Chapter 2

Angie was lying on a down-filled bed, dreaming. Out of the darkness, a man's voice softly whispered in her ear. "I love you." A gentle breath in her ear sent thrills through her body. She turned toward him and held his arms out toward him. Eagerly, he came into her arms and twined his own about her. She delighted feeling his body against hers. His strong sinewy muscles were commanding and protective. They kissed and fires started burning within her. Their fingers began to explore each other. Her mind began to reel as passion consumed her.

Suddenly, an intense light came on, so bright that it dazzled her closed eyes. She opened them and looked. Her lover was her father! Before she had time to sort out that fact, she felt a cold presence and looked to see her mother approaching the bed. The horrible expression on her mother's face struck her dumb. She couldn't breath. Waves of fear immobilized her. Her mother's cold eyes bore relentlessly into hers. She began to choke, to fight for breath...

And then she woke up. Startled, she looked around the room to see if her mother was there. She was not. With a loud sigh, she lay back and tried to relax--to think.

Why did she have such an awful dream? Her own father? She loved him but she hadn't really thought about doing it with him before. And her mother. That set expression. How cruel, unforgiving. What if she did find out? About her and Doug? Her mother would never forgive her. Never.

She shouldn't do it again. It was too risky. When Doug came on Friday, she'd tell him. No more. Enough. He has plenty to tell Brad now. More than enough. He'll be satisfied.

The argument sounded so reasonable in her mind. Surely Doug would go along with it. Peace flooded her mind for a time.

She began thinking about Doug. What a funny boy. Nice, really. Considerate. But he had his funny little ways. The way he sat his glasses so precisely on the nightstand. Always trying to explain everything. Think things through. Oh, yes. Think things through. The words struck an alarm. His insistence on completing a project. He wouldn't want to stop until he felt he had found out all he could find out. How could she overcome that? Persuade him to stop?

She concentrated very hard, but no ready answer came to mind. It was hopeless to tell him she knew all she wanted to know. But... if she could tell him she knew all she wanted to know. Yes. If she could say she'd talked it over with her mother... She didn't need to know any more, thank you very much. We can still be friends. Maybe it would work.

The more she thought about it, the better the plan seemed to her. Cheered, she decided to ask her mother about sex at the first opportunity. Then she could go back to her old life. Not very exciting. Not exciting at all. But secure.

The alarm on the clock-radio rang. Angie reached over and turned it off. She decided to dress quickly so she could get to breakfast early. Maybe she'd have a chance to ask her mother then.

Angie watched her mother furtively, trying to discern her mood.

Mrs. Marlowe bustled between the kitchen and the breakfast nook. Anxious lines creased her forehead; her mouth drew stern lines around her set jaw. No sooner had she sat down at the table and spread her napkin in her lap the toast popped up and she noticed the jam spoon wasn't on the table so she got up and bustled off to the kitchen to get it.

When she returned to the table she meticulously set about buttering her toast. Her face was seriously intent, as if she were writhing the Declaration of Independence.

Angie decided that her mother was behaving normally so she might as well ask her now.

"Mom," she asked hesitantly," why couldn't I go to the sex education classes this year."

Mrs. Marlowe looked at her sharply. "Why should you go this year? What makes it any different than any other year?"

"Our biology teacher says everybody should know about sex by the time they're fourteen. And I'm fourteen now."

"You're still a child."

"No, I'm not. I've been menstruating for two years."

"That doesn't matter. You're not old enough to marry. You don't need to know until then."

"Does one have to be married to be able to understand sex? How come Maggie could get pregnant without being married?"

Mrs. Marlowe screeched angrily. "Put that out of your mind. Maggie was just a maid--she was no lady."

"How come other parents let their children learn about sex?"

Mrs. Marlowe choked drinking her coffee. She banged her cup down on it's saucer. "Other people have no morals, no standards. I'm not responsible for what they do. They should know better, but unfortunately they don't. They should be made to act decently."

Angie's heart felt cold as she listened to her mother's venomous voice. She felt a lecture coming on.

Mrs. Marlowe warmed to the topic. "I'm not responsible for all the filth in the world. It's the other people. Flocking to see dirty movies and plays, buying dirty books and magazines. Corrupting their children and trying to corrupt decent people's children. Everywhere you turn, you can't escape from filth. Now they're trying to drag it into the schools. Filling innocent children's minds with dirty thought..."

Angie's mind got confused listening to her mother's tirade. The sex her mother ranted against couldn't be the same kind she and Doug experienced. Anger stirred within her. "Is sex so bad, mother? Is it? I thought it was a way to love another person?"

"That's not love," her mother said scornfully. "Love is pure. You love someone in your mind, not with your body. Love is not physical and--and--dirty!" She shook with revulsive excitement.

"How can it only be in the mind," Angie objected. "Why is it, when I feel love for Salome, I want to touch her. Hug her and kiss her?"

"Salome's just a cat," her mother said coldly.

"But can't you feel this way about people, too?" Angie insisted. "Once you get to know them, you want to touch them?"

Mrs. Marlowe leaned toward Angie, her eyes glaring. "Nasty!"

