“Sure." I lugged my junk to the kitchen and dumped it on the back landing. When I returned, Cece was sitting on the sofa next to Mom. "No, I just transferred to Southglenn this term," she said. “How old is Hannah?" Cece tickled her foot.
Mom stood up. “Shouldn’t you be at work?” she said to me, snatching the towel out of my hand.
“I got a day off,” I fibbed. “Come on Cece. I’ll give you a tour of the crypt.’
Cece got up and trailed me downstairs. While I retrieved the key from under my lamp and unlocked my safe — which I'd purchased as a precautionary measure against Faith and now felt guilty as hell about — Cece wandered around my room, fingering my things. Finger away, I thought.
She picked up the Dixie Chicks CD and smiled at me. I smiled back. Pocketing a twenty, I said, “Okay, I’m ready."
“For what?" She arched an eyebrow.
I shook my head. “You're bad."
“You donʼt know how bad."
“Why don’t you show me?"
“Why don’t you show me?"
A nervous laugh tripped over my lips. “Are you coming on to me?"
Her face hardened and she said coolly, "I haven’t touched you.”
It was true; she hadn't touched me — physically, anyway. In fact, she'd gone out of her way not to touch me. The electricity between us was palpable. Visible, almost. And dangerous. "Come on, let’s go,” I breathed, stumbling out of there. I didn't even remember driving her to work, dropping her off, or getting home. She hadn’t touched me, but God, I wanted her to.
Chapter 15
We were deep into a drawing exercise on three-dimensionality when Cece casually moseyed by and dropped a folded note on my sketchpad. It bounced and landed on the table between Winslow and me. He reached for it, but I got there first. Opened it in my lap. “My mom's catering the KBTO Battle of the Bands on Saturday night," it read. “She said sheʼd pay you fifteen dollars an hour if you helped. My way of making up to you for missing work. We get into the concert for free, too. lt'll just be the two of us. Wanna?"
Her handwriting was small, cramped, tiny little letters. l scribbled my response underneath, then got up and delivered it. l hadn’t made it back to my seat before she burst into laughter. “Only it you can keep your hands off me," l'd written.
***
Saturday couldn't get here fast enough. l put Seth off by telling him l had my period. That always grossed him out. l knew l had to break it off, and l would, when the time was right. When l could manufacture the words. So far I'd assembled, “Guess what, Seth. I met someone I’d rather be with. Oh, here’s the good part. She’s a girl."
God. I could never do that to him.
Cece said to come to her house around four so I could help load and set up.
“What kind of concert?" Mom asked as I was getting ready to leave. She'd invited herself in after changing the towels in my bathroom.
"A rock concert, I think. It's a battle of the bands."
“You're going with Seth?"
I ran a brush through my hair, wishing it was longer so I could do something interesting with it. Curl it, braid it, something. “No. Cece."
“Where did you pick up this Cece?"
My head raised to meet Mom’s eyes. Her tone of voice annoyed me. "You make her sound like a disease."
Mom lifted a college catalog off my dresser and flipped through it. “What do you see in this girl?"
If she only knew. “She’s cool. I like her."
Mom set the catalog down and said, "I don’t really want you hanging out with people like her. After tonight, tell her to look elsewhere for friends."
My jaw unhinged.
Mom added, "And be home by eleven."
Since when did I have a curfew? And since when did my mother choose my friends? I waited until I heard her footsteps on the stairs, then murmured, "Go to hell," and flipped her the bird.
***
Cece's house was a couple of blocks from Washington Central, a remodeled Victorian, two stories, with a glassed-in front porch. Homey. I rang the bell, and a kid, six or seven, charged out the door.
“Hi." I smiled a greeting. He had Cece’s cute nose. “Is Cece here? I’m helping with the catering."
“Mo-om!” he bellowed over his shoulder through the open front door. Then disappeared inside.
l caught the storm door before it swung shut, and let myself in. The aroma hit me first — Mexican food. My stomach growled. l’d been too jittery all day to eat. Too nervous, psyched. Cece rushed out from a rear hallway, lugging an armload of linens – tablecloths and napkins. "Holland." She stopped dead. “Hi." Her eyes narrowed at her brother, already zoned in front of the TV. “Eric, you turd." She shook her head at me. “He has no manners. Come on in. My mom’s in the kitchen."
