Authors Notes:
This is, by far, the heaviest and most dramatic bit so far. I tend to favor more humor, but for the point of this story, I had to use this chapter to push a lot of angsty-type things that are going to drive the rest of it forward. If you can stick with me this far, I promise to lighten up for the next few chapters.
Also, as always, I don't own Trixie Belden or any related characters. Random House does, and I just borrow and play around with them.
Di was in the Belden's barn, which had been converted into Dan and Mart's workspace. Long sheets of plywood sat on top of sawhorses, serving as makeshift tables. Circles of wood had been cut and left to dry for weeks. Dan was now moving these circles onto the table-like surfaces. Di followed behind, and carefully applied stain. Later, once the stain dried, she'd paint art or sayings on each one, ultimately crafting door hangings for sale.
They worked in silence for a while. Di was distracted, ruminating silently over her future relationship with Mart. Finally, she spoke out loud to Dan. "Why don't you ever go out with anyone more than a few times? I'm serious, Dan, no jokes." She sat down the can of stain, wheeling on him as though she dared him to dodge the question.
Dan had no intention of evading it, but he also wasn't entirely sure what the answer was. There was no big secret or motive – he had never really thought about it. He blinked for a moment in surprise, caught off guard. Finally, he just answered simply, "I guess I just know, after a couple of dates, that it's not going to amount to much. And if it isn't going to amount to anything, I don't want to keep putting time in. Or to have her keep putting time in, I guess. I mean, she could be meeting the right guy, instead of me. It just seems…" he shrugged at this point, as though he wasn't sure what to label it. "I don't know. Unfair, I guess. Mean, maybe. I've done enough selfish things in my life; I don't need extras."
She pursed her lips, thinking this over. "But what if you were the right guy?"
He shrugged again. "I don't know. Can you be the right guy if you already know you aren't?" he asked her seriously. "I mean, if I make up my mind that there isn't a future, isn't that sort of already calling the whole thing off?"
She had to admit, he had a point. Wasn't that sort of the problem with Jim and Trixie, after all – he didn't believe it could work, so it couldn't?
"So how do you know if a guy is just messing around for something to do, or is in it for the long term? What would you do if you met someone you wanted a third date with?"
Dan scratched the back of his head, considering the question. "I don't think there's one way to answer that," he admitted after a moment. "I think it's more like, how a guy treats you. I mean, people always say "one and only," right? So, find a guy who thinks you're different than anyone else, who sees how unique you are and appreciates it. I think that's a good sign. If he treats you like every other girlfriend, you're probably on your way to being just like every other one already on the list. I haven't had a date yet that isn't basically the same as all the others. I'm sure they are all lovely girls, for someone else, but nothing about them grabs me. Makes me want to hear every story they have. You know?"
He wasn't wrong, she supposed. Still, it didn't help her very much – Mart had never had another girlfriend. What would tell her that he saw her differently? She persisted with her line of questioning. "Well, what about you? What would be unique about a girl?"
He grinned at her crookedly. "If I gave her a third date."
She frisbeed an unpainted disc of wood at him, and he ducked, laughing obnoxiously.
Meet me at the clubhouse at 3.
Mart stared at his phone for a while, reading and rereading Di's text. He wasn't sure if he was looking forward to it or not. Despite his best efforts, he felt like Di had been acting standoffish to him lately. He wasn't sure what happened – things between them had started off better than a dream.
So how had he ended up here? Fully expecting to be dumped by someone who, technically, wasn't even his girlfriend? He had turned that over in his mind a thousand times but had yet to find a satisfactory answer. He tried to reassure himself that maybe it was nothing. Maybe Di just wanted to hang out in privacy, with no ulterior motive.
And maybe he would have tea with the Queen of England.
He finally just replied with a simple. "Ok. See you soon." Then, he hopped in the shower to be fresh for Di. If she didn't dump him after all, he wanted to be ready for it.
He opened the door of the clubhouse, knowing she was already inside. He could see the top of her head through the open window. He shut the door behind him and simply stood inside the doorway, uncertainly.
He couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was, and he felt a strange tightening across his chest. He just knew, somewhere deep inside of him, that whatever she was about to say was bad. She looked up from where she was sitting at the table. Meeting her eyes, his fear was confirmed. This wasn't a friendly call – she looked grim. For a moment, he couldn't breathe, and he tried to push the anxiety crowding his throat back down.
