Part 12

When Shannon got to her locker before the first period class, Steve was there. He handed her the disk with his letter. "This contains good news and bad news," he said. "The good news is that Amy is at the Mayo clinic. Her parents took her there. They really think they can help her. I don't know any more than that."

"And the bad news?"

"It's in there. It's too long to tell."

So she figured that he'd grown tired of her. Still, he walked with her to class. Mrs. Foster went on and on in class. Luckily, she asked almost no questions, and none of those were directed towards Shannon. Shannon would almost certainly have noticed if they had been.

She spent the next few periods worrying. What was Steve doing? If he really liked another girl now, he shouldn't be waiting at Shannon's locker. How would he behave at lunch? How should she behave at lunch? Luckily, it was Tammy's birthday celebration. She sat with her friends; he sat with his friends.

Steve was almost relieved when Shannon went to a table of all girls. He didn't know what to say to her until she'd read his message. What would he do if she decided not to go with him on Saturday? He shouldn't have told her. On the other hand, if she went with him and they were discovered, that would be the end. In the best of all possible worlds, she would go with him in spite of the danger. In the best of all possible worlds, he'd have enough money.

He ate the meal he'd brought from home. He got neither a soft drink to go with it nor a dessert to eat afterwards. It was possible to eat that way, if not terribly pleasant.

Just before the end of the lunch period, he went over to Shannon's table to pick up her tray. "Thanks, Steve," she said. It was almost as if she hadn't expected it. Maybe she was talking so the other girls, or some particular other girl, would notice. Girls did that a lot. It seemed to Steve that they didn't have friends, they had rivals. Still, he liked people to know that he was her boyfriend, too. Maybe after she read the note, she wouldn't want the relationship known. Not really, it wasn't as if it was his fault.

After Steve had gone with her tray, Shannon tried to figure out where they stood. He clearly hadn't dumped her. Maybe that was in the letter. Still, if he was seeing another girl, that girl wouldn't like Steve paying attention to Shannon. Unless, just perhaps, the girl felt pity for Shannon because of her grounding.

Really, Steve was hurting himself by breaking up with her now. She would have gone all the way with him on Saturday, really she would have. And he had given her that expensive gift.

She spent the rest of the day stewing over his behavior. Her mom would have been overjoyed to see the way she rushed home through the falling snow. Her mom wasn't home to see, though. Shannon ran up the stairs to her room and locked the door. She popped the disk into the computer.

The bad news wasn't about his having found a new girlfriend, although his willingness to give up the motel was suspicious. There he had a chance to go all the way, and he told her she could back out. At this point, her mom came in the door and called her downstairs. She took only enough time to hide the disk.

She cooked the dinner and set the table. When they were done eating, she hurried to load the dishwasher. Then she went back upstairs to her "homework." She ignored her actual school assignments, though. Her only priority was reading Steve's letter again.

Darling
I have good news and bad news.  

First, the good news.  They've taken Amy to the Mayo clinic.  
According to a woman at the bank, they think that she'll be 
much better when she gets back.

The bad news concerns the motel.  I have enough cash to pay 
for it, but that will leave me short until the next pay.  I 
wouldn't bother you with that EXCEPT that if I run out, my mom 
will want to know why.  IF I run out, and I'll try not to, and 
IF she asks why, I'll make up something.

Still, you should know that the secret is a lot less safe than 
I would like it to be.

I love you,
I really love you.

You might want to reconsider Saturday because of 
what I told you above.  It's your risk, so it's 
your decision.  But I *do*  want to get together 
with you.  Not just in school.  And I can't see 
another time.

Wouldn't Ken be surprised if we end up actually 
decorating the gym?

Whatever happens, whatever you decide, I still love  
you.

Okay, she could deal with his good news. She needed to contact somebody. Mr. Jensen's sister was the best bet. Either her or Miss Olson. No, Miss Olson had told her not to ask. Mr. Jensen's sister was named Foster. There were only a million Fosters in the phone book. She certainly couldn't call them all, maybe not even one; leave that to Steve.

