Time moves quickly when it's running out. I blinked and a week passed in a blur of arguments, ultimatums, stolen kisses, and lies. I guess Charlie Thomas and I are dating. I'm not sure he's my boyfriend. We haven't discussed it, like sat down and spread out our feelings and expectations all over the kitchen table to analyze and dissect. I know we're not going to last beyond the summer. Charlie knows it too. I like him and he likes me, but in a few weeks, I go back to California and Charlie heads to college. It's not like I expect him to give me some kind of promise ring that I can flash in front of my California friends. I don't expect anything from Charlie, except to make me happy for awhile.
Mom and Richard don't know. Richard suspects and watches me with narrowed eyes, as if contemplating all the ways Charlie Thomas might corrupt me and then I, in turn, might possibly corrupt his precious daughter. I'm supposed to be grounded. Mom doesn't appreciate me lying to her and Richard works that to his advantage. So, indefinite grounding until I come clean about why I lied last Thursday. That grounding can't be enforced. Mom and Richard have work and I have all day to do as I please and see who I please. Mary Anne doesn't bother me either because Mary Anne's too busy babysitting and following around her new best friend to give me much thought.
Charlie comes over around noon on Thursday. Mary Anne's at an all day babysitting job for Rosie Wilder. Charlie and I have the house to ourselves. Charlie and I have spent a lot of time alone here this past week. We certainly couldn't get any privacy at his house. Charlie brings a bag of groceries, so we can make grilled avocado and cheese sandwiches. Charlie and I have made a lot of compromises regarding food. I'm not interested in enlightening him to the error of his meat eating ways, but I'd rather not see him chewing on animal flesh in my presence either.
"Hey," Charlie says, glumly, when I open the front door.
"Hi Charlie," I reply, a bit more cheerily, stepping aside to let him in. "Is something wrong?"
"Only if you consider a jerkoff stepfather something wrong,"
I sigh. "What has he done this time?" I ask, leading Charlie into the kitchen.
"Today he called me into his office at home and informed me that he doesn't think he'll be paying my tuition to Penn,"
"What?" I exclaim, turning away from the counter where I've begun slicing the cheese.
Charlie sits down at the kitchen table and lowers his head to his arms. "There's no way I can make the tuition on my own. Penn's only giving me a partial baseball scholarship and there's hardly any money left in my savings account. I didn't even bother getting a job this summer since I was taking those classes at Stoneybrook U. Watson promised I wouldn't have to worry, that he'd pay for everything. I'm so screwed, Dawn. "
"Why won't he pay?" I demand. "He's a millionaire!"
"He says I need to learn to stand on my own two feet. Handouts don't build character and I can't expect a free ride forever,"
"Nice of him to drop this on you three weeks before school starts!" I cry, my face turning red with anger. "And what free ride? You've only been a millionaire's stepkid for a year! What about all the years you helped your mom raise the kids? You deserve his money more than anyone else!"
Charlie shrugs. "Tell that to Watson,"
"Maybe I will," I reply, stabbing my knife into an avocado. "Or better yet, your mom should tell him. What is she doing, sitting on the sidelines while he ruins your life?"
Charlie shrugs again, looking more defeated than angry, like he's already given up. "Watson's running the show over there. I told you before, he's generous when it's convenient."
I toss the first sandwich into the frying pan, then turn back to Charlie, giving him my full attention. "This is terrible, Charlie! And totally unfair. Watson's just plain cruel, if you ask me. Richard might be a tight ass, but he'd never promise something like this, then change his mind for no reason," I tell Charlie, sliding into the chair opposite him. I think of all the vacations Watson treated me to when I was part of the BSC. He was beyond generous without anyone asking him to be. Was it all just for show? Would Watson really do that for near strangers just to make himself look good? It seems extreme. "What does your mom say?" I ask Charlie. "She must have some kind of opinion."
"I don't know," says Charlie. "I'm not sure Watson even discussed it with her. I think he woke up this morning and thought, 'I think today I'll stomp on Charlie's future' and then went with it. I didn't want to upset Mom at work."