"What's up?" he said, trying to keep his voice calm and even. She gestured for him to sit and he did, but he chose a seat across from her rather than next to like he normally would have. He stared at her, waiting for her to talk, but she only looked at the table.
Finally, she lifted her head and spoke. "Mart, what's going on between Honey and Brian?"
He cocked his head, confused. Maybe he had misread everything. "I don't know. Nothing, that I know of," he replied, but his voice turned up uncertainly at the end as though it were a question.
"That's just it, Mart. Brian was interested in Honey until he went off to school. Now, it turns out it was just something to do. He didn't want a relationship; he never was serious. He was just in a small town, with only so many girls his age to pick, and she was convenient and lived next door and cute, so why not?"
He blinked at her, trying to understand her angry tone. "I don't understand. Are you mad at Brian?"
"No!" she exclaimed. "Well, maybe. I don't know!" she continued, exasperated. She never thought about it. Was she? She pushed that thought aside for the moment, focusing on Mart. "Jim's the same. He tells Trixie that she's nice or whatever, but now that he's away at school, he thinks it's best if they aren't serious."
He just stared and said nothing, still not understanding what she was getting at. Finally, he nodded, encouraging her to continue.
"I don't want to be something you do while you kill time, waiting for your real life to start," she asserted simply. Her cool tone was betrayed by the tears that suddenly filled her eyes. She brushed them away impatiently and continued. "I don't want to be a stop-gap. This means something to me, Mart. I thought it did to you, too. I thought we had something. But I thought all of us girls did, and it turns out, you guys don't want that. It's just testing out the waters with the girls back home before you can dive into the dating pool. I'm not an experiment or your trial, Mart," she finished stubbornly. "I don't think we should do this at all if that's how it is."
He was slack-jawed, caught completely by surprise. Was he being punished, not even for something he had done, but for Brian and Jim's mistake? "Now, just a minute, Di," he began hurriedly. "I never thought I'd say this, but Brian's being a knucklehead, not me, and I'm the one in trouble?"
"You're not in trouble, Mart," she said softly. "I just want to know if this is going anywhere. If you're just going to run off to college and meet someone else…"
"Look," he said, trying not to get angry, "I don't know what you want me to say. I don't know what Brian's problem is. Or Jim's, for that matter. And I don't care, truthfully. This is about you and me. I can't tell you how anything is going to turn out. I'm not a fortune-teller, Diana. I care about you. I like you. I'm not just hanging around with you until I can get a better offer, you know."
She wiped her eyes, and he felt a little prick deep in his soul. He was angry at having his motives questioned, especially when he didn't think he had done anything wrong. But she was upset, and it deflated him a bit. He really did hate it when she cried.
"I'm not saying that you'd do that on purpose," she tried to reason. "I don't think any of them did it, meaning to be hurtful. I'm just saying, I look good to you now because - Oh, what is it? I'm a big fish in muddy waters?"
Mart had never had to bite the inside of his mouth harder. He could actually taste blood, but he wasn't going to correct her. Not now. Mart was not a stupid man. Not always, anyway.
"My point is, you only have a hundred girls or so to compare me with, and most of them you barely know. When you go to school and meet a thousand girls, then what? What about the people you meet in your career?"
He shook his head firmly. "I don't care if I meet a million. A million girls, and not one of them will be you."
She just sighed. "I wish I believed that."
He hesitated for a moment, at a loss. Chewing his lip silently, he didn't know what she was asking, or what she expected him to say. Finally, he simply replied, "I wish you did, too."
He spent most of the night, tossing and turning while he thought about Diana's words. In a way, he could see her point. People always said things to that effect – don't tie yourself down to the first person you see, see what else is out there, so on and so on. What those people didn't understand was that he wasn't interested in Diana for a lack of imagination. The issue wasn't that he couldn't picture anyone else.
It was, rather, that he pictured everything he wanted in a woman. And then Diana came around, and she was it, brought to life. Any part of her that varied from his original plan, he quickly realized was his mistake, not hers. Without fail, she exceeded every expectation, everything that he could want from a partner. He had no interest in meeting a girl who was a little more this or a little less that – he would never meet anyone who was more Diana Lynch, and that was all he wanted.