Would he do it for her? Well, sure. The rest of the letter didn't sound like he had decided to break up. It was more like he was getting tired of her.

His bad news was silly. She had money; Mr. Jensen had paid her a hundred dollars. For that matter, she'd told Steve. Or maybe she hadn't. Even if he was tiring of her, she loved what he could do to her feelings. They should go to the motel.

So it was worth paying so that she could be sure that nobody would find out. His parents had sounded cool, but that might be only their mood right then. Parents' moods could change; look at her parents. Anyway, she remembered what had happened with Mr. Jensen. He'd told her mom because he had good news; he'd been sure that her mom would be happy to learn that Steve wasn't in trouble.

Could his mention of the problem be because he was tiring of her? Was he hoping that she would call off their relationship? The rest of the letter didn't sound like that. Certainly, "I love you" wasn't something he'd say -- hell! he'd written it down -- if he had another girl in mind.

And her "friends" would have been sure to tell her the news if he was paying attention to another girl. Secret admirers weren't in style. She could sneak off with Steve, but that relationship wasn't secret. The details might be, but he danced with her and took her tray back to the dishwasher in front of half their class in the cafeteria.

Decorating the gym was a thought. It would take care of her mom's suspicions, that was for sure. But she hadn't had Steve's hands on her for the longest time. She could bring herself off, but it wasn't the same.

But, and this was a big but, he hadn't included a fantasy.

Still, it took something to write "I love you." He had sexual fantasies about Jennifer Lopez. She wasn't supposed to know that, but she didn't mind.

Whatever. She wanted the date. Maybe she wouldn't take the last step, since he was tiring of her. Maybe she would. She was a bad girl now; since she was having the punishment, she might as well have the fun.

At this point, she went back to the homework. She'd write him after her parents were asleep.

Steve missed the bus to go to the committee meeting. It finished up some bits and moved all their material to the gym. They broke up early with nothing to do the next day.

There were two inches of snow on the walks when he got home. Since it was still coming down, he was in no hurry to shovel. Still, the more he got now, the less he would have to deal with later. At least, the wind wasn't bad; there was nothing worse than shoveling a walk clear and then having the wind fill it up again.

Before he could go out, however, his mom handed him a letter adressed to him. The envelope was from IIT. "They said no," he said after he had opened it and read it. He handed her the letter.

"It isn't quite 'no, ' dear. You've been put on a waiting list. If all the guys they've admitted die off in a smallpox epidemic, they'll take you. I must say that you're displaying remarkable equanimity."

"I'm devastated, okay? Smallpox epidemics are quite rare this century. I think I should write the U of I."

"I think you should, too. I must say that you look remarkably undevastated."

"The U of I has a great engineering school."

"And they have places for education majors, as well."

He had better not spend all his money and come to her for more. She could see right through him. "Shannon will probably major in history."

"Sorry."

He shoveled before dinner. There were three inches by then.

He and his mom ate alone at dinner, and he went back for seconds on everything, even the green beans. In the first place, he was hungrier since he'd skipped dessert after lunch; in the second place, snow shoveling worked up an appetite; in the third place, his mom liked to see him eat her cooking -- veggies as much as anything, which was weird considering how little effort she put into cooking green beans. He might need her approval if he ran out of cash.

"Does the TV say how deep it will get?" he asked.

"Looks like snow through tomorrow." He'd traded shoveling during this storm and the next for brownies. Did he want more?

"I hope dad doesn't try to get home through this just because of me."

"I think he'll be sensible." Although she didn't know why she'd said that. She loved Roger -- she loved Steve for that matter, but neither one of them were likely to act sensibly.

"I hope so." For all of Steve, his dad could stay away all weekend. He had done so often enough.

Rachel hoped so too. Although Steve was getting thoughtful rather late in the day. He'd asked Roger to come back, after all.

Steve went to his room to read Shannon's letter. He added the quotes first thing.

I love your fantasies, you know I do.
One thing I love about them is that I can picture the  
two of us in the stories you tell.

I can't picture you with that "one forceful shove."  
*My*  fantasies are always fantasies of your being 
gentle.