"Well then, don't worry, Charlie. Your mom won't let him do this to you. She'll change his mind. Or at least figure out a way to pay your tuition. She has a good job. And there's always student loans," I assure him, reaching across the table and grasping his hand. Charlie and I understand each other, how it is to live in an unbalanced, unfair family that fails to meet any past expectations.
Charlie smiles, but his eyes betray him. I haven't convinced him, which makes sense because I'm not convinced myself. "I should help with lunch," Charlie says, pushing his chair away from the table. He's finished talking about Watson.
Charlie and I stand together at the stove, turning the sandwiches over in the pan. The first one is kind of burnt, but Charlie eats it anyway. Then he eats two more. I have one and we sit together at the table, Charlie eating quickly while I slowly work on my single sandwich. We make a mutual silent agreement not to talk about stepfathers anymore, even though I'm practically bursting to complain about how Richard woke me this morning by flickering my light on and off (which I hate), then left me a long list of chores, like I'm his personal slave girl or something.
When we finish eating, I set our plates in the sink and put the cheese and leftover avocado in the fridge. Charlie's still sitting at the table, looking sad and vulnerable and much younger than eighteen. I slide onto his lap and tilt my head against his and hold his left hand in my right, stroking my thumb against his palm. After a few minutes, I bend my head down and press my lips to his throat. Charlie stiffens, like he always does when I first kiss him, then quickly relaxes. He can't get past that I'm only fourteen, which he mentions often, but still allows me to do to him the things I wish, as if my taking the lead somehow releases him from responsibility.
I move my lips around to the side of Charlie's neck and push aside the collar of his pale green polo shirt to kiss the curve between his neck and shoulder. I've discovered that's his favorite spot to be kissed. Charlie slips his hand underneath my t-shirt and runs it over my stomach, then around my back. His hand is surprisingly cold against my warm skin.
"Let's go upstairs," I whisper in Charlie's ear.
Charlie follows me up the narrow staircase to my bedroom. I lock the door behind us. We've spent a lot of time in here this past week, talking and making out on my bed. I've discovered that I am the type of girl I've always detested, the girl who loves kissing and panting breath and exploring hands. I've criticized and judged Sunny for all the same things I've done this week. I'm a girl possessed, like a part of me is on fire. I'm not sure where this girl came from, or if she's always been buried deep within me and I've been too afraid to set her free.
Charlie and I lay down on my bed, facing each other. He drapes an arm over my waist, and kisses me, his lips warm against mine. Pretty soon, Charlie pushes me onto my back and lays on top of me, his hands traveling up the front of my t-shirt. Next thing I know, he's lifting the t-shirt over my head. That's another thing I discovered about myself this week. I'm fast. I'm a fast girl. Probably no one could have predicted it, least of all myself. Maybe I'm not like this under normal circumstances. Maybe I just know that I have to cram so much into a short amount of time. Or maybe this is who I am, another aspect of that girl buried deep within me.
Charlie tosses my t-shirt onto the floor and begins kissing my collarbone. He's not as hesitant about making out with me as before. I wave the green flag once and he runs with it. Saturday I slid his hands up my blouse, Monday I unbuttoned my shirt, and Tuesday I took off my bra. Now he doesn't pause or ask. He does these things and knows I want them too. Maybe because I'm fast. And maybe because I've realized that feeling good can be reason enough.
Charlie reaches under me and unhooks my bra. He seems to be an expert at unhooking bras. I don't ask who he's practiced on. Instead I kiss him hard and quick, then fall back onto my pillow and close my eyes while he massages my breasts. Charlie's fascinated with my breasts. I don't know if this is a guy thing or if Charlie is abnormally obsessed. Just as I don't know if he really likes my breasts or just breasts in general. My breasts are average sized and unremarkable. But Charlie loves staring at them and touching them and kissing them and I don't complain because I enjoy the shivering, tingly feeling I receive in return.