I trailed her through a set of arched doorways. The spicy smell was stronger in the kitchen and my mouth watered. “Mom, this is Holland."
Cece’s morn straightened in front of the oven, daubing sweat off her forehead with an oven mitt. “Hi, Holland." She smiled at me. "Thanks for helping."
"Thanks for paying me so much,” l said. “That’s really generous."
Cece’s mom slit eyes at her. “How generous am I?"
Oh, God. Cece –
Cece said quickly, "You can give her my share. We'll finish loading stuff in the van. Grab that box, Holland." She indicated with her elbow.
As I passed Cece’s mom, she looked at me, examined me.
Made me feel like an amoeba under a microscope. What else had Cece told her?
A van was parked in the circular driveway out back. On the side it read, “Kate's katering.” Cece balanced her load on her knee and rolled open the panel door. We hauled in five or six long tables, then linens, dishes, silverware, cups, trays. Finally Kate – I assumed Cece's mom was Kate – handed us the last metal vat of enchiladas and consulted a checklist. “Go wake up your brother," she told Cece. "Make sure he knows what time it is. Tell him we’re leaving now."
Cece disappeared before I could move. Leaving me alone with her mother. "You don't have to pay me,” I said, fanning the flaps of my jean jacket, since I was sweating like a pig now. "I don’t mind helping."
“How much did she tell you?" Kate asked, not glancing up from her list.
I gulped. “Fifteen an hour."
Her head rose slowly. “That girl." One side of her lip cricked up, the way Cece’s does. Then her expression darkened and she said, “Be careful with her."
What did she mean by that? “I will,” I said automatically.
A man emerged from the garage, scraping a length of copper tubing with sandpaper. "You have everything loaded already?" he asked.
“Your timing is perfect — as usual." Kate exaggerated a grin at him. “The girls helped." She reached around me and yanked the panel door shut.
I extended a hand to the man and said, "Hi, I’m Holland Jaeger."
"Holland?" He shook my hand. "Like the country?"
"Yeah, windmills and tulips."
He chuckled. He had a warm smile that extended to his eyes. "You girls have fun."
“You know it," Kate said. They kissed, then he opened the car door for her. Cece slammed through the storm door, baseball cap on and a blandet folded over her arm with a sweatshirt on top. Kate peered out from the driver’s side window. “Do you have to wear that shirt?"
“Yes, itʼs mandatory.” Cece sneered. It was her OUT! AND PROUD! tee.
Kate rolled her eyes at her husband. "Well, get in,” she said with a sigh, reaching over to unlock the passenger door.
Cece said, “We'll ride in back."
Her mom’s gaze fixed on the blanket, then she shot Cece the same look she'd gotten in the kitchen. “What?” Cece said. "We're not going to do anything." She didn’t give her mother a chance for rebuttal before yanking open the side panel.
Cece stepped up and motioned me inside. There was scant space, with all the food and catering supplies, but Cece rearranged a
couple to boxes and spread the blanket. As the van pulled out, we scrambled to sit. Ended up across from each other, legs extended.
"Isn’t your brother coming?" l asked.
“My brother? Oh, you mean Greg? No, they’re leaving later." She must’ve seen the confusion on my face. “He's going with his band. They’re competing."
“Really? You didn't tell me that."
“Don’t get excited. You haven’t seen them play.” She smiled a little. Then looked at me and kept looking.
My stomach was doing acrobat aerobics. “So, um,” l shifted so that our legs weren't so close, so that l could speak. "l guess your parents know about you?"
“Oh, yeah,” she answered.
"How do they handle it?"
She shrugged. “My dads pretty cool. My mom…" She averted her eyes. Smoothed the blanket beside her. “She doesn't like it, but what can she do? My sisters a lesbian, too, so it’s kind of a double whammy."
Whoa. “l guess so. Wow. When did you, um, come out?"
She fixed on me again. “To my family? About two years ago, I guess. My sister didn’t come out until after l did. But they already knew. They had to; they just didn't want to believe it. Denial runs deep."