"What's nasty about it?" Angie challenged. "Shouldn't people love each other that way?"

Mrs. Marlowe pulled herself back and sat up straight. Her face showed anger, confusion and suspicion. "You're not doing anything dirty, are you?"

Angie thought of the sensual love she and Doug felt together. That wasn't dirty. That was exciting and good. It couldn't be dirty. Her eyes met and held her mother's eyes. "No, I'm not doing anything dirty. How can I? I don't know what it is."

"You'd better not," her mother snapped. "You'll answer to me if you do."

Abruptly, Angie said, "It's getting late. I've got to go to school."

All the way to school, Angie's mind was in a turmoil. She felt she should stop having sex with Doug. Somehow, it wasn't right; she didn't know why. If only her mother would help her, but she was hung up on the subject. If they could only sit down together and talk about sex openly and honestly. What was it all about. What it meant. How much sex could she take part in at her age. Then she should know what she should do. Instead, her mother got embarrassed and angry. Saying stupid things and then accusing her of doing something wrong. Angie sighed deeply.

What could she do? The dream scared her--it seemed so real. How she wished she could tell someone everything and they would comfort her and tell her what to do. If only she had a mother like that! Daddy was more like that. When he was home. Maybe he would help her. The thought gave her hope. She decided she'd definitely try to talk with him after dinner. Privately. She would feel better if she could get rid of this undercurrent of fear and guilt. Why should she feel guilty when she didn't feel it was wrong to do? Why did her mother keep insisting that sex was dirty and bad? Was something wrong with her mother? Or was something wrong with her, herself? Her troubled mind went over and over her problem, becoming more and more confused by it.

Doug finished eating his lunch and carefully put the waxed paper and the apple core back in the lunch bag; then he laid back on the grass and closed his eyes to nap in the sunshine.

"Hey, Fleming, I've come for sex instruction," an arrogant voice said.

Doug heard a body plop down on the grass beside him and opened his eyes to see Brad.

"What do you want to know?" Doug asked calmly.

"What do they do?"

"That question is so general it's hard to answer. What specifically do you want to know?"

"What does a male do to a female?"

"Basically, he puts his penis in her vagina,"

"And?" Brad prompted him to continue.

"The woman lays on her back and the man lays on top of her on his stomach. The male pumps his sperm into the female."

"How?" Brad asked avidly.

"They get a rock-n-roll motion going. If everything's going right, they really get turned on," Doug added enthusiastically.

Doug's enthusiasm raised Brad's suspicions. "How do you know all this?" he asked.

"Oh, reading books--talking around," Doug said vaguely.

"Really?" Brad asked, unconvinced. The sex education classes didn't have all that stuff in them."

"Take my word for it." Doug assured him.

"What kind of books were you reading?"

"Oh--medical books--marriage manuals."

"Where'd you get them?"

"The university library."

Brad studied his face closely. Yes, he could have got those kind of books at the university library. But why would he say, 'If everything's going right, they really get turned on?' Who's he been with lately, he asked himself. He searched his memory. Let's see. Hadn't he seen him with Angie Marlowe?

Doug stared back at Brad, smiling enigmatically.

"What have you been up to?" Brad said suspiciously.

"Me?" Doug veiled his eyes with an innocent look. "Nothing. Well, I must be off. I'm working on a new research project. It takes up a lot of my time."

Doug got up and started to walk away.

"Not so fast. Wait for me." Brad fell into step beside him. "Come on now. Quit holding out on me."

"Well, if you must know," Doug said with a patient sigh, "my dad told me."

"Your dad?" Brad howled. "Don't give me that shit."

"Well, don't believe me then," Doug said indifferently.

"I don't," Brad assured him. "Parents don't have the guts to tell their kids the truth about sex."

"Have it your way," Doug said mildly.

"But I'd still like to know what you've been doing."

Doug smiled easily. "A special research project."

"On what?"

"It's a secret."

"Tell me."

"Later," Doug promised, "after it's finished."

He'd told him enough. He didn't owe him any more. Now he had to get back to his studies. Persistent types were a bore.

Doug stopped walking and faced Brad. "I'm due at the language lab. See you around." He turned and walked away.

Brad jumped on him from behind. They rolled on the ground, wrestling. Brad was heavier and had the advantage. He soon got Doug pinned down and sat on his back and twisted one of his arms behind his back.

A crowd of students gathered around him. The boys, excited, shouted encouragement; the girls, attracted yet repulsed, called for Brad to stop.

Brad shifted his weight to add more pressure on Doug's arm. He panted, "Tell me."

Doug moved his body to adjust to the added pressure on his arm. When he spoke, his voice was weak. "None-of your business."

Brad added more pressure on Doug's arm. "I'll break your arm."

The pain was excruciating. Doug began panting. "Sadist," he managed to get out.

In the distance, Doug heard a girl's voice screaming insistently, "Let him go. Let him go!" Doug concentrated on not feeling the pain.

Angie had only been walking by and hadn't intended to stop. Mary Jane saw her and called, "Its Doug and Brad, Angie. They're fighting."

