A/N: In answer to one reviewer's question, yes, some high schools did use to have student smoking lounges in the U.S., particularly in the southern states. Most of the smoking lounges were done away with by the 80s, but some lasted until the mid to late 80s. Smoking ages were set by the individual states and some had no minimum age, some had 16.

[*]

Tami and Eric had been making out for several minutes now, and the heat had begun to seep out of the turned-off car, but they'd done their part to fog up the windows of her Pontiac with some steam of their own.

Eric undid the top button of her blouse and then moved his hand to the second, but he didn't unfasten it right away. When she did nothing to stop him, however, he slid it slowly loose. Then the next button…and the next…and the next. He drew back and looked at her with her shirt open and her lacy, red bra exposed. "God, you're beautiful." The sun was setting, and it was growing dark, but not so dark he couldn't see her. She blushed beneath his admiring gaze.

He touched the naked flesh just above her breasts, where it had grown red, and then dipped his hand into her bra. He let one fingertip stray to a nipple. Heat jolted through her, but Tami drew out his hand and pressed it back to her bra. "Just on top."

"A'ight." He leaned in again, pressed his lips to hers, and began to feel her through her bra. She moaned against his lips. Tami wanted that hand back inside her bra, but she didn't tell him that. If she didn't put on the brakes a few feet before she actually wanted to, she was sure they'd keep sliding down that hill until they coasted to the very bottom.

[*]

"You're not going to last," Kimberley told her. "You're not even going to make it to prom."

Tami jerked the joy stick to the left just in time to avoid a ghost, and Ms. Pac-Man devoured a power pellet. "I will too," she insisted, pulling down hard and then left until Ms. Pac-Man had eaten the last four dots. They were sitting on Kimberley's living room floor, late Sunday afternoon, before the Atari 5200.

On the screen flashed Act II: The Chase. The Pac-mans ran across the screen in romantic pursuit until they kissed.

"I've never made it past Act III," Kimberley said. "What's Act IV? Divorce?"

Tami began the next round. "I think it's just more kids."

Blew-blew-blew went her dying Ms. Pac-Man as a ghost gobbled her up.

Kimberley started her turn. "I give you until April 15th," she said, "before you go all the way with him."

"Not happening," Tami insisted, even though the physical component of her relationship with Eric continued to surprise her. She hadn't expected that someone as seemingly reserved as Eric could make her fear she was not in control of her own desires. "I'm serious about this. I'm waiting until I'm at least 19, maybe 20, to have sex again. I should have waited that long in the first place."

"Wish you hadn't thrown it away on Mo?"

Kimberley didn't know about Boone, and Tami wasn't inclined to correct her. "Yeah."

"You won't regret it with Eric, though," Kimberley said. "Even if y'all break up, it won't be because he cheated on you."

"I'm still waiting until I'm older," Tami insisted.

"You'll be older in April."

"It can be done," Tami assured her. "People can date and make out and not go all the way."

"You don't have to tell me," Kimberley sighed. "I'm dating a monk." Her Ms. Pac-Man died. Game Over. Kimberley clicked the Atari off and pulled the cartridge out. She switched out the joysticks for the paddles and put in Ka-Boom and selected two players.

Tami started catching bombs.

"Isn't he getting impatient?" Kimberley asked. "I mean, Jack's a virgin. But Eric was used to having sex, right?"

"We talked about it. He's okay with it."

"Really?"

"Well he's not going to break up with me over it, anyway," Tami said. "And he's being good. He's patient but persistent."

"When do you have to go for dinner with his parents?"

Tami sighed. "I've put off two invitations. I can't keep doing that. I said yes to Thursday night."

"Mr. Taylor's pretty good looking for almost fifty," Kimberley said. "I saw him at a couple of the games. Mrs. Flannigan was totally checking out his ass. So was the Home Ec teacher."

"Oh, good Lord, Kim, please do not talk about Mr. Taylor's ass."

Kimberley laughed. "He's really fit. What do you suppose he does to work out?"

Tami shook her head. All of the bombs exploded on the game as she missed her last one.

"You could ask him at dinner," Kimberley suggested with a smirk. "If you're looking for conversation topics."

[*]

The Taylor's one-story rambler was about twice the square footage of the town-house-style parsonage and exceedingly tidy. There weren't a lot of signs of life, unlike in the parsonage, where her father's books were scattered, bookmarks inserted, in every room, where her mother's cross-stitch projects could be found lying about, and where Shelley's backpack and shoes were always in the hallway, ready to be tripped over.

The Taylor dining room sported classic, sturdy, cherry brown furniture. Two Thomas Kincaid paintings lined either side of the hutch. That must have been Eric's mother's doing. Tami couldn't imagine Mr. Taylor making such a sentimental choice.

Eric's mother waited on them, while Mr. Taylor sat king-like at the head of the table, not even offering a hand. Not that Tami's own father usually offered a hand unless prodded to do so by her mother, but Tami's mother did prod, sometimes with an iron.

For a while, Eric's mother carried the conversation, while his father observed silently. She asked after the Reverend, saying, "He looked very well this past Sunday," and Tami told her that his new diet and exercise regime (Mrs. Hayes was making him take long, daily walks with her) along with the medicine was helping, and that he was now back in full swing with all of his responsibilities.

Mr. Taylor spoke. "I didn't like that fellow who was preaching in place of your father while he was recovering. That man's sermons were so insipid. No substance at all. All popular culture. They weren't insightful like your father's. They had no literary or historical references whatsoever."

