Chapter 2

Ali froze, her fingers still inside herself. She couldn't take her eyes from Jaime's. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. Jaime's eyes drifted closed and she let out a long loud snore. She had been asleep the whole time, Ali told herself.

She slid her fingers from her crotch and put her knees down. Carefully, so as not to get any of the sticky goo on her sheets, she pulled her arm out from under the covers and pushed them back. She got up and her bare feet slapped on the linoleum on her way to the bathroom, only weaving a little. She washed her hands, brushed her teeth, went to the bathroom one last time and went back into the bedroom. She pulled a white cotton nightgown from the top drawer of her dresser and slid it over her white naked body. Then with a quick glance at Jaime, who was still snoring gently, snapped off the little halogen desklight on the desk next to her bed.

She fell asleep quickly and peacefully, dreaming of Spanish dancers and wild horses.

The next morning she was awakened a few minutes after 8 by the phone shrilling from under her covers where it had been accidentally shoved the night before. She groggily dug it out and hit the Talk button. "'Ello?" she croaked.

"Hiya Ali baby, it's Mommy!" the voice shouted from the earpiece.

"Hello Mother," Ali said quietly, holding the phone away from her ear.

"What? Why are you whispering?" Angela shrilled.

"So I don't wake up Jaime," Ali explained.

"Jaime? A boy?" Aside, "Walter, she has a boy in her bed already. Alice Montgomery Sommers, we are coming to get you out of that hideous school right--"

"Mother, she's a girl--"
"A girl! I knew it! Lesbian!" Ali held the shreiking phone away from her head, then continued calmly.

"She's my roomate. She got here right after Daddy left last night. Her name is Jaime Richardson. Her father owns Richardson Electronics. She's from Santa Fe."

The screaming had subsided, and was followed by a pouty silence. "Does she do drugs?"

"No, Mother." Ali's voice was tight, controlled. "You'll like her."

There was silence again. Then, "Your father wants to talk to you."

Before Ali could reply, a deep throat clearing came over the line. "Hi punkin. Sorry to wake you so early. We thought we'd go to breakfast. We'll pick you up in an hour, ok?"

"Oh. Ok. I... thought I'd go to the library and check the class registration lists, to see if I got in to that 3rd year French Literature class and maybe get the books for it before they're all gone from the textbook store. Can I meet you at the student center?"

"Oh sure, sure, punkin. Good idea. My baby, so smart. Ok, the Student Center at 9. Uh... where is it?"

Ali rolled her eyes, but there was no trace of impatience or sarcasm in her voice. "The huge grey stone building next to the chapel. It's the tallest building on campus. The one where I got my keys?"

"Oh yeah. Your mother says she remembers it. Ok punkin. See you soon."

"Ok Daddy. Bye." She pushed the talk button again and sighed. She got out of bed and went in to take a quick shower, pee and brush her teeth. Twenty minutes later, she reappeared, wrapped in a towel, steam billowing from the bathroom behind her. Jaime showed no signs of waking, but she still dressed as quietly as she could, opening the drawers slowly and turning the fan up a notch to cover any accidental noises.

She rubbed baby oil over her still-damp body, lingering for just a second too long over her small high breasts. She was pale all over, with downy golden hairs on her arms and dark blonde curls between her legs. Her limbs were long and very thin, but with a wiry strength and agility. Her hands were and feet were long, slender and strong.

She wore a short skirt, a wheat-colored linen, that fell an inch or two above her knees and a dark green short-sleeved silk shirt. She held her hair back with two gold barettes and slid her feet into flat leather sandals. She lifted her small handbag (the same color leather as her shoes) and swung it over her shoulder in one fluid motion as she walked to the door. She shut the bedroom door silently, and peered into the bathroom mirror before heading out the door. Her hair was darker with water, her short fringed bangs already dry and wisping. The shirt flecked her dark blue eyes with a matching green. She never wore makeup, but pulled Cherry Chapstick from her bag and swept it across her lips twice, and rubbed them together. She blew a kiss at her reflection, then slipped quietly out into the hall.