Then he thought about his sister's earlier words of wisdom from Honey's party. Diana could be sensitive, absolutely. He'd never say it to her face, but maybe even...dramatic?If he were sensitive as well, easily put off by her words and moods, they'd never work. Someone like Diana had to feel her feelings, without judgment. His job was to hear, to answer, and to push ahead. She wanted to feel important. He could be insulted that she didn't already feel that way. Or he could give her what she was asking for.
Do you want to be right or do you want to be happy? He wasn't sure where he had heard that before, but the thought suddenly sprang to mind.
He pulled out a piece of lined paper and began scribbling everything he should have said earlier. Everything he could have said if he hadn't been too busy worrying whether or not it was fair for her to ask.
The next day, Di got a message that echoed the one she had sent the day before.
Meet me at the clubhouse at 3.
She felt a weird thrill deep in her heart, that Mart was at least still speaking to her. She had worried it, over and over in her mind. Was she being unreasonable? Did she expect too much from him? Was this all crazy? She wasn't entirely sure what the outcome was going to be, and she was nervous to see him.
But at least he was speaking to her, and that was a good sign. Maybe it was more than she deserved. Maybe she really was being crazy.
She arrived at the clubhouse, once again the first one there. She sat down at the table, once again, to wait. After a few minutes, however, an envelope on the table caught her eye. It said simply, Diana, but she recognized Mart's handwriting immediately. No one made the letters all the wrong sizes quite like him, the 'D' and 'n' virtually the same height, one 'a' inexplicably half as tall as the other.
She opened it curiously. Reading tentatively, she saw,
Dear Diana,
I went home and kept thinking about what it was that you were trying to say. I know I was upset about it. But then I started thinking about what you meant. All I can say is that I don't know what Brian, or Jim's problem, is. But they aren't us.
I am not just trying to cast the role of girlfriend. Just placing in whoever is nearby, making you the person playing the part this month. I can't imagine not having you in my life, because you fascinate me. You're incredible, and even if I move a million miles away, I'm never going to meet someone like you. If I was dating you because you were pretty, sure, I might meet someone prettier (don't hit me). But it's not because you are pretty, or kind, or generous – you are those things, but you are more. You are you, and I want you, so that's all that matters.
Maybe Brian asked Honey out because she was nice, and then he realized other girls are nice too. Maybe Jim always liked Trixie because…well, I don't know. I never really knew what that was about. I figured he was a glutton for punishment, I guess. Anyway, maybe he found someone louder or whatever it is that he likes so much. But I'll never meet another Diana Lynch.
She laughed tearily and wiped her eyes. The note was just so typically Mart. She kept reading as he listed obscure things that made her unique, things he loved and valued about her.
Some were traits she hadn't even known, such as "I love the way you say ditto" – did she really say it differently than anyone else? He commented on how she tugged on her ear when she was thinking, something she was vaguely aware of but didn't realize anyone else had ever noticed.
By the end, she was a sobbing mess and wondered how she could have ever doubted him. She wasn't just a warm body. Maybe she'd never be able to understand what happened in her friend's relationships, but she didn't really need to. It wasn't her mystery to solve.
She took a moment to breathe deeply and gather her wits. Then, when she felt more in control of her emotions, she went to Crabapple Farm to apologize to Mart. Suddenly, she was extremely excited to make up.
The Fourth of July came, with the friends all heading into town that afternoon for the annual parade. The group mingled and chatted with classmates and familiar friends. At one point, when all 7 had reconvened, Trixie announced with a twinkle in her eye. "It's so much fun to do things with friends. And this time next month, it will be even more fun."
Everyone just stared at her, not sure what she meant and waiting for her to continue. She paused, enjoying being the center of attention, then continued. "Yes sir, August, we'll have one new addition to our group, which will make our summer even more entertaining."
Di's pretty face was screwed up with confusion, and Dan finally demanded, "New addition makes it sound like someone's pregnant. What are you talking about?"
Brian's eyes shot clear up his forehead. "You better not be pregnant," he retorted, half-kidding but glancing warily at Jim. Jim turned red and sputtered, his arms out in a gesture of surrender as if to say, "not it." Trixie smacked all three of them in the arm, one at a time. "You morons. Get real! I mean Hallie. Hallie's coming for two weeks in August. I heard Moms talking to Aunt Liv about it this morning."
