Chapter 18

He walked her away from the grass and to a paved, solid part of land, his hand holding hers. When they faced one another, the time now acceptable to form a proper dancing position, John stalled with their entwined hands at his side. He had been leading her though now he no longer felt in control. He felt lost.

"I don't know how to dance," he admitted to her with a tiny laugh at his own awkwardness. Giving him a smile she raised their hands, moving forward into him to place her hand upon his shoulder. At least he knew the position they should be in and his hand touched around her waist. With the added height of her heels she almost stood eye level to him. Arching so they could see one another they exchanged a smile.

"Start on this foot," she told him quietly, bending her knee so it nudged the indicated leg. He stepped once, clueless, but she followed his movements. They didn't have to be perfect, or even good; no one was judging them. The band inside had begun a slow song, perhaps prompting him to initially ask her to dance, though John had planned to ever since he found himself even remotely involved in the evening.

Underneath his hand he felt the black lace detail of her dress. The material was heavy, good-quality, and it fit her like a glove. He could feel the curve of her hip and the bone underneath that gave him a perfect alcove to rest his hand. He allowed his eyes to observe her upper half. The dress didn't plunge inappropriately, and he thought that maybe it was just the suggestion of skin that was the most alluring feature. Only a tiny strap covered the tops of her arms and he had an overwhelming urge to kiss her neck and let his kisses trail all the way across her pale skin to her shoulders.

"You look...beautiful..." his voice rasped.

"Thank you," she smiled. Their feet were moving in a slow pattern, hardly dancing but maybe it was all just for the excuse to hold one another. "I took off the sweater. My mother wouldn't let me out of the house without wearing it."

With the thoughts he was having about her, her mother had good reason to worry. "She's right," he couldn't resist a dig into the subject. "All these little boys are going to be starring at you...thinking things..."

She blushed but found herself eager to push the matter. Arching back she looked to his face. "But you're allowed to see me?"

He wanted to answer quickly, with that confidence and cockiness he was so used to, but realized that maybe for once it wasn't fitting. He wanted to know, and genuinely cared, just as much about her side of the situation. He answered her with another question. "Do you want me to see you?"

The answer was yes, completely yes. She only wanted to look good for his sake and for him to notice. Lately, it was all for him. In the same manner that he found it hard to be brutally honest she bit her tongue before answering hastily. "You said 'little boys.' Do you think I'm a little girl?"

Her question was asked gently, pleasantly, but they both knew of the underlying importance. It would be easy for him to think so and she wanted to see into his perspective. He thought of Mary who was in the same age-rage as Billie. Would she be mature enough to handle situations life threw at her? And how would he feel if someone his own age thought about her romantically? The idea made his jaw clench in that intimidating way. He considered Billie mature, but he knew little of her. What he did know he liked, and mainly, everything kept coming back to the two people personally involved. For whatever reason he felt he and Billie were an exception. Normal rules didn't apply to them, and once again he had the thought of something stronger pulling them together; that it was meant to happen.

"No," he finally answered. "I don't."

"There you are!" came Mary's voice. Billie had been about to ask why when her friend interrupted. She and John broke away from one another almost in a jump. Mary strode out the back doors and straight for them, her cheeks lightly flushed from all the dancing she had been doing. Her eyes drifted over both of them but her expression remained amused. "Really Uncle Jimmy, you don't need to do Billie any favors, she can get her own dance partner."

A small sense of relief washed over him that she wasn't offended or accusing. She didn't suspect anything beside what had been obvious, on the surface, or maybe the image of them had looked so awkward it was impossible to take them seriously. Either way it was preferable. "Yeah...yeah, I know...she was doing me a favor," he answered rather breathlessly in his playful manner.

"What are you doing here? No, I don't want to leave yet, I'm not ready," she answered for him, speaking fast and excited. Then, looking to her friend, felt the weight of her actions. Billie must have been bored if she were willing to dance with her uncle. "Just one more song? No, two. Two more songs?" she now asked her friend. Billie gave her a smile, so relieved she would have allowed her ten more songs.

A joyous little squeal left her, thanks being exchanged, and for one more time Mary disappeared into the building. They had a few more minutes alone together but the previous scare hung all around them still. Billie and John looked at one another, a large and noticeable space between them where moments before there had been none. She let out a small laugh, covering her face and taking a deep breath to shake away the moment. After he doing something similar things quieted and Billie glanced toward the building again. The last of the slow song was being played. Turning more directly to him she took a step forward. "Shall we finish?"