At the library she quickly logged into the course catalog system, checking the sheet she had been give the day before. She had indeed made it into FLA 324a the French Renaissance Literature class usually reserved for upper classmen. She allowed herself a satisfied smirk, hit a button to print the required reading list, and checked her small gold watch. 10 of 9. She walked quickly across the quad, ignoring the stares of freshmen boys tossing a frisbee in the hazy sunshine.

She pushed open the huge glass doors of the Calvin Student Center and felt air conditioning pour over her like water. She breathed deeply, her eyes adjusting to the dimness as she searched for the bookstore. A sign pointed down a wide flight of stairs to the left. She bounced down them, and asked an employee where the languages section was.

The shelves were labeled by class, each stack of books labeled "Required" or "Optional." She grabbed one of each of them, taking the last in the 3rd stack. She walked to the checkout, eyeing her watch. Three minutes. Her father would be exactly on time. She dumped the stack of books on the counter, snapping a Gold card on top of them, and looked out the high windows, watching feet go by on the walkway.

She didn't bother to notice if the cashier had given her the total of the books. She absently signed the credit card slip and kept the bottom copy, grabbing the bag and her card and walking out without a word. Just as she pushed open the big doors and walked into the suffocating heat, a silver Mercedes squealed down the "Pedestrians and Authorized Vehicles Only"

pathway in front of the Calvin. She stopped, squinting and annoyed as it slammed to a stop in front of her. Her father got out, grinning ear to ear and dangling the keys in front of him like a treat for a dog. Her mother stayed in the front seat. She wore dark sunglasses.

"Happy Early Birthday, punkin!" her father shouted. Heads turned around the quad. Somebody clapped.

Ali was honestly shocked. She worked her mouth, but no words came out. Her eyes opened wide, moving from her father's hand to the car over and over. "Daddy..." she breathed. "I... I love it. It's perfect... I..." her eyes began to fill with tears. She flew into her father's arms. He laughed a big belly laugh and pushed her back to arm's length. "I love you, punkin." He said simply. He held up the key. All yours. You decide where to go for breakfast."

She took it, grinning. "I thought maybe you'd let me borrow the Caddy next semester, but..."

Her father snorted, and said "Your mother's Baby? I don't think so. In fact, this was her idea, wasn't it babe?" he said, leaning into the car. Angela looked away and said, "Yeah, sure." Ali knew she was rolling her eyes behnind the glasses.

"Well," admitted Walter, "she said there was no way in hell you were getting her Caddy, so I might as well buy you a Mercedes. So I did." He grinned like a little boy at Christmas. "We arranged the whole thing with a dealer in town last month. It's just been sittin' there waitin' for ya!" His excitement was contagious. Ali laughed. "Daddy, I love it. I love you!" She hugged him and jumped into the driver's seat. She looked at Angela. "Thank you Mother," she said sincerely.
Angela waved a hand in a show of modesty, then smiled at her daughter. "You're welcome, baby." She blew a kiss.

Ali navigated her way off campus, with her father shouting directions from the back seat. She had seen a place called "Soleo" near the center of the little college town. She hoped it wouldn't be too full of parents and students. They had a little wait, but were sipping coffee in the quaint but elegant restaurant within the half hour. Ali could only bring herself to eat an english muffin and plain scrambled eggs. She still felt a little sloshy from the night before. Apparently, so did her mother. Her father, however, ordered the biggest breakfast on the menu, and offered heaping fork- and spoon-fulls to his wife, who waved them away with irritation. Finally after the third attempt she banged her fist on the table and whispered fiercely "Walter don't make me ram that down your throat."

Fortunately they were at a corner table by a window, protected by high booths of dark wood and leather padding. Only the elderly woman at the table across the aisle glanced over at the bang on the table, then went quickly back to her waffles.

Walter set the spoonfull of grits and red-eye gravy down on his plate sullenly. "Dit'n know ya were so sensitive," he rumbled.

"Yeah, and I didn't know you were such a asshole," her mother muttered back. "Sorry, Ali baby. Just not feeling myself today. Y'know."

Ali smiled weakly at her plate. "I ate a lot last night too," she said to her plate. She waited a few beats, then carefully looking up at her mother through her eyelashes. Angela's expression was blank, as if she was staring through her.