
I get to the unlit back yard and try to play it cool.
Marc shoves the extra pebbles into his pocket.

"I heard every girl dreams of hearing pebbles hit her window," he says just above a whisper when I'm close enough to him that I can count the thin knicks in his glasses. "I suppose you all want to be like Juliet, just waiting for some fairytale ending."

"Juliet didn't have a fairytale ending. She died. That was amazingly tragic," I remind him. "But, I have to admit that pebbles hitting one's window is gently jolting. I have been waiting for you but, now that I'm down here with you, I have no idea what to do. Do we just stand here in the dark or do you want to come in...?"

"Actually, I was going to ask if you wanted to come in with me. I spent the last few hours picking up my room, trying to make it semi-presentable," he says as his fingers fiddle with the latch on the gate he stands beside. "It's not bright green but there are some kind of neat things inside it that I think you'll like."

"Give me an example," I say, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to play it as cool as possible.

"I have a very awesome telescope," he offers. "Also, if you aren't so into that tonight, I can also offer some really great books, a stash of candies and I have both Clerks and Clerks 2 on DVD. It's only 9. If we get upstairs right now, we could have both movies watched by 12:30, that is, if you are up for it."

"You have given me plenty of choices but considering that I have never even been in your room, it would be nice to be given a tour of it before I make any kind of decision," I tell him.

So he opens the gate.
His dad doesn't notice us because he's absorbed in a movie.
But, I like his room.
It's big like mine but painted blood red with black accent stripes.
Everything else matches.
Even his telescope and sleek auto calendar.

His room looks the way he feels.
Gorgeous, put together yet oddly comfortable.
He turns the lights off so neon green pours down on us.
Glow-in-the-dark stars line the ceiling but aren't placed in the center.
It still means the room is dark.

"What do you think of the room," Marc asks as he turns on his T.V.

"It's really red but I like it. I can almost see why you were trying so hard to get me to come up this weekend," I tell him, watching as he sets his T.V. to AUX and starts to dig through the DVD's that sit on the top shelf of his black enamel desk. "Do you just lay on your bed to watch stuff or do you just toss all your pillows down on the floor?"

"If it's just me, I lay in the floor," he tells me, finally pulling the DVD's off the shelf. "But, it's up to you. If you want to test out my bed, you can do that all you want."

"Oh, if I'm going to test out a bed, I am going to need someone to test it out with," I tease, forgetting how I had told myself that I hated the feel of grey. "I shouldn't have said that."

"No, you should just say what you want to say, Rose. Tell me about school. How your day was until I made it better by eating your cake," he says, putting in the DVD. "I want to know about all the dirty little details and thoughts. Were any of them about me?"

"So, that is what you're getting at? You just want to know if I fantasized about you through any of my classes. I suppose I should tell you that I kind of did. Just a little," I say. "I don't know if you want to hear about those thoughts, though."

"You know I do," he says, forgetting about the DVD and joining me on his bed. "Every little detail."

I tell him that I felt weird not having contact with him.
But, I say that I understood that grey wouldn't allow for that.
No holding hands in the hall.
Kissing between classes.
But I did enjoy the one outside my house.

"It's a tricky thing, grey is. Walking around while holding hands is so nice and that is something that we both have to agree on doing. So is the issue of being in each other's personal space, the displays of new affection," he says as he strokes a strand of my hair behind my ear. "I wished I were eating lunch with you and your friends. You looked so happy, smiling and laughing. You were beautiful."

"You can some eat with us tomorrow if you want," I tell him, melting down slow at the way his finger twirls my hair.

"Or maybe, I could convince you to stay home with me. It's not Senior Skip day but, since I wasn't clever enough to go along with everyone, I get a free day. You could use a mental health day," he suggests.

"There's only one problem with that great plan, Marc. Your mom and Allison will be home sometime tomorrow," I tell him. "We will have plenty of time to lounge in a room alone during the summer and I don't know how I feel about actually doing that at this juncture in time. That is, if you still want me around come summer."

"Three and a half more weeks until summer starts and I have a good idea that I will want to have you around even more by the time it gets here," he says. "And, you're right. Summer is like a very long weekend with no plans, no big ones anyway. At least ride with me to school in the morning. I leave before Seth does but I stay in my lane the entire drive."

"I will take the offer whole-heartedly. It gets kind of old when Seth does his 'out of control' schtick. He almost gave the old lady down the street a heart attack last week when he swerved toward her," I say, twisting the hem of his shirt around my finger. "Just when do you leave?"

