Chapter 6

Danielle had always figured she'd be happy to go to Senior Ball.

"Look, I don't see what the problem is," Weston was saying. "Your parents okay'd it. My dad okay'd it. Liz and Martin have already asked the hotel to put the room next to theirs on hold. But the hotel said they're running out of rooms, and if we don't book soon, we're gonna lose it."

"You're right," she said, "you don't see what the problem is."

"Well, then, tell me!" Weston exploded.

Danielle didn't.

"God. My friends are all after me about this."

"Well, maybe if you didn't complain to them about—"

"Danielle, I complain to them because it frustrates me. I love you. I want to be with you. You've said you wanna be with me. Well, this is our chance."

"Weston." She pushed tears out of her voice to face him calmly. "Can you accept that this is just not something you're going to get your way about?"

"And can you accept that that makes me annoyed?? God, Danielle, you're my girlfriend. Aren't you supposed to be making my life better?"

"I'm trying," she said.

"I never had these problems with Jodie," he grumbled.

Danielle squeezed her eyes shut. Jodie. Why is it always Jodie? She didn't want to start that. Especially not that. "I need to go home."

"We haven't worked this out yet." Weston raised the phone that dangled in his hand. "We haven't decided."

"We're not gonna be able to decide like this," Danielle said, "not with you like that and me like this. I'll talk to you tomorrow, 'kay?"

Weston sighed. "Fine. Fine, whatever. But I am gonna call you about it, understand? We need to work this out. We need to decide."

She didn't answer.

At her home, she got on the phone to Liz. "He's still after it," she said without preamble.

"You need to tell him the truth, honey, " said Liz.

"Ugh," Danielle said. "What's to tell him? That I'm scared to sleep with him because of what happened between me and David? What kind of a lame explanation is that?"

"He'll understand. He had the same thing happen with his ex-girlfriend—what's her name? Joanna? Joanie?"

"Jodie," said Danielle, "and no, he will not understand. First off, they did it a lot more times than I did with David. Second, he sees her as having betrayed him."

"Which she totally did, that skanky ho, running off with a new man just because the old one moved to another state," said Liz, sarcastic to the last.

"Ha," said Danielle. "In any case, it's a different situation altogether. He feels hurt and he wants to move on."

"By getting it on."

"And he doesn't get why I don't feel the same way."

"Dani, I don't get why you don't feel the same way. What's the big deal?"

Danielle sat back against the wall and tried to think.

"I mean, you want it too, don't you? You've been saying this whole time... "

"Yeah, I know. But it, it's just ... I dunno. I ... I want it to be ... Special. You know?"

"It'll be your first time with him. Isn't that special?"

Danielle didn't answer.

Liz knew what the silence meant. "Danielle, it's never gonna be as special as your first time. You got really lucky. You got the best first time in, like, all of human history. It won't be like that again. Heck, it might not even feel all that good. But at least you've been letting him play around with you, so he knows something about your body... "

Danielle didn't answer.

Liz knew what the silence meant. "Good grief, Dani, you guys haven't been doing anything? Jesus. No wonder he's so impatient!"

"Well, I..." she said. "It's just ... I mean, we did try stuff. We really did. But whenever we ... I mean, how do you think I know that it makes me nervous? It just feels wrong!"

Liz was silent for a moment. "Jeez. Who'd've thought you'd get all religious or whatever right now."

"No, it's not that, it's not like I wanna go not-until-marriage or something. I'm not a prude. It's just..." The thought of David having sex with her—his hands on her breasts, his body against hers, even the thought of his organ within her—had never terrified her. But to picture Weston in the same position... "I don't like the idea."

"Of doing it?"

"No, not that."

" ... Of doing it with Weston???" Liz's tone suggested just how ludicrous she found this idea.

Danielle sighed.

Liz knew what that sigh meant. "Dani, why on earth would—? Okay, never mind, that's not important. Look, hon, if that's how you feel about him ... I mean, it's kind of cruel to be leading him on, don't you think? If you have no intention of taking the relationship as far as it'll go... "

"That's not as far as it'll go," Danielle said.

"Oh, come on, Dani, it's as far as our relationships go, people at our age. What, were you thinking of marrying him?"

Of course not. That was ridiculous. But... "I thought about it with David."

"Yeah, and take a look around you, Dani, and tell me how well that turned out!"

Danielle said nothing.

" ... I'm sorry. That was cruel of me."

"It was still true."

"That's not an excuse. Not as far as I'm concerned."

That particular argument would get them nowhere; it never did. "Look, I just don't feel like ... I think about doing stuff with him, and it feels like it'd be a bad idea."

"Then maybe you should break it off with him?"

"That feels like a bad idea too," Danielle said.

