Chapter 4: School Dance And Learning To Channel

I’ll skip a summary of school on Friday, other than to say we had a math quiz, which seemed too easy, though from the looks on everyone else’s face, I was a majority of one. I could almost see how to solve each problem as if someone were talking me through it. Oh, and beef stew for lunch. They assured us it was beef. Some wit had posted a Missing Dogs flier next to the menu taped on the wall.

After school I went home and showered and found some clean clothes that didn’t look like they came straight out of fifth grade. Jeffy and I went to the dance together; his father drove us so we didn’t have to walk all the way there. It was a buck to get in (they had to pay the band somehow), and it was already pretty crowded, with the noise level approaching noise-hazard levels even before the band had started to play. It was a cinder-block gym with hard wooden floors, and it was like living in an echo chamber. But, of course, conversation was not the point of this dance.

And then the band started to play and conversation became futile. Even shouting we couldn’t hear each other. So everyone just danced while checking out all the hot guys/girls according to one’s proclivities.

I saw Melissa a ways off dancing with some guy I didn’t know, but he seemed to be checking out a blonde behind her, so I danced my way over and edged in next to her. The guy seemed almost thankful because he moved off towards the blonde with a glint in his eye.

Melissa caught sight of me and gave a big smile. She shouted something of which I heard not a single word. I gave a “Can’t hear you, sorry” look and she shrugged and grinned. She was gyrating and swinging her hips and I was enjoying every moment of the show. Did she have any idea how hot she was?

I couldn’t help myself, I started mentally nibbling her neck and stroking her butt, almost unaware I was doing it. She started dancing even more sexily, and her eyes got really bright and intense. And at that moment the song ended.

Everyone applauded, and she said, “I’m really thirsty, I’ve got to get something to drink.”

I took her hand and said, “OK, let’s go,” continuing to send out a pleasurable but not specifically sexual feeling towards her.

The class trip committee had agreed to run the snack bar to earn money for the trip to Washington, so we headed there as the band started the next song. The noise level was marginally lower by the snack bar and we each got a fruit juice.

I said over the din, “I had no idea you were such a good dancer. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dance.”

She said, “I like to dance, but I don’t get to do it much. For some reason, I’m really into it tonight.”

I said, “Yeah, I could tell. You looked really good out there.”

The drinks were gone shortly, and she pulled me back onto the floor just as the previous fast song ended and a slow one began. I yelled over the hubbub, “I’m not so good at the slow dances,” but she yelled back, “Come on, I’ll show you.”

She put her arms around me and pulled me in closer, close enough that her body was rubbing against mine. “Just follow me,” she said. If she got any closer to me she’d know I had a stiffy. It was a good thing that the lighting was dim, or everyone else would know, too. She put her head on my shoulder, close enough to my ear that we could almost talk without shouting.

“See? Not so hard, huh?” she said.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I answered her.

“I’m glad you decided to come tonight,” she said. “I got into an argument with my friends and now they’re all huffy and won’t talk. They’re probably telling everyone it’s my fault.”

I said, “Sorry that you had words, I thought you were all joined at the hip. What was the argument about?”

She was silent for a long moment and said, “It was about you, actually. They thought I shouldn’t be spending any time with you, that I should hold out for someone better.”

What a surprise. They didn’t approve. Should we call the local radio station with this breaking news? Instead, I said, “Oh. Do they have a replacement in mind?” That got a smile.

“No, they’ll let me know, I guess. Anyway, I’ve known you forever and I know you’re a nice guy and you’re kind and smart, so until Brad Pitt is available you’re a pretty good stand-in.”

This was good news. This was very good news, because I had it on excellent authority that Brad had the hots for Angelina Jolie, leaving the field open for Melissa and me.

I also noticed that she had gotten closer to me and was rubbing against me in a very disturbing way. But not so disturbing that I asked her to stop.

Instead, I started moving my hand gently on her back, all the while sending a mild arousal signal to her midsection. I was noticing the smell of her shampoo and finding it quite stimulating. I let my lips brush her earlobe, just by accident. And then the song ended.