As far as white panties go.  It's your fantasy.  We 
have *MANY* blocks to overcome before these are our 
reality, we've talked about that.

 . . . 

And if you want the white panties in our reality, just 
ask.

The wedding dress worn after the reception might be a  
good deal harder to arrange.  And, of course, getting  
any wedding, let alone the dress, would be harder yet.

Still, *I* am not saying no to you.  I'm just pointing 
out the ways your fantasies don't go along with 
reality.

He was glad she enjoyed the fantasies. Then he realized he hadn't written one last time. That was important, and he enjoyed them, too.

Couldn't she see that the "forceful shove" was to minimize her pain. But he couldn't point that out; he didn't want to put the idea of pain in her head. Didn't girls know these things? The girls in Mallory's bodice-rippers might be surprised, but that was history, before the days of sex-ed.

He answered the letter. Then he added another set of quotes.

I love your fantasies, you know I do.
One thing I love about them is that I can picture the  
two of us in the stories you tell.

I can't picture you with that "one forceful shove."  
*My*  fantasies are always fantasies of your being 
gentle.

As far as white panties go.  It's your fantasy.  We 
have *MANY* blocks to overcome before these are our 
reality, we've talked about that.

 . . . 

And if you want the white panties in our reality, just 
ask.

The wedding dress worn after the reception might be a  
good deal harder to arrange.  And, of course, getting  
any wedding, let alone the dress, would be harder yet.

Still, *I* am not saying no to you.  I'm just pointing 
out the ways your fantasies don't go along with 
reality.

Well, they're fantasies.  And taking off your wedding  
dress was more going along with your fantasy.

As for white panties, yes it means to me what it meant 
in the fantasy.  Still, I don't want to choose your 
clothing.  Just, if it isn't something which matters to 
you, it does matter to me.


I got a turn-down from IIT today.  Officially, I'm 
devastated.  Even mom noticed that I didn't look 
devastated.  I'll write the U of I today or tomorrow.  
Actually, I'd decided against IIT, but their decision 
will be easier for mom and dad to accept than my 
decision would have been.

Still, she was thinking of him on their wedding night, too. Well, she had been when she hadn't read his message yet. He did want white panties in his reality, and she had all but promised them. Much more important it would be their reality. She'd said it.

Actually, he did want to choose her clothing. It just wasn't a priority worth fighting over. He absolutely hated pantyhose, for example. He would rather take pantyhose off her, though, than have her resent wearing something else.

Still, it was worth mentioning. He closed that file and opened the story file. He killed the entire story from two days before, and started over.

Her objection to "one forceful shove," he realized, was an objection to it in a fantasy. If she wanted the fantasy of his going in the first time with no resistance, he could give that to her. She'd said that he didn't have to write about them being married. Should he write a fantasy about their having sex before they were married?

Not just now. Let her decide about the motel without that pressure. They would make out at the motel, and maybe go farther when they got to Champaign-Urbana. Long before this, he'd decided that he could wait until she was ready. He hadn't believed that it would be until their marriage, but -- if she wanted to believe that -- then he wasn't going to fight. If actually getting it wasn't worth a fight, her facing reality sure wasn't. He would start the fantasy with their wedding.

The reception was at a hotel.  After seeing their 
friends off, they went to the elevator.  They were all 
alone in the hall when they got to the door of their 
room.  They kissed for a long time before he used his 
key.

When the door was open, he kissed her again and then 
picked her up.  He carried her into the room and set 
her down beside the bed.

He returned from locking the door to kiss her yet 
again.  With his mouth still on hers, he began to 
unbutton her blouse.  When he removed it, he kissed her 
neck.  He kissed her all the while she turned, ending 
on her shoulder as he unsnapped her bra.

He kept kissing as she turned back, but the first sight 
of her breasts that day took his breath away.  "They 
are beautiful,"  he said.  "You are beautiful."

He held them very gently while he kissed her.  Then he 
bent to kiss each of them on their tips.