"Just after 7. I have to get to the Journalism room to make sure everyone is on schedule with their respective stories and features. It sounds utterly and completely boring but, you are welcome to see how everything works. Especially this time of year since Mr. Foster has to find a replacement for me for the coming school year. Competitive stuff," he says, trying to make it sound cool.

It doesn't.
I couldn't care less.
I just want to kiss him again so I act like I'm listening.
For another hour.
I go home and think about him.
Dream of him.
That's proof enough that I'm turning from dark grey to light.
The less grey, the better.
Right?

I took a shower.
Shaved, used apple blossom shampoo, Caress.
I straightened my hair then lined my eyes.
Seth and Jonah were napping when I left.
Mom was on the phone with dad.
She didn't notice I left until well after the fact.

Marc answered the door for me as if he'd been sitting by it waiting.
He locked the door.
I remember because the click of the lock rang in my ears for a full 30 seconds.
The house is so cool.
Temp. wise. Summer is killer here.

"I just got my 'gentleman' hat on so, you should be advised that I am haven't fully adjusted to the good-side yet," he says, smiling, leading me through the livingroom to the sofa positioned just across from the grand big screen T.V. in the room. "While it sinks in, you should stay here and find something on while I call for a pizza."

"Okay, now you're scaring me," I tell him. "We don't talk for years and we make out and it completely affects you in the way treat me. Pizza, having complete control of the remote...this smells oddly of one of those nights you hang out with someone before you start either dating them or having sex with them."

He laughs against the reciever of his phone.
He makes the order quick.
Extra cheese. Beef. The thickest crust possible.
I like his taste. Literally.
I wonder how long it will be before we ignore the pizza.
Wonder how long it will be until he comments on my bra.

He hangs up the phone then sits with me.
30 minutes or less.
That's what they promise.
That's all the time it takes to get in trouble.

"You need to quit reading whatever books you are," he sighs. "I want to hang out with you, Rose. That's it. I don't care if we just sit here until 2 a.m. watching Seth Rogen movies. I guess I just want to see that it's possible for a girl to sit and laugh at the same things I do for once."

"Did she-who-shall-not-be-named really screw you up that bad," I ask, not expecting or wanting an answer. "I couldn't stay with someone so stuck-up their own butt that way for very long. It wouldn't even be like a real relationship."

"It wasn't," Marc says. "What about you? Weren't you dating Elliot or something for a while?"

Elliot.
He's cute and clean-cut.
A guy's guy.
Plays baseball and rides 4-wheelers.
He got my best friend pregnant three months ago.
I was devestated.
Marc just listens quietly as I tell him that.
He heard the rumors.
He was just shocked they were true.
For once.

"And I thought I had problems," Marc states as he pulls his wallet from his pocket. "How did you find all this stuff out? Did he tell you? Did she tell you?"

"Neither of them said anything," I confess. "It was hardcore devestating. I was at Target with Seth and Elliot's mom came over to me and said something about how she was 'heartbroken' to hear he'd broken up with me but thought he was doing 'the right thing' by being with Jenna. I was pissed."

"Rightly so," Marc says, pulling a $20 from his wallet and laying it on the coffee table.

He's not like Elliot.
He's tall and wears his weight well.
Normal looking accessorized with:
Glasses.
Wild wavy hair.
T-shirts and sharp jeans.
Black plastic bracelets.
Elliot was boring.
Marc is God like to me.
His father is Indian.
His mother is French, like mine.
His skin looks just lightly tanned all year 'round.
His eyes are deep green, like jade.

"We're both just differently wounded," I offer, trying to sound clever. "You by someone that was incredibly boring and me by someone that was a complete jerk. And, here we are, quite nicely put back together and no worse for the wear."

"So says you," Marc laughs. "I am testing to see if you have a sense of humor and you think all I want is sex. Though the thought is one that repeats over and over, I can go without it. Do you think you can?"

"Sure, almost 17 years without it, why should I be so quick to jump the gun," I shrug.

Marc gets up to answer the door.
30 minutes never flew so fast.
Maybe it was less.
He throws the pizza onto the coffee table.
Drops beside me again.
He takes the remote and finds a movie.
"Knocked Up".
He quickly changes it.
"One Missed Call" on Pay Per View.
Guess he didn't think the first would be fun for me to watch.

It wouldn't have been.
Last thing I need is to think about Elliot when I'm with Marc.
But I have already seen this movie.
With Seth.
I don't tell Marc that, though.
I treat him like he's a pillow and lay my head on my lap.
His fingers immediately start to play with my hair.
Liquid Rose.
That is what I am known as when he does this.

"Is it okay that I do that," he asks, just to make sure that I like it.