Dan faltered, for just a moment, then did his best to plaster on a poker face. Hallie was…well, a complicated subject, as far as Dan was concerned. Truthfully, he wasn't even sure how he felt at hearing she'd be in Sleepyside soon.
Hallie was the Belden's cousin. The first time Dan had met her, he had immediately been caught by how pretty she was. Like most teenage boys, his interest wasn't particularly deep or well-rooted. She was a looker, and he liked to look.
That was a few years ago, and he wasn't quite as..." sociable," one might say, with the girls of Sleepyside yet. That was a younger version of himself, a bit more awkward and shy. He followed her around much of her visit, trying to catch her eye.
However, it soon left the path of typical teen angst and attraction. In fact, it veered, hard right, into a tree, crashed, rolled over, and caught on fire. Interrupting any chance for a summer romance, Dan's old gang had shown up to cause trouble. He had been intent on protecting his new friends, maybe even desperate. The thought of Hallie learning about his old ways, and her judgment, terrified him. No longer wanting to impress her, he really just wanted to get out of the situation unscathed. Instead, he ended up taken hostage and tied up in a hotel room by the gang he tried to stand up to. Much to his horror, Hallie later joined him, abducted and hidden away in the same room.
That was a long way of saying that his current feelings to Hallie were…complicated. She had seen him, against his will, in his most vulnerable state. She knew more about his past than he cared for. He still remembered some of the things that were said in that room - things that the other Bob-Whites didn't, necessarily, know. Yet, the traumatic experience they shared had prevented him from dismissing her entirely.
They had exchanged a few calls and letters over the last two years. It started off frequently and as a direct result of their suffering – she would call about a bad dream she had, he would call to check in and see how she was holding up. Of course, sometimes it was more an issue of how he was holding up, but he'd never admit that.
But time went on and the memory…well, it softened, anyway, though maybe not faded. They discussed it, less and less. They needed to reassure each other, less and less. They never, exactly, stopped being friendly, but they had lessened contact.
And the idea of finally facing her, after she had seen him like that, was uncomfortable. The phone was one thing, but in person? He couldn't explain why, but it filled him with a sort of dread – enough dread that when the other Bob-Whites had gone to Idaho to visit, he had made up an excuse to stay home.
She was a friend, who wasn't a friend, who kind of knew him better than anyone, but that he also didn't want to see. She knew too much, and not enough. Even Dan didn't know for sure if she was his best friend or worst enemy, even though realistically, she was just a girl and something between the two.
As a result, Dan didn't know how he felt about her visit. He could be glad, excited, or miserable, but he wasn't going to sort out which in front of everyone. So, he hooded his eyes, and masked his face, and listened wordlessly to everyone else discuss their plans for Hallie.
Jim's 18th birthday the next weekend was a less lavish affair than Honey's, but still a semi-formal gathering that could not be forgotten. Mrs. Wheeler had invited many of the family's society friends, particularly ones with daughters and sons around her own children's age.
She, of course, invited Jim's actual friends as well. Mrs. Wheeler was many things, but a society snob was not one. She wasn't quite as homey as Mrs. Belden, but she had never objected to Honey and Jim's friendships and relationships. She wanted nothing more than her children's happiness and never tried to make them any sort of pawn in a social-climbing competition.
Still, due to the Wheeler's high position on the social ladder, it simply wouldn't do to not host a celebration at all. Jim would pretend to appreciate the party, and to a point, he would – it wasn't miserable, though maybe not what he'd select. She, in return, would keep it relatively tame, as a thank you for his tolerance. That was how it went for many past events, and that was how it would go again.
Trixie was used to the rigamarole, but she still never liked it. At least it wasn't quite as terrifying or as large as Honey's party, she thought as she fixed her hair with a simple clip. She only had to wear her blue Easter dress, not get a brand new one. And it was relatively comfortable – a knee-length a-line with a high scoop neck. Her mother made her put on a nice watch, but because of the high neck, she required no additional jewelry. Plus, she could wear her shoes that had a broad, two-inch heel – even she could (usually) manage those without falling down (much).
All in all, Trixie thought as she eyed herself critically in the mirror, it could be worse.
Honey had already accepted several dances at the party when Brian asked her. She accepted, noting with relief that it already felt less awkward than it had at her own party. She had gone on a few casual dates with boys in town. Nothing serious, but enough to make her start realizing that Brian, really, wasn't the end-all, be-all she had thought when she was 14.