The band started up another tune, this one much more frenetic, and Melissa shouted, “It’s too hot to dance this one. Let’s try to find some air.”

Easier said than done. The school staff had the outside doors guarded with chaperones so no one could slip out for alcohol or a quick hit on a joint. And we weren’t allowed to leave the dance and come back, for the same reason; once you left you were gone for the evening. The room itself was hot and filled with the body odor of sweating teenagers.

She said, “I’ve got to hit the ladies’ room. Why don’t you meet me in the physics lab in a while. It’ll be cooler there. And much quieter.”

Well, this was unexpected. Interesting but unexpected.

The physics lab was on the corridor that split off to adjoining hallways with classrooms and the men’s and women’s bathrooms. There were chaperones standing at the door to the gym who could see that doorway, but they were occupied with talking to each other and only occasionally looked in that direction.

So I made a quick trip to the bathroom where my stiffy would have a chance to subside while I took a leak. I splashed some water on my face to cool off and combed my hair, then headed back down the hall.

I walked slowly until I turned the corner to approach the gym entrance, waiting until the chaperones had their backs turned, then ducked into the physics lab, closing the door very quietly. I stood waiting by the closed door and hoped Melissa wouldn’t have any trouble getting in unseen. Then a hand reached out from behind me and turned the deadbolt on the door.

“Geez! You gave me a heart attack, Melissa,” I said as I jumped.

“Don’t be such a wuss, Tom. Come over here away from the door. It’s cooler by the window.”

We found a place we could sit on the teacher’s desk. It felt nice to be next to her.

“Much better,” she said. “It really was too loud in there. Impossible to talk. You having a good time?”

“Surprisingly, yes,” I said, “though usually these things remind me of two armies facing each other, each one waiting for the other to make the first move before they’re willing to commit to battle.”

“And which army do you belong to?” she said.

“Me? I’m a civilian trying to avoid getting crushed by forces beyond my control. Save me!”

“They’re all looking for the same thing,” Melisa said, “to find somebody who understands them, and is also hot for their bod.”

“Well, that’s true for guys, but girls? Really?”

“Trust me,” she said, “girls spend nearly all the time they’re together speculating about who’s doing what with whom and what it’s like and who we’d want to do it with and what it’d be like with them.”

“Oh, right. Brad Pitt. Has he called yet?” That earned me a punch on the shoulder.

I said, “I’m having a hard time believing this, Melissa, girls being as horny as guys. If you saw and heard the inside of the boys’ locker room after practice, it would send the lot of you running to a convent. The bragging and speculation about everyone, and their sisters and their mothers and aunts, and what they do. It’s relentless, and a little off-putting.”

She said, “It’s not so different in the girls’ locker room, maybe a little less crude -- not that I have any first-hand knowledge by which to compare -- but the same kind of speculation about who’s done it, and who’s good at it, and which boys are -- how can I put this? -- ‘physically gifted’.

“Anyway,” she went on, “a lot of the girls have experimented, and a couple, we’re pretty sure, have gone all the way, though they won’t admit it.”

“Oh, yeah? Who?”

“You think I’m going to give you handicapping tips?” she said, and swatted me on the shoulder. “Anyway,” she went on, “that’s part of what the argument with my friends was about. Some of them have this romantic notion of holding out until Prince Charming comes along and carries you off on his white steed.

“I’m of the opinion that life is short and perhaps we shouldn’t try to fulfill romantic fantasies while we’re trying to cope with life. A couple of them were horrified that I was even thinking about that.”

I hoped that it was dark enough in the lab that she couldn’t see the boner that was threatening to rip through my zipper.

“About ... what?” I said.

“Well, sex, of course,” she shot right back at me.

“I’ve gotten a little lost here, Melissa. We were talking about locker room conversation and speculation about what sex is like and who’s done it, in a rather academic way. You mean you were thinking about it?”