When she unsnapped her skirt, he kneeled down to take 
it off.  That gave him his first sight of her nylons 
and the sweet innocence of her white panties.  He 
kissed her legs above the nylons.

She sat on the bed, and he removed her shoes.  He 
kissed down each leg as he removed that nylon.  One 
kiss between her belly button and the hem of her 
panties, and then she rolled over and lay down on the  
bed.

From his viewpoint, her hair down there looked like a  
valentine's heart.  Its point was towards her belly 
button, and its two curves were on her lips.

"You," he said, "are so beautiful."  He kissed her 
again.

Slowly, his kisses traveled down to her breasts.  He 
kissed her left breast, then sucked the nipple there.  

He kissed from the tip of her left breast across the 
valley up her right breast.  Then he sucked on that 
nipple for minutes.

When she gasped, he moved until he was kneeling between 
her legs.

When she raised her legs and spread them more, he 
kissed up her chest to her neck.  His cock was 
poised just at her entrance.


He kissed her mouth once more.  As his tongue entered 
her mouth, he began to enter her below.

Slowly, gently, he pressed inward.  When he was all 
the way in, he broke the kiss to speak.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you, too," she said.

He began moving.  Soon, he was moving faster and 
faster.

She responded, pressing against him.  Suddenly, she 
felt a strange feeling overtake her.  She convulsed 
silently.

Before she had finished, he followed her.

Slowly, he withdrew and lay beside her.  "I love you," 
he said.

"I love you, too," she said.

Hugging each other, they fell asleep.

That would do it.

Still, he should watch his language. What was a good word for "cock"? There really wasn't one.

He changed it to:

> her chest to her neck. He was poised just at her

> entrance.

And he might have been too blunt about the white wedding dress.

Maybe "fantasy" was the wrong word for her dream of a white wedding. Maybe it was accurate, but not what she needed to hear. Maybe it was what she needed to hear. He decided to leave it in.

For that matter, as long as she wasn't going to have real sex with him, making out was easier if she knew she didn't have to keep her guard up. Actually getting it was maybe worth a fight; it was just that he wasn't going to get it even if they did have the argument.

Should they have bathroom breaks? After a reception, and food, sure. He'd need to brush his teeth even if -- slight chance -- he didn't need to piss. In a fantasy, no. Let's not put that in.

Great, no mention of pain. Shit! He'd forgotten the rubber. Well, this was a word processor. He went back to:

> When she gasped, he moved until he was kneeling between

> her legs.

And typed:

> He applied the condom.

After rereading, he closed that file and hid the disk in his backpack. He got out his homework. This part of English was easier than Shakespeare, but who looked things up in books these days? Mrs. Foster did deal with the Internet, as well; but it seemed like little Amy trying to teach him to walk. Mrs. Foster could use the Internet if she had to, but she wasn't at home there.

Shannon woke to the sound of her radio. Steve's letter! Sometimes sleeping on a problem gave you the solution, but maybe you had to sleep the whole night. She sure didn't have much of a solution.

Well, she'd make one up as she went along.

First, the good news.  They've taken Amy to the Mayo  
clinic.  According to a woman at the bank, they think  
that she'll be much better when she gets back.

   Can you find out more?  Mr. Jensen's sister is named 
   Foster.  They live out of town a little ways, past 
   the hospital -- I remember that.  Could you call her?

The bad news concerns the motel.  I have enough  
cash to pay for it, but that will leave me short until 
the next pay.  I wouldn't bother you with that EXCEPT 
that if I run out, my mom will want to know why.  IF I  
run out, and I'll try not to, and IF she asks why, I'll  
make up something.

I love you,
I really love you.

You might want to reconsider Saturday because of what I  
told you above.  It's your risk, so it's your decision.   
But I *do* want to get together with you.  Not just in 
school.  And I can't see another time.

   Steve, 
   Money is not the problem.

   Mr. Jensen paid me in cash.  Plus a bonus.  A $100 
   bill.  I still have it.  Where have I had a chance to 
   spend money since?

   So I will pay for the motel room.  You still have to  
   provide the transportation.