Or maybe not even then, she reflected, thinking of other boys she had been interested in even then. Pat Murrow sure had seemed dreamy, but she quickly returned her affections back on Brian. Had Brian really seemed like the guy for her, she wondered, or had it just been convenient to dream about someone you already saw nearly every day? Was it the thrill of being a Belden, having a real, official spot as Trixie's sister-in-law more than it was the actual boy itself? Now that it was clear that they weren't meant to be, Honey was surprised by how quickly her heart healed, how quickly she could picture someone else in Brian's spot.
Yet, other times seemed to be just the opposite. She imagined someone would fill the void, but it seemed impossible to envision the right person. No one was quite as smart, quite as mature, quite as kind, and she found herself judging every perfectly acceptable date as a failure because they weren't quite Brian enough for her.
She tried not to focus on these thoughts, though, certain that there was someone out there for her. She was equally certain that person wasn't Brian, and she was finding it easy enough to return to a purely platonic friendship with him.
It was a lot more comfortable than unrequited love, and she was, for the most part enjoying it. She was glad, that evening, to have his company on the dance floor without having to worry anymore about looking foolish or embarrassing herself. He was just Trixie's brother, now, and she had come to realize she didn't hate that.
They laughed and joked as they danced. "Do they still have dancing as part of the gym curriculum?" Brian asked. "I forgot how much of a workout this was."
Honey grinned at him. "You don't dance at college? "
Brian thought about it. "No, I guess not. I don't go to many parties, but dancing doesn't seem to be much of it," he admitted. "I think mostly it's drinking, and I can't get caught underage."
She raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, it's not Frisbee Dodgeball," she said pointedly.
He laughed. "You heard about that?"
She nodded. "I hear you're the champion."
He shook his head in embarrassment. "I wouldn't say that. I think I was surprised to be good at it, the first time I tried it, but not the champion. Jim's usually more athletic than I am. It doesn't matter anyway," he confessed. "Even if I was the champion. I hate it. It's the stupidest game."
She looked at him in surprise. "You hate it?"
He wrinkled his forehead, still dancing. He wasn't quite sure why she was confused – of course, he hated it. He felt like every single thing about him would indicate that he, obviously, would hate it. "Yeah. It was fun, I guess, to try it. I mean, I didn't know what it was. Now I do. It's dumb."
She laughed at his uncharacteristic bluntness. She didn't know why, exactly, she had assumed he enjoyed it. Or why she had, at the time, let herself be so upset by the idea that Brian was growing up, and trying new things. He was still the same Brian, she realized. He could try new things without losing himself into a new personality, and it seemed so apparent now that she was a little embarrassed.
She wondered if she just feared change, everyone growing up without her. Had she overreacted to the idea, offended that Trixie and Di were both moving ahead with their "un-boyfriends?" Had she exaggerated the severity of Brian moving on without her? Probably, she supposed, but this wasn't the night for these thoughts.
Instead, she continued their easy banter. "Well, I'm sure it's not as good as Bob-White Bucketball."
He laughed, a booming laugh that was so infectious she couldn't help but laugh too. "Nothing could be as good as Bob-White Bucketball," he agreed.
The girls had perched around one of the carefully placed high-top tables out in the yard, needing a break. They all had fixed themselves small plates of snacks from a nearby buffet table. While there was a large tent with tables and chairs, and the buffet itself, the girls preferred to remain at one of the outdoor tables. The air was refreshing, the evening starting to grow cool.
Di and Honey carried on a jovial conversation. But Trixie seemed to be staring out into space, nibbling half-heartedly at an ahi tuna taco. Di noticed this and followed her gaze.
She realized after a moment that Trixie was watching Jim, and she gave Honey a knowing look. Honey, understanding, just smiled and shook her head.
What the two did not realize was that Trixie was not simply gazing at Jim fondly, the lovestruck ruminations of a 16-year-old girl. No, Trixie had been watching Jim flirt and chat with attractive young women all night. And she was beginning to seethe.
Mart approached the table, his plate laden with hors d'oeuvres. Not only did Mart love to eat, but the Wheelers were the sort of hosts to offer a variety of unique and exciting foods. Mart saw it as his own personal mission to try each and everyone, and he would not fail.
