Like suddenly spring, the new September air had me absolutely convinced that something was about to happen with Gina.  At school, I'd just noticed her perfect smile and those brown eyes, as bright as any fluorescent hue, like that of the green shirt she wore with tight, faded jeans one Friday.  That afternoon, I walked home and believed that everything was happening: the wind was cool, but my body warm; the sun shining, but night rushing in; and the smell of wood-smoke and the brush of leaves enveloped me.  Later, in my bedroom, with the glorious, still-kicking sun glowing behind the trees, blazing through two windows, I felt tender for her — so soft that it took me almost an hour to relieve myself of the day's pressures.  In fact, when I was finished, it was good to be wearing clothing again.

I fell asleep, and it was night when I heard the phone ringing.  I ran through the darkened house to the kitchen, the only room with a light on, a lamp in the corner of my mom's bill-paying desk, and answered the call.  It was John, a fellow senior.

He said, "You still want to go, right?  I'll pick you up."

I could have hugged him.  "Get your ass over here!"

I wanted fast food, but we went straight to the football game, cursing all the way.  It still wasn't that cold so everything was wide open, like the windows to his car, my arms and heart, and the t-shirts of those girls who wanted their goose-bumped bodies to do the talking.  John and I searched for other people, but we mostly stood around and chatted at the top of our lungs.  Toward the end of the third quarter, we walked down the bleachers and away from the field, into the massive battleground of a parking lot, where kids were leaning against cars and laughing.  Where was Gina?  I still hadn't told John I wanted her.  Her smile and sweet smell were enough to know.

Then Fennie, the cute, petite girl with olive skin and black hair and an old face, was suddenly coming toward us.  At one time, I had thought about her a lot, but then I heard she went out with a college guy.  She hadn't spoken to me since the party at the end of junior year.

"Where you going, John?  Hey Ned."

"We're gonna get something at Baskin-Robbins," John said.  I looked right to his eyes — she had gotten the truth out of him so quickly.  He snapped his head once, and I knew to go with it.

"I'll come with you if you don't mind."

"Sure," John said.  He smiled at me, but I didn't quite get it.

I wanted air, but Fennie smoked a cigarette in the old car.  At first, I was afraid, but then I was at ease with her sin.  She was who she was, and I was just along for the ride.

No one was at the ice cream shop yet, but we got our dessert and wolfed it down, even Fennie, who ordered a sundae.  John and Fennie did most of the talking, and they laughed whenever I said something.  One time she said to me, "You know, you're pretty funny, Ned."

When Fennie was scraping her dish, she declared, "Let's get out of here," but after all this, I still didn't understand.  Why weren't we waiting for the others?  Maybe Gina would be there, and with another giant cookie on my plate, I could certainly pretend to be eating.

We drove by the school, then Fennie told us to turn toward her house.  Soon we came to a corner where ten or so kids were hanging around, and we slowed down, looking to see if they were friend or foe.  We knew in a second they weren't our type — were really preppie guys and girls — and then I saw Gina, holding a cigarette with her left hand and a big guy's hip with her right one.  Still, she looked at me and smiled.  I felt so sick, but what did it mean?  John sped up but then slowed down for another group.  As we came to a stop and John rolled down his window, Fennie stuck her head between us.  John started talking to a guy I didn't recognize, who all of the sudden yelled, "Hey, who's in there with you?"  Just at that moment, I felt Fennie's hand at my neck, then her fingers sliding underneath my collar, and I knew we weren't going to her house and I would be gladly tasting her smoky breath before the night was over.