"Where is your sister?"
“New York. She's older than me, twenty-three." Cece blew out a puff of air. "lt was easy for her. All she did was e-mail Mom back and say, 'Oh, Cece’s out? Well, guess what? l’m queer, too.’" Cece flapped a limp wrist. Made me laugh.
“So do you bring your girlfriends home?"
She frowned. "Why do you want to know that?"
My face fried. "l just…" Why did l? Because l had to know. "Have you brought Brandi home to meet your parents?"
“Brandi?” Cece frowned a little. "No. Why?" She tilted her head at me. “Should I?"
My brain splintered. I felt dizzy, discombobulated. Out of my realm. Swallowing hard, l asked, “Aren't you… dating her?"
“Brandi? Hell, no. ls that what you thought?"
"Well, yeah."
“No. We're just friends. She'd like to be more…” Cece adjusted her cap, pulling it lower ever her eyes.
“But you’re not interested?" I ventured. Hoped.
Cece said, “She’s not my type."
“What is your type?"
She peered out from under the bill of her cap. “Well, let's see…" Cece eyed me up and down. I could barely breathe. Please, I prayed, do it. Touch me. Just once. Thats all it would take.
She held my eyes for a moment and exhaled a shallow breath. “I like 'em hungry. Are you hungry, because I’m starving." She scrabbled to her feet. “I didnʼt eat all day."
I pushed to my feet feeling frustrated, let down. Cece dug out a couple of forks and we ate enchiladas directly from the pan. We filled the space between us with “mmms" and "yums."
The catered dinner was being hosted by the radio station for the DJs and their guests. We set up the buffet tables backstage in the auditorium and promptly started serving. The equipment crews needed the space, so we had to hurry. I followed Cece’s lead, setting out and restocking metal trays, lighting sterno fires, cleaning up spilled food. What a bunch of slobs. It was the hardest physical labor I’d ever done, aside from swimming. At least in swimming you don’t sweat.
By the time we’d restacked all the tables and reloaded the van, the battle of the bands had begun. Kate said, "Listen, I have a migraine. Iʼd like to stay and hear Greg, but I canʼt. You two want to stay, I presume."
Cece nodded and looked to me. I confirmed.
“If Greg can’t give you a ride home, call your dad.” Kate kissed Cece. She touched my arm and said, “Thanks so much, Holland. I'll get a check to you as soon as they pay me. Oh, and Cece,"she aimed a stiff finger at her, “you know the house rules."
Cece stuck out her tongue at her mom’s back. As the van pulled away, I asked, “What are the house rules?"
She stared down the road. “Stupid. Come on, let’ s go hear the music."
We snuck into the wings where one band, DVOX, was just starting their set. The group was two guys and two girls, and it was immediately apparent who the musicians were. The guys sort of faked guitar playing, and not too convincingly. The girl drummer was amazing. As if reading each other’s minds, Cece and I began to dance.
I’d forgotten how much I loved to dance. The only time I ever got to dance was at homecoming or prom. And even then only with my girlfriends because Seth didn’t dance.
Cece jigged around me, rocking out, and my exhaustion evaporated. The walls dissolved and everything around us, between us, disappeared. It was just her and me. In our own place, our own time, our own little bubble. Nothing could penetrate it, no one could intrude. The set went on for like twenty minutes – one song – and by the time it ended we were both breathing hard. When a new group walked on stage, Cece groaned, "Oh, no. Are they next?"
It must've been her brothers band. “What are they called?” I asked her, watching them plug in amps and do a sound check.
“Pus," she replied.
I looked at her. "You're joking."
Her expression didn't change. They were introduced as – Pus – and the first chord they struck, if you could call it a chord, made me cringe. Cece pointed out her brother, Greg, who was the lead vocal. “He’s good,” I had to yell for Cece to hear.
She said in my ear, “He sucks. They all suck. They are pus."
I laughed. She smiled. “Come on." She motioned me away from the curtain. “I need some air."
The fire escape door was propped open with a chair. We wandered out behind the building, where a couple of stage hands were smoking. They ground their butts into the gravel and sauntered back in.