Mart loved his mother's cooking, but to a boy raised on chicken and meatloaf, there was something thrilling about testing out things with fascinating names like beef carpaccio. After all, what was a carpaccio? Mart couldn't not find out.
Mart slid in next to Diana, filling the last spot at the table. Trixie continued to stare off, still silent. Mart ate a few pieces off his plate. Then, testing her, he pulled something from her plate. When Trixie did not acknowledge his presence, he waved one hand. "Hello? Did the worms finally finish their brain meal? Is this the beginning of the zombie infiltration?"
She turned, glowering darkly. Honey and Di exchanged a look, suddenly noticing their friend's bad mood. It seemed out of place, even considering Mart's attempt to annoy her.
Honey took one more look toward Jim, several yards away. His conversation was out of earshot, but he was talking to a rather attractive blonde. She had long, sleek hair and a tall, graceful figure, and Trixie's irritation suddenly clicked for Honey. She looked back and forth between Jim and Trixie, feeling torn.
On one hand, it was Jim's birthday. He had no commitment to Trixie and could do whatever he wanted – including talk to any blonde he chose. On the other hand, it seemed like it was, at the very least, poor taste. Did he really have to kiss Trixie, then flirt with another girl right in front of her? He wasn't exactly sticking his tongue down her throat, but still.
Sometimes Honey wondered how Jim was so dense. He never seemed to learn, no matter how many times he had provoked Trixie's ire. Trixie's buttons were easy to push, and one of the biggest, brightest buttons was jealousy. Honey could, in many ways, understand it. Trixie was very quick to assume that Jim might prefer someone else's company over hers, and his unwillingness to make a strong commitment probably contributed to that.
The irony of it all was that Jim was just as, if not more, prone to jealousy. Oh, how he could glare and huff and stomp if Trixie so much as batted her eyes anywhere but at him. But then he'd turn around and flex for any pretty face. And act surprised when Trixie complained! It made no sense to Honey. Then again, so far, boys just made no sense to Honey.
Honey pondered for a moment what to do, but then Dan and Brian approached the group. Trixie suddenly stood, offering Dan her seat, and stalked off. Honey and Di stared in bewilderment at each other, not sure where this was going. But chances are, it was nowhere good.
Jim's lips were pressed into a thin line, watching Trixie dance with a family friend of theirs named Paul. He knew, without a doubt, Trixie had never even met Paul before. Jim didn't even like him very much – he had that air of unfounded confidence in himself that just set Jim's nerves off. The kind of person that was told a few too many times by mommy how special and great and smart they were. The kind who had started to believe it just a little too much.
But what really had him gritting his teeth was how she just kept touching him. Even after they left the dance floor, she let him hold her hand while he led her off to the side. They stood for a while, chatting, and she kept laughing. Okay, Jim knew him. He wasn't that funny, so what was she laughing at? And did she have to have her hand on his arm like that? And did she have to keep it there?
Somewhere off to the side, he heard a voice. Vaguely, he knew it was Miranda, but he didn't hear anything she was saying. He was too busy thinking about Trixie's voice, smooth and smoky, and wondering what she was saying to a man that wasn't him.
Mrs. Wheeler had been making the usual hostess rounds, chatting with each and every guest at the party briefly before circling again. Even with the pressure of entertaining, she had noticed, at some point during the evening, the angry looks flying back and forth between Jim and Trixie. They stayed, literally, yards apart, and still, a palpable tension simmered. It had only gotten worse as the night progressed.
Mrs. Wheeler was, in a way, ashamed to admit how long it had taken her to figure out the source of the distress. Several thoughts had occurred to her before realizing that the look was one of jealousy. She wasn't particularly in the loop on Jim's love life. She knew the two of them had spent some time together, but she hadn't thought it was serious. The very fact that Jim had never made a "real" move on Trixie had only served as more proof – whatever little flirtation they had as children was long gone, in her mind. She had invited eligible young women, family friends, hoping that Jim might find a nice girl. She hadn't meant to meddle. She never, in a million years, thought there was anything to meddle in. But, based on the expression on both their faces, she clearly made a mistake in her assumption.
She watched Jim's eyes narrow while Honey introduced Trixie to a particularly handsome man, before resolutely grabbing another girl by the hand and leading her to the dance floor. Trixie bristled, then turned so she could not see them, laughing coyly at the gentleman. Mrs. Wheeler said a silent prayer and vowed to never, ever, intervene again.
