Debbie spots the new girl as soon as she walks into Home Ec on Monday morning. She stands out like a sore thumb—pretty, with blonde hair and ice-blue eyes, but sporting a black leather jacket and a scowl. In Debbie's hometown, girls wear pink or navy skirts and white blouses, little scarves, bows in their curled hair, which is frozen by copious amounts of hairspray. They certainly don't wear their hair messy and down, choppy as a storm at sea.
"Miss Ocean, if you would," Mrs. Brown says. Debbie walks up the aisle to her teacher's desk, dainty in her shiny kitten heels.
"Yes, Mrs. Brown?"
"This is Miss Miller," Mrs. Brown says, placing a hand on the small of the girl's back. The girl flinches automatically, shoulders hunching defensively. "She's new in town. I was hoping that you, as the head of your class, might be able to show her around."
Debbie nods demurely.
"Of course, Mrs. Brown. I'd love to." She thinks she hears the girl—Miss Miller—snort, and she can feel the flush rising to her cheeks.
"Go sit with Miss Ocean," Mrs. Brown tells Miss Miller, who doesn't even look at her, just picks up her backpack from the floor and follows Debbie to her table towards the back of the room.
Some students choose to sit in the back as a way of avoiding the teacher's eyes. For Debbie, it's a power position: she can see everything going on in class. She helps Mrs. Brown put out fires, both literal and metaphorical, and in return her teacher pretends she doesn't see Debbie doing her homework when she gets bored. Which is often.
Miss Miller clatters into the seat beside her. It takes an inordinately long time for her to adjust to the seat, as she wriggles around and stretches her legs, but when Debbie's sure the noise has stopped, she turns to her and smiles.
"So. When did you all move here? How are you liking it so far?"
Miss Miller is staring straight ahead, and Debbie can see a muscle working in her jaw. But after a few seconds, she turns her head ever so slightly, and her lips curl up slightly at the edges. She's not wearing gloss, Debbie notes, somewhere in the back of her mind. Her lips look soft.
"Do they always call you Miss here? Do we have to call each other that?"
Her accent is a soft drawl, voice just on the edge of husky, and Debbie feels her eyes widen.
"Where are you—"
"Australia," Miss Miller says, sounding bored.
"I've never met anyone from Australia. What's it like?"
"Too hot."
"Oh, wow," Debbie says, and immediately regrets it. She must sound so naïve, but she's never been out of the state, much less the country.
"And you?"
"What?"
"Where are you from, Miss Ocean?"
"I'm from here," Debbie says. "And—they usually call us Miss here, but it's not mandatory."
"Just customary."
"The teachers—" Debbie stops to think about her phrasing. "They value respect very highly."
"Ah," Miss Miller says. "Respect."
Debbie's staring at her lips again, which have curled up further into Danny might call a sardonic smile, and so it takes a moment for her to register that Miss Miller has stopped speaking.
"Yes," she manages. "But if—there's something else you'd rather be called, please let me know. You should feel comfortable here."
And finally Miss Miller turns to look at her, and stares directly into her soul with her piercing blue eyes. Holds her gaze for a few moments.
Then says, evenly, matter-fact: "Lou."
"As in Louisa?" Debbie says, eager to tell her about Louisa the cat who lives five doors down and across the street.
"No," Miss Miller—Lou—replies, eyebrow arching. "As in Lou."
Debbie smiles in spite of herself.
"Okay, Lou," she says. "You can call me Debbie."
"As in Deborah?"
"Whatever you like."
"Whatever I like," Lou muses, still looking directly at her. Debbie gets the distinct feeling that she's being appraised.
Or, no—assessed. Men appraise her, as though she were an object with calculable value. Her father, adding up her intelligence with her all-American sweetheart look, deciding if he can use her in the family business. Her brother, adding up her reputation as a good girl with her strategic mind, deciding if he can use her in his side ventures. Claude Becker, the football captain, adding up her beauty, her cheerleading uniform and her family's money, deciding to ask her out. Repeatedly, and endlessly, and uselessly.