Whatever happens, whatever you decide, I still love 
you.

The bad news concerned Steve. If he was willing to call the motel off, he was willing to call the relationship off. She knew Steve -- she was surprised he didn't want to go to the motel with her anyway, and call it off afterwards.

Was money ever the problem? But that was Steve. He worried about money a lot. She could remember his pushing her about her budget, and how silly that looked now!

She hoped he still loved her. Did he? Would she know if he didn't? For that matter, would he? She wrote:

   I love you, too.

And, strangely enough, she did.

Steve set his alarm earlier than usual Thursday night. The snow was piled deep over their sidewalks when he woke up. He pulled on his clothes from the night before and went out to shovel it.

Rachel thought she had slipped into the Twilight Zone when she woke up Friday morning. Her son was already outside and working. "Are you feeling well?" she asked when he appeared, fresh-showered and dressed, at the breakfast table. He hadn't shaved, but -- then -- he didn't shave every day, especially since he wasn't having any more dates.

"I feel fine. I shoveled the walk. Not all the way across, but it's still snowing."

"Do you want a ride to school?" He probably wanted more brownies, maybe something else. Steve was transparent, but negotiations with him were more fun than negotiations with Mallory had been.

"That would be great. If I don't have to wait in this weather, I'll shave. Somehow, a scraped face feels the cold worse."

Roger, who usually shaved every morning, had made the same complaint. "Fifteen minutes."

And fifteen minutes later he was waiting at the kitchen door. He didn't even ask to drive. "Thanks, mom," he said before he slammed Gertrude's door at the school. Rachel remembered stories of changelings she'd read long ago.

Shannon didn't see Steve until English class. Well, he hadn't stopped at her locker very often before, either. That day, Mrs. Foster was droning on about research on the Web. She wished she could invite Steve over to her house to explain it.

They swapped disks at lunch. "I remembered to write another story," he said. "I hope you like it."

"I'm sure I will. You write such nice fantasies." She wondered if he had written a fantasy about their time in the motel. Well, she'd see. Besides, there were people all around. Most of them were kids she only knew slightly. Still, you didn't say "motel" in front of them. What did you say?

"I have a solution to the money problem. Mr. Jensen paid me in cash. I still have it at home."

"Your cash isn't a solution." Still, he thought, it might be. He couldn't borrow from anyone because they would ask what he had done with it. Shannon would know what he had done with it; he could pay her back.

"You don't want to go?" Damn! Every word they said could be heard.

"I want to go," he said. "Do you?"

"I want to. That was never the question."

"The weather might change our plans." Actually, he thought, it might change his dad's plans. "We'll talk tomorrow."

"Fine." They needed to talk, she thought, almost as much as they needed to do other things. "What's with this stuff in English class?"

He laughed. "You were so much help to me. To bad you're grounded; I might be as much help to you."

"Well, someday I won't be grounded."

"Someday, we might be at the same university. I sent back my acceptance last night. Ooops! Well, I wrote it out. I'll mail it tonight. I had a lot of shoveling to do."

"Poor guy! You're overworked."

"Well, first of all, I promised to do the shoveling for this storm and the next two in exchange for your birthday brownies. Not, I'll admit, that I wouldn't have to do the shoveling anyway. But that made it worth while.

"And, second, somehow I don't mind the snowfall this time." If the snow kept falling, his dad wouldn't come home this weekend. They could have the house to themselves. He quirked a smile at her.

She was glad that he still seemed happy about the brownies. He was a nice guy. Indeed, her friends were still a little impressed with him. "It's not the right time for me to send in my acceptance."

"I don't care when you tell the U of I (as long as you meet the deadline). I'm waiting for what you tell me."

"If you're going there, so am I."

"That's what I wanted to hear. PDA."

"PDA," she echoed. Actually, she was looking forward to private displays of affection.

Shannon was much happier about their relationship when she left the cafeteria that noon.

Rachel actually touched her son's forehead when he came in from shoveling the walk that night. It told her nothing. Being still cold from the outside air, it wouldn't show that he was running a fever.