If Jim were ever to have any future romance, he was on his own.
Honey was beginning to feel guilty and wary. Trixie had insisted that Honey introduce her to the guests. "I'm single and ready to mingle. Come on. What about him? He's cute," she had said. For some reason, at the time, it sounded like a good idea. But now, Honey couldn't imagine why.
Maybe it was a "good for the goose, good for the gander" thing. Maybe it was because Honey could sympathize with feeling rejected. When Brian rejected her, getting back out into dating made her feel more confident, reassured her that life would go on.
But the difference was, her dating hadn't hurt Brian's feelings or caused awkwardness. Even though Trixie was only talking to other men, Jim was shooting challenging, uncomfortable looks. It was clear that, while he said she was free to date other people, he wasn't ready for it. She desperately wished she had never gotten in the middle of…whatever fresh hell this was.
She turned to Trixie, suggesting they go check on their friends. Trixie agreed, much to Honey's relief. Bidding goodbye to Trixie's "new friend," Honey practically dragged her back to the high-top table.
Trixie was trying, she really was. It wasn't like her goal was to ruin Jim's party. He had told her that she should see other people, that he couldn't commit, that they weren't going to work right now. The message, she thought, had been pretty clear. And made even clearer when she saw him take his own advice with that tall, skinny blonde.
So, she did exactly what he asked. Exactly what she was supposed to do. She moved on, she started talking to other people. She wasn't going to sit and sulk around about Jim, while he sighed sadly and patted her head. Poor, poor Trixie who can't find another date – sorry you're too much of a loser to find anyone else. No, most assuredly not.
But then that only seemed to make him angry, which in turn, made her angry. How dare he sit there, judging her? What kind of a nerve did he have, telling her to see other people, then giving her side-eye all night? It wasn't any of his business!
And, as she saw Jim slip through the crowd, she resolved to tell him so.
Trixie stood up from the table, frustrated fury rolling off her in waves. Without a word, she stalked behind Jim. Diana stood up, prepared to follow her and intervene. But Mart gently placed one hand on her arm, stopping her. "Stay out of it," he warned. "I know that one of your superpowers is smoothing things over, but Trixie won't appreciate it. This is a fight that needs to happen."
A part of her sensed that he was right. They needed to hash this out in order to move forward and stay friends. She sat back down, following his advice. Still, she didn't feel good about it, as she and Honey exchanged an uneasy look.
Jim was leaned over the railing on the veranda, deep in thought. He had escaped the party for a little solitude, disappearing to the side of the house where the guests could not see him. The longer he stayed there, the worse he felt.
He had been giving Trixie dirty looks all night. He knew it, she knew it, their friends knew it. Worse, he had no right to. She wasn't his to control – not that she could ever be. The evolved part of Jim knew that he had no business declaring what she could or couldn't do. She was a person, with her own agency and agenda. And not only that, but he had told her to do as much, and he damn well knew it!
But he just couldn't seem to stop his knee-jerk reaction at having to watch her move on with her life, right in front of him. Maybe he told her that she was free to do whatever she wanted, but did she have to rub his face in it? Yes, he knew he couldn't be with her, but that didn't stop him from wanting it.
And that was the rub, now wasn't it? He sighed, rubbing one hand wearily over the bridge of his nose. How had he made such a mess of everything?
He heard a noise and turned to find Trixie, stomping across the veranda at him. She looked positively livid. He was confident that when she got close enough, she was going to slap him. In the movies, outraged girls throwing their drinks were always a surprise. But here, he saw it coming – and he suspected whatever was next, he deserved it.
As she came within arm's reach, he tried to extend an olive branch. "I'm sorry, Trixie," he admitted, though he didn't look at her. He stared over the railing, too ashamed to meet her eyes. "I have no business interfering with your private life like that."
Until that moment, Jim didn't know what "fuming" was. But the noise she made next was most definitely fuming. He still couldn't face her, but he heard her rail in frustration. "You! Shut up! Just shut up!" Jim bit his lip, resolving not to say anything until she was done.
"You have a lot of nerve! You give me this great, noble speech that I'm free to live my life. Like you're some hero, letting me go, but all it does is let you off the hook. Heaven forbid you have to be burdened with some kind of responsibility to another human being. You tell me to do whatever I want! Whatever I want?!" She went silent - so angry, he figured, it had stolen her speech. But he could practically hear the smoke coming from her ears. He glanced over at her, warily, and her face was red with rage.