Tami raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you tell my father that literary and historical referenced didn't play well in a small – "

"- Have you heard back from any of the colleges you applied to?" Mrs. Taylor interrupted her.

Tami looked from father to his mother. It seemed Mrs. Taylor's method of managing her husband was appeasement and redirection. Tami thought her own mother preferred a riding crop.

"I got accepted to both UNT and UT-Dallas," she replied. The letters had come in the mail, one day after the other, earlier this week.

"Well, if you want to visit those two campuses over spring break," Mrs. Taylor said, "I'm sure Eric's sister Kathleen would let you stay with her. Her apartment is 30 minutes from UT-Dallas and about 50 minutes from UNT."

"That would be very kind of her," Tami said.

"Tami was also waitlisted at TMU," Eric added. She'd shared that bit of news with him at school this morning. His face had flickered between excitement and disappointment at the half-good news. He seemed to have really believed she would be admitted.

"A long way down the list," Tami reminded him.

"But the fact you made the list," Eric said, "probably means it should be really easy to transfer to TMU after your freshman year, if you do well. Which you will."

"Why would she want to transfer to TMU?" Mr. Taylor asked. "It's overpriced."

"It's a top tier school," Eric said.

"So is A&M, and it's half the price."

"Well I have a full scholarship to TMU, Dad."

"Yes," his father replied. "but Tami doesn't. And she isn't likely to get one, is she?"

Eric stabbed a piece of broccoli with his fork.

"Are those the only colleges to which you were admitted?" Mr. Taylor asked Tami. "Eric said you were an honor roll student."

"I am," Tami answered. "This year and last. I did okay my freshman year, but not quite honor roll. And my sophomore year…I had some struggles, and I didn't do well, G.P.A. wise."

"What struggles?" Mr. Taylor asked.

"Just…" Tami could feel the heat rising to her face.

"John," Mrs. Taylor said, "you remember that bad year you had, with the bar in San Antonio. It was probably like that. But you regrouped, and your next year your returns were exceptional."

"That was because a tornado took half the roof off, Janet. I don't recall any tornados hitting Rankin High."

"It was a bad year for me," Tami said. "And I made some mistakes. But I learned from them. That's a good thing."

"It's an even better thing not to make mistakes in the first place," Mr. Taylor said.

"Should we have dessert?" Mrs. Taylor asked cheerfully.

"Now that volleyball season is over," Mr. Taylor asked Tami when his wife had headed to the kitchen, "do you do anything besides work for your own father?"

"I study a lot," she said. "And I like to read for pleasure."

Mr. Taylor said his next words more like a command than a question. "The last book you read for pleasure."

"Uh….Christine."

"Genre."

Tami glanced at Eric. She wondered what it was like to live with this man on a day-to-day basis. Eric leaned toward her and whispered, "He wants to know what genre the book is."

"It's horror," Tami said. "It's by Stephen King."

"Synopsis," Mr. Taylor demanded.

"Uh…it's about this car," Tami told him, "that comes to life and starts killing people on its own."

"Cars don't come to life," Mr. Taylor said. "Why would anyone want to imagine they do?"

Mrs. Taylor returned with a pie in one hand and a stack of plates topped with four forks and a server in the other hand. Tami wished she'd volunteered to help her now. Eric helped take the plates off her hands and began passing them around.

"Well, it's a story," Tami said. "He's a good writer. Stephen King. What was the last book you read, Mr. Taylor?"

"The Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission's latest Industry Guide."

"Oh," Tami said. She took the fork Eric had just handed her. "Was that…interesting?"

"It conveyed necessary information."

Mrs. Taylor took charge of the conversation again, while Mr. Taylor fell silent. She asked Tami about school, her work at the church, her past volleyball season, her sister, and her interests.

When the pie was gone, and the dishes were cleared (Tami did offer to help this time, though she was turned down) and decaf coffee was served, Mr. Taylor said, "Tami, you should attempt to transfer to UT-Austin after your freshman year. UT-Austin has a superb academic reputation, but it's also a state school, so it's affordable."

Tami had thought about that possibility already. She knew she couldn't get in now, but in year? With an impressive freshman performance? She might. But she didn't want to admit that Mr. Taylor might have a good idea.

"It would still be near Eric," Mr. Taylor continued. "TMU is only thirty minutes from UT-Austin."

Did that mean Mr. Taylor expected them to be together in college? Had she somehow managed to receive his stamp of approval?

"What do you plan to do when you graduate from college?" Mr. Taylor asked.

"I'd like to be a therapist."

"Oh, how interesting," Eric's mother said. "What kind of therapist?"

"Maybe a family counselor," Tami ventured. "Or a youth counselor. I'm not sure. I'm going to major in psychology."

"That's not a very marketable degree," Mr. Taylor said. "You'd have to go onto grad school to get any respectably lucrative work in that field. You should major in computer science. It's the wave of the future. And you already know how to use a computer, even if it's only a Coleco. That puts you ahead of the curve compared to a lot of high school girls. I bet you could learn quickly."

"Tami doesn't want to study computer science, Dad." Eric pushed his plate aside. "She'd make a very good therapist. She's great at getting people to talk."

"So are bartenders," Mr. Taylor replied, "and there will always be a lot more job openings in that field than in psychology, I guarantee you."

Tami could see Eric was growing angry. "Dad, you think you know - "

"- So, Mr. Taylor," Tami asked suddenly, "what do you do to work out?"