Liz sighed. "Well, you've painted yourself into a nice tight corner then, haven't you."

"What else is new."

The next day, Danielle found it completely impossible to concentrate, despite the irritation of her teachers; the fact that her homework was entirely in order was her only saving grace. All day the battle raged back and forth in her head: break up with Weston? Stay with him? Sleep with him? Stay with him but not sleep with him? Sleep with him and then break up with him? Something needed to be done, and quickly.

The man of sensitivity and politeness had turned out to be a public facade—which was not to say that he wasn't, merely that there was more to him, much more, beneath the surface. Weston was a man of deep passions and deep emotions, and he didn't take kindly to being foiled. He wanted things his way, his way, his way; anything else brought his temper into play. And about this, about sex, it was even worse. To be fair, she'd been pretty unreasonable herself about it; even she could admit that expecting him to sit around for the entire school year with basically no action was pretty cruel. But the simple fact was that he wanted it—he really, really wanted it—and she could bet that, even if she'd given in, they'd still be having problems about it, about frequency or quality or foreplay or whatever. Weston was a man who didn't like it when things didn't go exactly as he'd planned.

Not for the first time, she reflected back on David and his attitudes towards the issue. Man, and here I thought his whining was bad. But Weston makes more noise about it in a month than David did over that whole four years. Sure, he and I were doing stuff during that whole time, but David wanted it too. And he could hold his peace about it. Man, if I'd known what I know now...

"Danielle?"

Danielle looked up. It was lunch time, and her feet had carried her away without her attention. Where she ended up she had no idea; all she knew was whom they'd carried her to.

"I..." she said to David. " ... Can we talk?"

She was on the porch outside the Wilson building; it was where (or so her friends told her) David went now for his breaks. Evidently they were right. Angela Wentworth was there, and whatever group of friends she was involved in: Roger Gorman, Jose Villegas, Lisa O'Donnell, Morgan Shuley, Annie Pearce, Nick Morgan. And David, of course. David. They shared 5th-period Civics this semester, and saw each other every day, but she was used to just ignoring him by now; today was the first time in nearly two years that she had gone out of her way to speak to him.

David turned to Angela. "Do you mind?"

Angela shrugged, gestured. "Go for it."

Danielle was glad to see him do something smart like that: ask his actual girlfriend for permission before going off to talk to an ex. Danielle was sad to see him do it: it meant his heart had moved on.

They sat on the grass ten feet away. Danielle found herself studying his face. Still the same haystack hair; still the same eyes. He looked a bit leaner; he seemed to have gotten taller. It had been nearly two years.

"Is it something to do with Weston?" he asked.

She blinked. "How did you... ?"

"It was all over the school," he said with a smile. "That and all sorts of other insane rumors. Like that you tried to hurt yourself or something. Of course, when people asked me about that, I just laughed. You'd never do something like that. Probably Shelly Baumgarter and all those other people just started some rumors to be mean."

She realized he didn't believe them. Hadn't someone told him that she herself wasn't denying it? Perhaps he was even younger than she'd thought.

"I, umm. I do hate to say this, Nellie, but—"

"You told me so, right, whatever," said Danielle, who had no interest in hearing it, and even less in hearing her old nickname. Not from his mouth.

"So," said David. "What can I do for ya?"

Despite the seeming complexity of the problem, it was actually pretty simple—at least, when the year's worth of baggage and frustration was stripped off. "It's ... Weston wants to rent a hotel room for after Senior Ball, so that he and I can have our first time in privacy. But I'm not sure I wanna do it with him, and whether I should break up with him now or just, just ride it out, or ... what."

"Okay, okay, starting from the beginning," said David. "Your guys' first time. Have you been waiting?"

"No, we just..." She grimaced. "Like I said, I'm not sure I wanna do with with him."

"That night?" said David. "Or ... Ever?"

"I ... I dunno."

"Well, why don't you want to? Do it with him, I mean. You guys've been going out for almost this whole year, and anyone can tell he's attractive. And probably more well-endowed than me, I can tell you that." He gave a little laugh.

The little touch of humor clawed at her. "Don't say that," she snapped. "You're always ... You're always making fun of yourself. You've got nothing to make fun of."

"In that department, I do," he said, laughing now.

"David," she said. "Stop it."

He stopped laughing, realizing he was serious.

"Look, Nellie, it's ... Whatever. I'm not here to argue the relative size of my endowment or anything. Do you think I can say stuff like that to Angela? She's the one complaining about my size. But to you ... I can say anything. I can be honest."

She wondered if she should be flattered, or if she should be worried about the state of his friendships. "God, I wish I could be like that with Weston."

"Well ... You could. But it might not go over so well."

"Yeah."