After a moment, he spoke. "You're right, Trixie." There was no anger left in him, whatsoever. His tone was despairing, confused. It was all just so mixed up. He was certain that he had made the right choice – that he couldn't be a good boyfriend when he was so far away. That if he couldn't be a good boyfriend, he shouldn't be one at all. Not until he could do it right, not until he could give her what she deserved. He was confident in that, and yet…
"You should be able to do whatever you want," he conceded, remorseful.
She stared at him, looking as though she could scream. Or strangle him. Or maybe both, he supposed. But instead, she yelled, "Shut up, Jim!"
And, in the one move he never saw coming, she kissed him forcefully.
She lunged forward at him. The kiss was aggressive and dominating, as though she was determined to put him in his place.
But if that were the price for a kiss like that, Jim would submit any day. He backed up, knocked off guard by the assault. His arms automatically wrapped around her waist to steady her, even though he was the one losing his balance. Trying desperately not to fall, but unwilling to let go, he backed up, supporting himself against the railing.
He pulled her with him, and she leaned against him, pinning him between her and the rail. This was the first time they had kissed standing, and he became aware that he was much taller than her. He had to slouch down, his neck bent, and he could tell she was balanced precariously on the tips of her toes. After a moment, he lifted her up, bringing her face level with his. He grabbed her legs to do so and realized with the small part of his still-working brain that he could feel the bare skin of her legs, exposed by the knee-length skirt.
Trixie had not yet said stop, wrapping her legs around his waist. He spun around so that she sat on the wide railing and took a small step back. But he didn't let go of her legs, and he didn't relinquish her mouth.
One hand slid up her thigh, and he was vaguely aware that he was going too far. He wanted her, had wanted her for what seemed to him forever. But she was only 16 and deserved more than being groped at a party.
He kissed her, one last time, then pulled back. His hand rested gently on her knee; her arms draped around his neck.
"What are we doing?" he asked her, his voice low and serious.
She just shrugged her shoulders. "You told me to do whatever I want. That's what I wanted. Even if you're an idiot."
"The dumbest," he agreed easily. His heart felt so strange, heavy and light at the same time, as he kissed her again and again.
Once he and Trixie returned to the party, their dynamic had done a complete 180, and it was apparent to all. Jim still had to mingle, socialize with all his guests, but he found that he couldn't stop looking at Trixie. And, from the looks on his friends' faces, they noticed. He found excuses to walk nearby, grabbing her shoulder, her arm, her waist – nothing inappropriate. Her parents and brothers were there, after all. But he just couldn't seem to keep his hands to himself, not entirely. He kissed her neck once during a dance – a brief peck, brought on by an irresistible impulse. She returned his bursts of not-quite-platonic affection with her own little winks and nudges, nuzzling up to him for short spans of time.
At first, Jim just enjoyed the party. He was in good spirits and had the attention of a pretty girl. What else could he want? The rest was tomorrow's problem, a motto that Jim never lived by. He tried, hard, to smother the voice inside that wanted to nitpick and worry - he couldn't hear it, not tonight.
But as the guests slowly began to disburse, he felt a longing come over him, wishing that the night could last forever. Something had happened between him and Trixie, something he didn't want to lose. He knew that tomorrow, the sun would come up. And everything would be the same as it was before.
He would still be leaving in August to return to school. She would be going back to Sleepyside High, living a life that barely included him. Someone else -someone here - would be in his place. They would kiss her, would hold her, would ask her to dance. It felt star-crossed, getting this glimpse at something that he knew he couldn't keep.
They danced one final dance as the evening wrapped up. There was a chill in the air, and most of the guests had left. Peter and Helen had already taken Bobby home for bed. Brian, Dan, and Honey stood nearby, and Jim knew they were watching. But he didn't care.
He held her close, his throat raw. A million thoughts were in his head, but he couldn't make any of them come out. It occurred to him that she looked like Cinderella, in her powder-blue dress. But he was Cinderella in this story, locked up and hoping desperately that, in the end, the shoe would fit him.
Trixie would never wait for rescue. She'd buy new shoes and run off to whatever came next. But maybe she'd at least come back.
He kissed her forehead but didn't say a word. Nothing would have come out over the lump in his throat anyway.