Now, Steve wasn't a lazy kid. He went to work quite dependably. Indeed, she worried more about his occasional crazy expenditures of energy like his walk home from Shannon's house in a blizzard than about his turning into a couch potato. He did his household chores quite faithfully, really. It just wasn't like him to do them without complaint.

"If Dad doesn't get back, do you think I could borrow your car Saturday morning? I'd drive you to work." he asked as she felt his forehead after dinner. Rachel was satisfied on two counts. First, her son wasn't burning up with a fever. Second, she knew what he was after now. He wasn't sick, he just wanted to borrow her car.

"Gertrude?" she asked "You couldn't get as much in there."

"Well, it would transport people, or something small." His excuse for borrowing the Jeep was looking like a worse idea all the time.

"I don't see why not. You'd pick me up too? And I'd have to get there on time."

"Sure." He got to school on time; he got to work on time; why his mom worried about his getting her to work on time, he couldn't see.

Steve opened up Shannon's letter when he got to his room. He already had the important information. She would go to the motel. Now, for the details.

He set the machine to add one more quote, and then he read:

First, the good news.  They've taken Amy to the Mayo 
clinic.  According to a woman at the bank, they think 
that she'll be much better when she gets back.

Can you find out more?  Mr. Jensen's sister is named 
Foster.  They live out of town a little ways, past the 
hospital -- I remember that.  Could you call her?

Shit! There must be hundreds of Fosters in the local phone book, and with his luck he'd get his English teacher. Still, when he met Shannon in the morning, success would put her in a good mood.

And, if success was unlikely, he could report some effort. For that matter, getting Amy to the hospital was the first thing Shannon had ever asked of him. (Steve had completly forgotten the medicine.) She'd been grateful, and -- if that gratitude hadn't got him anything -- it just might have influenced her decision to go to the motel. He got the phone and plugged it into the back of his computer.

He started on the top of the Fosters in the phone book. They took more than a column.

"Hello," the phone was answered.

"Hello. I'm trying to locate the Mrs. Foster who is sister to Bill Jensen."

His only reward was a click. Some people didn't answer at all; others had answering machines. His fourth live contact gave him a different response.

"Hello. I'm trying to locate the Mrs. Foster who is sister to Bill Jensen."

"What's your interest in her?"

"Mr. Jensen took his young daughter, Amy, out of town for medical treatment. I can't contact him, and I'm trying to find out how Amy is doing."

"Tell me your name and telephone number. If she wants to contact you she will."

"My name is Steve Anderson. My girl friend is Amy's baby sitter. I drove Amy to the hospital once." He gave his phone number, and the man hung up. The phone rang immediately afterwards. "Hello?"

"Is this Steve Anderson?" It was the same voice.

"Yes."

"Did you just call asking about Sandra Foster?"

"Yes." Actually, 'Sandra' was extra information.

"Just checking the phone number. Thanks."

It was a couple of minutes later that the phone rang again.

"Hello."

"Steven Anderson, please." It was a woman's voice. He didn't recognise it.

"Speaking."

"This is Sandra Foster. You had some questions."

"Yes. I wanted to know how Amy is doing. My girl friend is her regular babysitter, and she's been worried about her."

"Are you the guy who drove Amy to the hospital that night?"

"Yes. The Jensens were at your place."

One hell of a lot of Jensens were at her place that night, but Sandy knew who he meant. At this point, she dropped all her doubts about talking about Amy. Bill was one thing, he'd been a pain since they were in grade school. Theresa was something else. She had even been sweet about Bobby's behavior, but... Between Bobby's mother and the guy who got Amy to the hospital, Sandy knew which one Theresa would choose. She wouldn't blame her either.

"Yes, Steve. What do you want to know?"

"Basically, how Amy is doing. I heard that they took her to the Mayo clinic. Did it do any good?"

"They think she'll be much better." She gave him all the details and told him her phone number if he wanted to ask more questions later. "And I have your number, too. Do you want me to call you if I get any more news?"

"Please."

"I will, then."

Steve turned to the rest of Shannon's letter.