I tell him it's fine.
He keeps on.
I get comfortable against his lap.
Almost fall asleep.

He jerks and freaks out a bit because of what's on the screen.
I laugh, sit up and wrap my arms around him.
He smiles as his head rests on my shoulder.

"I have never seen anything so odd in my entire life," Marc exclaims, closing his eyes as if that will erase the vision from his mind. "How come you didn't freak out?"

"It takes a lot more than some freaky kid to scare me," I lie. "You know, if it's too much for you, you can put it back on 'Knocked Up'. It's actually a pretty good movie, even though the amount of weed smoked in it is insane."

"Like you need visual reminders of what Elliot did," he says, clicking the T.V. over to some odd kids' show on Noggin. "Maybe we should just eat pizza and watch something else. What's on that you like?"

"I like watching 'The Universe' on The History Channel," I tell him, trying to make it come off as a joke when I really do watch it every single Tuesday.

It backfires.
He checks the listings and finds it on.
The channel switches for the fourth time in an hour and a half.
We watch while the pizza grows cold.
We have conversation about the things we have seen.
White holes, drawf planets and the end of the universe.
We both relax.
The next time I see the clock it's 10 after midnight.

"Maybe I should get home," I tell him as I toss crusts off my lap and onto the coffee table. "I mean, my mom knows I'm here but...I don't think it would do well to subject you to another full night with me."

"I haven't complained once and you live right next door. It's Saturday, well, technically Sunday morning," he says, standing to clear the mess we've managed to make with crumbs and soda cans. "But, if you have it in your head that you should go, I won't try to make you stay."

"Why not," I fastly question, letting my curiousity pour out over the awkwardness of the timing.

He's quick.
His fingers touch my cheek as if he's touching china.
Finally his hand holds my face.
Delicately his thumb moves against my skin.
Slow. Sweet. Turning me back to my almost constant fluid state.

"Because the more you try to have things your way, the less likely you are to get them your way," he tells me. "I know how comfortable and luxurious your own bed is. If I were you, I'd want to be there, too."

"This...it's not a matter of wanting. It's a matter of trying to hold some sense of dignity and self-respect for myself," I explain, knowing I make absolutely no sense. "I don't want to go to school Monday and be seen as a whore, even if we didn't do anything more than kiss. You know how rumors like that start. They are so hard to squash. And, really, I don't know if you just want to be friends that occassionally make out and have pizza and intelligent conversation or if it's something more, or less or..."

"Does your brain ever stop thinking about everything? No, overthinking things. Staying here doesn't automatically turn you into a whore, or me into a sex fiend, it doesn't mean that I want more than all this. Why does it have to be more? Why can't it just...be," he asks, dropping his hand from my cheek.

"Just be, what a concept," I laugh, reaching out for his hand as if I have done it a million times before. "How do people do that exactly? It's either you're just friends or you're with someone. It's usually a totally black and white issue and I don't look good in grey."

"You should wear more of it then," he says. "I have worn white for too long myself and I don't do well in black. Maybe grey will suit me for a while. It's just a matter of setting boundaries and lines and..."

"And what, Marc? That sounds like a relationship," I tell him. "Setting standards and limits. You wanted to just 'be'. Does that mean hang out with me when you feel the need to and, when you are tired or get bored or need something more, you go find someone else but still expect me to be here whenever you call?"

He shakes his head and smiles.

"Nothing like that, Rose. I don't have anyone else nor do I think I will for a great long time," he tells me. "It's all up to you. It's not a choice you should make now or tomorrow but whenever you're ready to make such a decision."

Yeah.
He's leaving it up to me.
Shades of grey in a world of black and white.
I miss white. (Relationship)
I do black miserably. (Singledom)
Grey (untitled) might suit me.
After all, Marc is no Elliot.
He stayed with Julie for so long because he did care about her.
Elliot cheated on me because I wouldn't crawl into his bed.

I'm 16.
He's 18.
Summer is closing in quick.
So is prom.
Graduation.
Marc leaving for school with Seth.
Maybe a heavy-duty summer romance is in order.

So, he walks me to the gate in the fence seperating our yards.
No one is in the back yard.
Starlight hangs overhead and it's warm for May.
The way he opens the gate for me makes up my mind.

"I'd like to try grey on for a while," I tell him once the gate is latched and seperates us. "Maybe I will look good in it. Maybe, just saying, it might turn into one of the unmuddled colors."

"Maybe," Marc smiles. "White, I hope."

Yeah.
Me, too.
Black is slimming for a reason.
It's depressing.
White flows better for summer.
But grey fits in now.