"Hey."
"Hey."
Sixteen-year-old Maureen Johnson drums her fingers on the window. Her legs crossed around her torso, she is seated pretzel-style on the windowsill, gazing into empty space. Her voice is dry and dull as she mumbles, "Look, I don't really want to talk to you right now."
Exasperated, the boy in the doorway kicks the carpet instinctively. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to do it. It was just… she was hot, you know?" Color fills his cheeks as he watches his feet.
Maureen is unforgiving, cold as a long-forgotten dance step. "So you cheated on me with her."
There is a pause.
At last, the boy sighs. "Yeah, pretty much," he confesses. "But I said I was sorry."
"And what does that mean?" scoffs Maureen. "That you'll maybe be more careful about not letting me know when you cheat in the future? I can't trust you now."
The boy groans loudly. "Maureen, you're just being deliberately difficult."
A tiny smirk forms on the girl's lips. "I know," she giggles. "What's your point?"
He captures her gaze with his intense eyes. "Look, if you think cheating is any worse than just nagging, you're wrong. You need to lighten up."
"I do not," Maureen snaps, scandalized.
"Uh, yeah, you do," he corrects her. "It's way worse to be a bitch than it is to have sex with other people. We never said we wouldn't do that, anyway, but it goes unspoken that you're not supposed to be a bitch."
"It goes unspoken that you're not supposed to cheat, either!" Maureen yells. "And as for having sex with other people, did we say that we would? No. You just said that you would, and so you did it."
Another pause.
"Yeah," he admits. "I did."
"So I'm supposed to forgive that?" she questions.
He takes a seat beside her on the windowsill, laying a hand on her knee. "Look, Maureen," he says calmly, "I don't know who you think you are, to preach to me about what does and doesn't work in a relationship, but…"
"But what?" she asks, her voice challenging.
He only sighs. After a moment, he gets to his feet and offers a hand to her. "You want me to take you on the date I took her on?"
"What good would that do?"
"Nothing," he tells her reasonably. "It seems like something you'd ask me to do, though."
"Fine, then," Maureen mutters, and lets him hoist her to her feet. "Where did you go?"
He pauses.
"Where did you go?" she repeats.
"Out dancing," he admits at last.
She sighs. "Any slow songs?"
"Actually," he says, "no."
With a wrinkle of her nose, Maureen snaps, "I don't believe you."
"It wasn't, like, a club," he explains. "It was just a place where people practice dance, I think. Professional dance."
"That so?"
"Yeah."
She pauses before inquiring, "So, pray tell, what did you dance there?"
"The tango," he replies promptly.
Maureen nods. "Tango. Huh." After a long pause, she asks, "Could you teach me?"
"Babe," he says, laying a hand on her shoulder, "I assure you, to people like us, it comes naturally." He takes her hand in his and spins her around his arm, then takes her in his arms and dips her upper body backwards. The whole thing goes by without a hitch. "See?"
Maureen smiles. "I'm still dumping you, though. Even if you are a great dancer."
"I figured as much."
She smiles, and adds hastily, "But we're still friends!"
"Duh," he replies. "Six years of being partners-in-crime isn't going to change by a few nights of awesome sex." After a moment, he suggests, "You want to go out anyway? See a movie or something?"
"Nah. I think I'll stay in bed. Go to sleep early, maybe."
"Suit yourself." He turns to the door. "I'm gonna go. 'Night, Maureen."
"Good night, Roger."