Cece leaned up against the brick wall, one sole of her shoe against it to balance herself. Her head lolled back and she closed her eyes. l leaned beside her.
Then it happened. That electric current surged between us, through me, and tugged at my core. The pull was so fierce, I couldn't fight it. Didnʼt want to. She was close, so close, her head right next to mine. I could hear her breathing, feel her heart beating. The outside air was cold, but that’s not what was making me tremble.
“Cece." My voice sounded whispery.
“Hmm?"
I turned to face her, jamming my shoulder into the brick. “I want —" I stopped. Couldn't say it. Couldn’t take the step.
She twisted her head and opened her eyes. “What Holland? What do you want?"
I was shaking so hard. Do it. Do it now. “I want to kiss you."
She dropped her foot, straightened up fast, and turned to me. “I wouldn't stop you." She wet her lips.
I closed my eyes. Opened them, reached out, and removed her hat. Slid it down her back. With my other hand, I threaded any fingers through her hair. It was all happening in slow motion. My hand caressing her head, pulling her close to me…
I did it.
Oh, God. Her lips were soft. She was warm, hot. I wanted all of her. I was falling, falling, with nowhere to land. I had to step away.
She stood frozen, head tilted back, eyes closed. A rush of visible air escaped from her lips, as if she'd been holding her breath, same as me. Then she seemed to deflate.
She hated it. I did it wrong. "Cece?” My throat felt scratchy. I panicked; tried to restart my heart. “Say something."
Her eyes opened. She shook her head slowly and said, “God, Holland. What took you so long?"
Chapter 16
The phone rang three times. Just as the voice mail was about to pick up, he answered. “Hello?"
"Seth, hi. It's me. What are you doing?"
“HeIping my dad put this entertainment center together. You’d think a couple of smart guys like us could fit screw A into hole A, wouldn’t you? This is the third time we’ve had to take the damn thing apart and start over."
Good, he sounded normal, happy. "I need to see you," I told him. “Sometime today."
“How ʼbout now?”
“Now?" M
y heart raced. Was I ready now?
“Any excuse to bail on this thing," he said. “You want me to come over?"
“No. I'll pick you up. Ten minutes." We disconnected. Upstairs, I snitched an English muffin off the breakfast table, shoved it in my mouth, and wriggled into my hooded sweatshirt. “Be back in a few," I garbled.
“What?” Mom frowned up from her reading. “Oh, Holland. Did you look at this catalog from Michigan? The campus at Ann Arbor is gorgeous. We should’ve applied there. They have a pre-law program. Of course, Stanford’s law school is more elite, and that’d be perfect if –"
“Not now, Mom,” I said, removing the muffin from my mouth. "I have to go to Seth's."
She sighed wearily. “Ask him about Stanford. And don’t be gone all day. I miss you, and I want you to help me paint this stenciling on Hannah’s wall."
Neal peered over the Sunday funnies and winked at me. I winked back. "Morning, Faith," I called into the living room, where she was sprawled on the sofa watching a Buffy rerun. She might’ve grumped a reply. “Hey, Hannie." I kissed her baby cheek, then snitched another muffin and headed out.
My Jeep seemed to slow automatically as it approached Seth's house. He was sitting on the stoop, petting his cat, Toby. Two-ton Toby. A stray that Seth had rescued from a Dumpster when he was a kid. So like Seth. When he saw me swerve into the driveway, he lugged Toby inside and sprinted across the yard.
I resolved to make this quick. “Where are we going?" Seth asked, leaning across the front seat to kiss me. I twisted to check out traffic, his lips grazing my cheek.
"For a drive,” I answered. Where were we going? To the ridgeback where we went four-wheeling last summer? No, God, no. None of our old haunts. In my side view mirror Craned Park behind his house materialized and I pulled into the parking cove. Seth rested his arm across my shoulders. "What’s up?"
I opened my door. “Let’s take a walk."
He unfolded his legs and clambered out. Sidling up beside me, he took my hand and squeezed. I squeezed back. At the barbecue pits, I stopped and lowered myself to a picnic bench. Seth sprawled out beside me. A couple of kids were playing on the swings, their mother or grandmother reading a paperback nearby.