"So ... If it were up to you ... What would you do? If you could just totally dictate the terms of the relationship?"

Danielle thought for a minute. "I'd ... I wouldn't. I mean, I don't mind being in the same room with him at night." She missed having someone there in the bed with her. "But sex ... I dunno. I don't know why. But I wouldn't."

"But you wouldn't break up with him."

"No, I wouldn't—and that's gonna be the problem, isn't it? I mean, he's been after me on this topic for ... Months. Since Thanksgiving. I wanna be in a relationship with him, but only if we're celibate. He's ... That's not gonna fly, I can tell you that already."

"Why don't you want to do it with him?" he said. "Was your first time that horrible?"

She gave him another glare.

"I'm not getting down on myself," he said, "it's a legitimate question. Maybe it was so traumatic that you've sworn off sex."

Danielle mopped her face with her hands. "No, it ... My first time was fine." Our first time. "It was good." And that may have been part of the problem. "I don't mind doing it, it's just ... Him."

"Why?"

"God, don't you think I wish I knew?? God! If I knew that, I wouldn't be having these problems!"

He was silent for a moment.

" ... I'm sorry," she said, "that was ... God. I'm frustrated. You can tell." She gave a short laugh. "Maybe getting laid would be the best thing for me."

"But not with him."

"No, maybe even with him." She had another image of his face hovering over hers, his body hovering between her legs, and squirmed with discomfort. "If I can get over it."

"Well," said David, regarding her with his unblinking green eyes. "I think that means you have a choice to make. Everything and everyone around you says you should be going for it ... All except your heart, your gut, your instinct, your subconscious—whatever you wanna call it. You can trust that part of you ... Or you can go with your intellect."

"Which one's right?" she asked.

He shrugged, a gesture that said, Well, that's up to you, isn't it?

This was such an unsatisfactory answer that she flung herself to her feet in disgust. "Some help you are. Thanks for nothing, Davey."

As she walked away, she wondered if that had been fair either. Why was she so angry? What had he done? ... Besides show her a perfect first time. Besides betray her at the exact moment when her heart had become most fully his. Besides show that he was actually a shallow, horny teenager, the one thing he'd always denied being. Besides leave her scarred and confused, unsure of what she wanted anymore. Why did I come to him anyway? It's all his fault to begin with.

When Weston arrived at her house that night, she said, "Do it."

"Do what?" he said.

"Book the room," she said. "We'll do it."

His face lit up with a broad, wide grin. She looked down at his happiness and wished it could please her too.

As the days before Senior Ball dwindled, the school began to notch up into a frenzy of activity. Some teachers bowed to the inevitable and began assigning less homework; others, furious at their students' inconstancy, piled on yet more. Scotty Rudin and Jeremy Lopiano got into a fight over which of them was going to ask out Rita Dunworthy, and Jessica Lansing created a scandal when she practically threw herself at Josh Reeder, who (as everyone knew) had been going out with Hilary Kremenski since 9th grade. But of Danielle Mayer and Weston McCullough—of Nutty Nellie and her boy-toy—nothing was said; and that was how Danielle liked it. Not much was mentioned about David Glass and Angela Wentworth either, except that David missed the first two days of school the week of the prom itself. He wasn't the only one; kids were cutting classes, or even taking the whole day to play hooky. It was just life as usual, she supposed. Besides, she had worries of her own.

As the days passed, the time she spent with Weston became an exercise in tension. It was clear what was on his mind, and his hands followed his thoughts. She knew she should let him—it was the first time she'd let him touch her breasts—well, her anything—over the course of their relationship—and she tried to bear it with good grace. It was easy to admit that she had missed this: warm breath whispering through her hair, a man's voice next to her's, the rough skin of a masculine palm against the soft skin of her breast. It was easy to remember that once she had had a pretty decent sex drive; now, reawakened, that beast was starving, and Weston was what she needed to satiate it. Nonetheless, she told him that they should save the whole enchilada for the night of the dance, and Weston agreed, with an alacrity that startled her. Why was he satisfied with her telling him they couldn't do it now? Was it because she'd said they'd do it later? When I was with David, I never set down a concrete time; it was always, 'Later, maybe, if things work out.' If I'd said, 'Sure, let's set a date and time, ' would he have been happier?

When the day arrived, she was actually more flustered about the sex than about the actual dance. She walked through the afternoon's ablutions as if by rote—bathing, shaving, dressing, doing her hair, putting on perfume and makeup—her mind elsewhere, so that when it was done she stood before the mirror with no idea of how she'd got there. Times like this made her nervous. Ever since her five months of zoning out, this would happen every now and then: going from one time to another, from one activity to another, on complete autopilot, doing everything right without having to pay attention at all. It would have been useful if she could control it; it might make homework less of a drag, for instance. But most of the time, it just happened, and she wished it wouldn't. She had the strangest feeling that her life was slipping away through her fingers without her even noticing. She wished she'd paid attention while she got ready; she wished she'd focused, and savored, and enjoyed every minute of it. Enjoyed every minute of two hours' work? Okay, maybe not.