He grinned and closed the last of the space between them, taking her back into his arms. This time their dance position was much closer. Perhaps now they really felt in the clear, and their connection was more for their preference than the convenience to dance. Here there was less ease in the ability to look into each others eyes, Billie then having to strain when a few moments later she heard him say, "How 'bout you let me take you out to lunch?"

Her feet stopped completely. "What?" she asked in a startled whisper, forcing their eye contact. Had she heard him correctly? "Lunch...like a date?"

John was nervous. He hadn't asked with impulsive intention- he'd been thinking about the notion for days. He had done the asking rather abruptly, but he wondered how well he'd be able to in another moment, or when he'd get the chance, and the question had stumbled out.

"You...don't want to?" he asked, purely because he didn't know. Her eyes answered him before her voice did and he couldn't help but smile, enamored with the way she acted and how he could read her.

"No! No. I mean, no..." She had fallen from his arms and stood close, reacting expressively. He felt as though he had put her on the spot, put pressure on her, and wanted to take the stress away as much as he wanted her to answer. He didn't know how to do both and yet his mind told him to take action; to not allow this to become the moment he regretted or where things turned uncomfortable.

He reached out and lightly touched her hand. Almost automatically she let her palm fall into his and she took a deep breath, that alone helping on some level. He guided her, walking several paces away so that once again they were on the grass and he sat on the railing of the fence, she standing before him. He allowed her all the time she needed. With their hands still entwined she took a few breaths, letting her body and mind calm down. His question had sent her spinning.

"I don't not want to go," she told him, her voice in a whole new gentle tone. "I don't want you to think that. I just..."

"Are you scared?" he asked her, matching the low voice. He had asked because he felt the sudden tension in the air created out of instinct rather than sincerity. He'd asked because of everything they had been through previously and the unexpected emotions they had caused. She paused, overwhelmed in the moment that he had summed up the root of all her feelings. She didn't answer just yet but met his eyes, watching as for a moment his own drifted downward. "I am too."

It was an honest admittance and she could tell from his body language and the way he whispered. The hand each of them held was there to support the other equally. She shouldn't have been surprised he had acknowledged the heart of the issue; out of everyone he was the person that really did understand. Suddenly her mood turned forlorn, her blue eyes heavy. In her mind she had registered his question and though there was instant panic, next had come a blind kind of bliss, followed immediately by sorrow. There was no way she could and it was as if her dreams had come true but she was unable to attain them.

"I couldn't," she told him, starring into his eyes and now whispering also. "We couldn't. I would have to lie, and there's no way I would be allowed..."

He was aware that she didn't say 'shouldn't,' and her own want was obvious. To do so would put them both, but more distinctly her, in a difficult position. She was right; in order for them to date or spend any time together alone it would have to be built around a web of lies. They were both sure no one would be approving for them to do so openly. He started to become heavily depressed himself. Noticing the quick turn of events Billie remained holding his hand and sat on the rail next to him. John looked over, finding he needed her support more than he thought.

"You really want to go on a date with me?" she asked with wide emotional eyes. "A...romantic...date?"

For the first time then he showed a shadow of a smile. "Yes." He met her stare. "Do you want to?"

This is where she paused. Here she began the debate inside her head and her heart. They both wanted this, but how badly, and what were they willing to risk? He was getting heavy in the mindset that it would cost her too much, and he couldn't ask her to do such a thing. Weighed down with it, in those moments he almost didn't see any other option for them. It was Billie who let go of all the other things and when she said 'yes,' it covered more than one question.

He looked at her in wonder. "You want to? But-" and here he could have placed any number of worries or risks though she stepped in faster.

"Yes. I know. I know," she nodded, stressing the point. Then she got to deliberating, figuring her choice had already been made. "We won't be able to do it while I'm home without a good excuse..."

He tired to keep from grinning again. She was already working out the plans, taking on the prospect wholeheartedly. "We could go from here, from school..." he suggested quietly. After another moment of thought she had been through another idea, the pros and cons, and knew it was sketchy but could think of no other choice.

"We'll go while I should be in school. You can pick me up."

"Billie-" he started, and by his tone she knew he was going to protest or make her think twice, but again she stopped him. He thought of himself and how readily willing he was to skip school at her age, for any reason, but knew Billie to be a whole other case. His involvement with her was corrupting her already. Although, at a certain point it was her decision and reasoning, and while trying to make this clear to him he gave in without another argument. They already had too many of those against them. He realized, just as she was, that if they intended to go through with this fully both parties needed to be equally as willing and involved.

This was how they came to plan their first meeting. Come Monday, Billie would skip class at a certain time and John would be ready to pick her up. From there they would dine together and have her back at home when she normally would arrive. It was unseemly, risky, troublesome and downright senseless, and neither one of them could wait until that Monday afternoon.