"Do you feel better?" I ask Charlie when he moves off of me and we're facing each other again. By now Charlie's also removed his shirt and both our brows are sweaty. My lips ache from too much kissing.
Charlie's breathing heavily and grins. "I feel great," he replies, then his grin drops off, like he's suddenly realized his life is more than just make out sessions with me. "Oh. Maybe I don't feel so great after all," he says. "It was nice to forget for awhile."
"Lay back," I tell him, giving his chest a gentle push.
"Why?" he asks.
"Just do it," I order, giving him another little push.
Charlie obeys and lays flat on his back, watching me with questioning eyes. I thought about this in the kitchen when Charlie had that pathetic, lost look. Now that I'm a fast girl, it won't hurt to go a little faster. I flex my fingers a few times, stalling as I gather courage. My right hand moves toward Charlie, hesitates, and pulls back slightly. It's probably like removing a band-aid and I need to plunge right in and do it. Charlie's watching me, confused when I finally reach out and take hold of the waistband of his khakis. I pull the zipper down and quickly undo the button.
Charlie's eyes grow wide. "What are you doing?" he cries, sitting partway up, his hands flying to his zipper.
"What do you think?" I demand.
"Are you serious?"
"Of course!" I exclaim. I'm pretty sure I was actually going to do it.
Charlie buttons and zips his pants, looking rather panicked. "Oh my God," he says, "You're only fourteen!"
"That wasn't a problem a few minutes ago when you had my breast in your mouth," I snap.
Charlie's cheeks turn pink. "That's different, Dawn. I could get arrested for this. Making out is one thing. But going further, that's probably contributing to the delinquency of a minor or something. You're only fourteen, Dawn."
"Would you stop saying that?" I retort, my irritation building. "Besides, I'm fourteen and a half. I'll be fifteen at the start of February. Your age doesn't bother me. If mine bothers you so much, why don't you go find a non-minor to mess around with?"
Charlie falls silent and runs his fingers through his mussed brown hair. "Because I like you," he says, simply.
"I like you, too," I reply, my irritation fading.
Charlie and I stare at each other for awhile. I suddenly feel self-conscious and exposed sitting on my bed in nothing but a pair of faded jean shorts. I fold my arms over my bare breasts.
"You shouldn't worry so much about our age difference, Charlie. It doesn't bother me," I tell him, which is sort of a lie. It does bother me. At least sometimes. A little. "No one will know. It's not like I'm eager to broadcast this all over Stoneybrook. You're not going to be arrested, Charlie. We're not doing anything wrong."
"Sometimes four years seems like a lot," Charlie admits. "And sometimes it doesn't."
"I know. But maybe liking each other is enough," I say, brushing some hair out of my face.
"I don't want to take advantage of you, Dawn," Charlie says and when I open my mouth to protest, continues, "I know you don't see it like that, but I don't want to do anything either of us will regret. We hardly even know each other."
And here I thought all teenage boys were driven solely by hormones. I don't need Charlie pulling this big brother stuff on me. I just want to have fun. I just want there to be something good in my Stoneybrook life. I hold my arms a bit tighter around my breasts, wondering if Charlie would feel the same way if I were seventeen or eighteen. He puts too much emphasis on age.
I unfold my arms and reach for my bra on the floor. It's pale pink lace, the nicest one I own, and I wore it just for Charlie. I slip it on and struggle to clasp the hooks. "You're so uptight, Charlie," I tell him. "It's not like I was trying to have sex with you. It was just a hand job. Hand jobs are no big deal. All the girls give them," I say, pulling my t-shirt over my head, even though I know that's not true. I don't believe those words when I say them just like I didn't believe them two months ago when Sunny said them after I caught her and Maggie giving hand jobs to a couple ninth graders during Ellen Bliemer's graduation party. But I say them just the same, so Charlie won't guess at how nervous and inexperienced I really am. Secretly, I'm relieved he doesn't expect that of me. And still, part of me is offended he doesn't want that from me.