Not for the first time, she wondered if going to the dance was even a good idea. Was she going to enjoy it? Probably not. Dancing was not her thing; she lacked the necessary confidence (or perhaps the non-self-consciousness) to be that sort of exhibitionist. And with what was coming after...

She looked down at herself. Red had never been quite her color; it just made her look garish. But Weston said this shade of maroon would be perfect on her, and for all that she preferred to have her own way, she'd decided to go with his suggestion. 'Preferred'? David had always told her she was goat-head stubborn. Thank God he'd been willing to be flexible himself. That was part of the problem with Weston; both of them were used to getting their way, and in this particular relationship, they often wanted different things.

This isn't where I thought I'd be. The thought leapt into her mind with startling clarity. When I dreamed for my senior year, when I planned for Senior Ball, this isn't where I thought I'd be. For one, David was going to be here; David, with his beanstalk build, his self-conscious laughter, his self-deprecating humor. David said she looked best in pale powder blue—which was the truth; it went best with her eyes and her complexion. Red was Weston's color, for his ruddy skin and the copper of his hair. But the dress had to match the cummerbund ... And Weston didn't want any of that "sky-blue baby crap" on his tux. The only thing that had carried over from the dream was the velvet texture of the dress; Weston had liked the idea. It had been David's.

She wondered suddenly how long this was going to go. Everything that ... Well, everything. It's all intertwined with David, and I can't help it. Everything that I do or say or live ... David was going to be part of it. When is that over? When do I get over that? When do I get over him? Or am I going to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life?—my first kiss with every man, the first time I make love with him, when he proposes to me, when I have kids or grandkids ... Don't tell me I won't be able to look past David by then. Just don't. I'd go insane.

So, what does it mean that I won't do it with Weston? Is it because I'm uncomfortable with him? ... Or is it because I'm uncomfortable with the fact that he's not David?

When Weston arrived and saw her, his eyes lit up, and he said, "Wow. You're ... You're beautiful." David had always told her that—at least once a week, no matter how often she dismissed it. This was, what, the third time Weston had said it?—the fourth? She pushed away melancholy and smiled and came across the room to kiss him.

Weston had rented a limo along with Liz, Martin, Amy, Connor and Carmen and her boyfriend Jim; Heidi, who was now single and didn't want to be a fifth wheel (and could not afford the expense anyhow) would meet them at the hotel. They sojourned to the hotel's fine Italian restaurant, Fellaccio's, before hitting the festivity proper. Though she did her best to smile and laugh and even contribute to the conversation, Danielle's mind was elsewhere.

She remembered what Ned Stanton had told her right at the very beginning: that, in his opinion, love—true love—never died out, that you never stopped caring about someone whom you had really loved. Today, almost two years after David, Danielle had to agree. The topic had come up again, recently, as she talked with the Stantons about the dance. At the time she had cursed the whole idea: Why can't I get over him, why does it still hurt to see him; things like that. And Katrina (it had been her this time) had just given her a sad smile. "Well, it can be frustrating, yes. I unfortunately can't claim to have been in your shoes; Ned was my first and only. But in some ways it's comforting that the connection can't be broken. When we hear all the fairy tales about the Power of Love, all the love songs on the radio, we never think that they might be true. But what if they are? What if, in fact, they actually are?"

But Danielle did not want it to be true. Not on the eve of Senior Ball, at which David would, almost certainly, be.

Weston leaned close to murmur to her. "Hey, are you all right? Normally you're talking a lot more than this. Anything bothering you?"

Danielle hoisted a smile onto her face. "Sorry, I'll try to make more noise then."

He laughed. "And don't forget, we've got some fun to look forward to."

"That's true," she said. "We haven't gone to too many dances together."

"What?" he said. "—Oh. Oh! Oh, yeah, that too." He grinned.

Danielle kept the smile on with difficulty.

The dance was less of a riot than she'd expected ... At least, for the first half-hour or so, as people slowly filtered in from whatever dinners they'd been having. Then the band got up on stage, plugged in their instruments, and started wailing. Then the bump-and-grind began.

Suddenly Danielle remembered why she and Weston had never gone to very many dances: they were stupid. David and I used to sit with our friends and laugh. I mean, it's basically just a huge public foreplay session. We'd point at people we thought were being really flamboyant and say, "Why don't those two just go get a room?" Of course, we could go get a room, so that probably colored our perceptions.