Doug? He was not a fighter. Angie pushed through the crowd to see. When she saw Doug's contorted face, she forgot herself. Brad can't hurt him. He can't. He can't. Frantically, she ran over to Brad and pummeled his back.

"Stop, stop!" she screamed.

Brad didn't seem to feel her blows or to hear her. She tugged at one of his arms ineffectually. It was hopeless. Doug would be hurt. She stood up and screamed, "Somebody help."

One of the boys shouted back at her, "Stay out of it. Girls can't fight!"

Angie stamped her foot. "He'll hurt him. Can't you see?" She began crying uncontrollably. She pummeled Brad's back again with her fists.

She screamed. "Let him go! Let him go!"

Brad ignored her.

She pounded on his head with her fists. Ugly old ears, she thought. They gave her an idea. She leaned over and bit one, as hard as she could.

Brad screamed and clapped a hand up to his ear. "Bitch!" he bellowed and began hitting her.

Doug scrambled to his feet and started punching Brad again. The students cheered him on The two began wrestling again.

Finally, a teacher rushed over and separated them. "Come with me. Angie, too. To the principal's office." He shouted gruffly and led them away.

In the anteroom to the principal's office, Doug, Brad, and Angie avoided looking at each other. They straightened their clothes and smoothed their hair. Each stole glances at the door to the principal's office. They each dreaded the moment when the principal, Mr. Bailey, would step out.

Brad sat hunched over in his chair, drumming his feet on the floor. Doug sat straight up in his chair, his arms folded across his chest, staring across the room at nothing. Angie sat relaxed in her chair. She fussed endlessly in her purse.

Finally, Brad broke the silence. "What's with you two anyway?"

Angie glanced at him scornfully. "Nothing."

Doug sat unmoving and silent.

Brad looked at Doug, then back at Angie. "You're lying," he stated flatly.

"A lot you know," Angie said.

Doug gave her a warning glance to shut up but she ignored him.

"A girl doesn't try to save a boy in front of the whole school unless there's something between them," Brad stated confidently.

"It makes me furious when people are cruel to each other," Angie said haughtily. "Why were you two fighting anyway?"

Brad met her gaze. "Because I wanted to find out where he got all his information about sex."

Angie's insides recoiled in alarm. She blinked her eyes to hide her feelings. She looked at Doug. He didn't look at her. Suddenly, she knew why they had fought and she knew Doug hadn't talked. She felt warm to him and wanted to help him. "He told me his father told him about it."

Brad snorted disbelievingly. "That's what he told me, too."

"Don't you believe him?" Angie asked. "His father is a scientist. Scientists have different attitudes about things than other people."

"How stupid do you think I am?" Brad asked indignantly. "He's just a father like any other." He turned to Doug. "Don't worry, I'll get it out of you. Sooner or later."

Doug finally spoke. "We ought to be thinking up an excuse to tell Mr. Bailey so we don't have to stay after school."

"What'll you be late for?" Brad sneered.

Doug gave him a disgusted look.

The door to the principal's office opened and Mr. Bailey came out, blinking at them from behind his telescopic-lensed glasses. He rubbed his hands together in a repulsive ingratiating way and grinned at them maniacally.

"Well, now," he said jovially, "why were we kiddies creating a disturbance in the quadrangle?" He looked at each of them in turn.

Doug's face took on a patient expression, Angie looked wary and Brad put on an innocent injured look.

Right away Mr. Bailey could see that he wouldn't get any cooperation from the Fleming boy or the Marlowe girl. Thank God there were pliant people like the Harker lad. He beamed professionally in Brad's direction.

"What have we to say for ourselves, lad?"

Brad cleared his throat nervously. "Well, I was just standing there minding my own business--" he stopped to try to think up a believable lie.

Doug spoke up. "Somebody hit him accidentally and he thought I did it. That's all there was to it."

Mr. Bailey turned his attention from Doug to Brad. "What do you say, young man? Is that correct?" He hung on Brad's words.

Brad rapidly reviewed what he should do. Damn! He should have thought up a story to get Doug in trouble. Serve him right. But, with old Bailey breathing down his neck, he didn't have time to think up a good story.

"Yes, that's what happened," he said unconvincingly.

"You're sure now?" Mr. Bailey pressed.

Brad looked from Doug's expressionless face to Mr. Bailey's kindly countenance. He nodded. "Yes, I'm sure."

Mr. Bailey turned to Angie. "And how did you get mixed up in the fight, my dear?"

"It looked like Brad was going to break Doug's arm," Angie said indignantly.

"Oh?" Mr. Bailey's tone implied that he was offended to find trouble existing in the troublesome situation.

"No, I wasn't," Brad protested angrily.

"It looked like it to me," Angie insisted.

Mr. Bailey raised his hands to signify for them to stop talking. He looked like he was making a benediction. He smiled oilingly at Angie.

"Very commendable, I'm sure."

His glance veered playfully at the boys. "We know how easily young ladies get upset about fisticuffs. Things look ten times worse to them than they really are." His demeanor said, we men share and understand something women will never share or understand.

Angie read his meaning clearly. She snorted loudly in contempt.