"I'm not uptight," Charlie protests, tugging his polo shirt over his head. "I'm just not ready to go that far. It's nothing personal, Dawn."
I lay back down on the bed. I almost turn my back to him, like wives do on t.v., but that seems unnecessarily cold and I'm not really mad at Charlie, or even too disappointed. It would be wrong to be angry with him for not wanting something I was unsure I even wanted to give.
"You're right, Charlie," I say, turning my head to look up at him. "I don't know what comes over me sometimes."
Charlie grins and lays down, facing me. I love his smile. "Understandable," he says. "Charlie Thomas is irresistible to the ladies."
I roll my head back and laugh. "Oh, yes, that must be it. You're really beating them off with a stick. That's why you're picking up your little sister's ex-friends in music stores."
Charlie looks surprised. "Are you and Kristy really ex-friends?" he asks.
I turn onto my side, propping myself up on my elbow. I shrug. "I don't know. I guess so. I've only seen her once since I got back. She didn't even ask me to re-join the BSC or anything. So, I guess we're not friends anymore."
"You know, the BSC isn't that active these days. They only meet twice a week now. Jessi quit last month and Mallory didn't re-join when she came back from boarding school. Kristy still babysits a lot though,"
"So does Mary Anne. She and Melissa," I say, a bit more bitterly than I intend. "You know more about the BSC than I do." I laugh, even though it's not really funny.
"Did you ask to re-join?"
"I'm not going to beg, Charlie. I won't give them the satisfaction,"
Charlie frowns, but doesn't say anything. I don't want him to frown. I want him to smile. He reaches out and caresses my cheek. It's an unexpected gesture, even though he's done it before. It makes me a little sad, but I'm not sure why.
"Is this all we ever talk about, Charlie? Stepfathers and ex-friends?" I ask, in a lighter tone than I feel. I swing my right leg over him, so that I straddle his hips. I'm sick of talking about the things that suck the life out of us. I lean down and kiss him softly on the mouth. It's a different sort of kiss than our earlier ones, sweeter and more satisfying, not so eager and desperate. I tighten my knees around Charlie's hips as his tongue glides over my bottom lip into my mouth. I think Charlie and I could stay like this forever. A hot, tingly feeling washes over my body as my mind clouds and spins. I forget everything else. There's nothing except me and Charlie, no worries, no disappointments, no loneliness. No anything.
"You're sneaking out at night," Mary Anne says to me after dinner. We're in the kitchen, washing the dishes. We haven't spoken all night. I'm not really speaking to anyone anymore. I know it hurts Mom, but she should have thought of that before attempting to make me live by Richard's ridiculous rules.
"Oh, am I?" I reply, coolly, setting a plate on the drying rack.
"Yes, you are. You're sneaking out through the secret passage. I heard the door shut last night when I was walking to the bathroom. I went to the window and saw you running across the yard toward the street. You're seeing someone, aren't you? Who is he and why are you hiding him?"
"It's none of your business, Mary Anne," I tell her, grabbing a still soapy plate from her hand. I run it under the cold water myself.
"I won't tell," Mary Anne promises.
I snort and turn off the faucet.
Mary Anne huffs and scrubs hard at a pot. "Look," she says, irritation creeping into her voice. "I didn't know you lied to Sharon the other night. If you'd told me, I would have covered for you. But I didn't know. Sharon came into my room, asking about Sue Archer. How was I supposed to know to lie? You never tell me anything anymore, Dawn."
"Is that so?"
Mary Anne scowls and shakes her hair back. It's grown out to an awkward, slightly unmanageable length just below her chin. "Tell me who you're seeing. You're hiding him for a reason. Are you embarrassed or is he someone you shouldn't be dating?" Mary Anne asks, then pales a bit. "It's not Logan is it?"
"I don't need your sloppy seconds," I snap.
"Who is he then?" she demands, wiping her soapy hands on a towel.
"It's killing you, isn't it?" I reply, tossing my dish towel at her. I turn and leave without another word.