Sure, she saw the way Lou's eyes swept over her when she first approached Mrs. Brown's desk, from her curled hair to her breasts to her legs, and she felt her eyes on her backside while they were walking to the back of the classroom. But Lou's gaze isn't that of a potential buyer.
Debbie isn't sure how to explain it, other than—Lou Miller has secrets. That she knows.
The question is whether she'll trust Debbie with them.
Mrs. Brown clears her throat and draws their attention back to the front of the room.
"Good morning, class."
"Good morning, Mrs. Brown," Debbie drones along with everyone else.
"We have a new student today." Mrs. Brown clears her throat again. "Miss Miller, would you stand and introduce yourself? Tell us about yourself."
Lou stands. Debbie hears a few snickers, presumably at her outfit.
"Hello," Lou says, in a monotone. "My name is Lou Miller."
More snickers, this time at her accent. Debbie turns her patented cold stare on the culprits, making sure they know she sees them. For the most part, they shut up. It doesn't quite satisfy the anger in her chest, but Debbie comforts herself with the knowledge that she can always steal a hair ribbon or two. Those girls squeal when they lose their hair ribbons.
She looks back at Lou, and there are two spots of color high on her cheeks.
"Where are you from, Lou?"
"Australia."
"What part?"
The muscle is working in Lou's jaw again, and Debbie sympathizes—as if anyone in this class knows anything about Australia, much less its geography.
"Canberra," Lou says, finally, as if it's being pulled out of her with a fish hook.
"Well, welcome," Mrs. Brown says. "I hope you'll like it here."
Lou just sits, crosses her legs tightly, and begins doodling in her notebook.
Today, Mrs. Brown explains, they'll be learning to make chocolate chip cookies.
"And then it'll smell so sweet in here," Mrs. Brown says. "Won't that be nice, girls? Just like home."
And Debbie didn't realize she was watching Lou draw, but suddenly Lou's hand is shaking, and Debbie instinctively touches her arm.
"Hey," she says, too quietly for Mrs. Brown or anyone else to hear. "You okay?"
Lou takes a few seconds to answer. Debbie half-expects her to snap at her for touching her like that, out of nowhere. They don't even know each other.
But then Lou glances up at her through her blonde bangs, and this time her eyes are soft and wet, and Debbie is struck by how young she is. How young they both are. They're dressed up like adults and they walk like they know exactly what they're doing, but they're only seventeen. Or so she assumes.
"Yeah," Lou says, voice a little scratchy. "I'm—yeah."
"It's okay," Debbie says. "I can't even imagine it. Moving all that way, and in the middle of the school year, too."
Lou nods, and lets out a sigh. They're both quiet for a moment, students moving around their desk, grabbing aprons and bowls and ingredients.
"How old are you?" Debbie asks finally.
Lou looks startled at the question.
"Seventeen. You?"
"Same."
In spite of herself, Debbie's lips quirk up, and then she's laughing. She squeezes Lou's arm so that she knows she's not laughing at her, and Lou smiles, tentatively.
"Come on," Debbie says, pulling at her arm as she stands. "Let's make some cookies."
After a week of sitting beside each other in every class, Debbie thinks she can safely say they're friends. There's really no other logical explanation for how they find each other when they get to school, and fall into step on the way to every class. She may have been assigned to show Lou around, but their school isn't very big; it's not like Lou would get lost without her. And she doubts anyone could make Lou do something she didn't want to.
They talk quietly in class and at lunch, where they go out and sit on the football field so they can sprawl out and feel the sun on their faces. They might be friends, but Lou is still guarded, and Debbie learns quickly not to push too far on certain topics. She knows that Lou's old school was much bigger and less conservative and that her parents moved them here for work, but Lou clams up whenever she asks about her friends back in Australia, or what her home life is like.
Debbie gets the sense that Lou's been on her own for a while, and she knows she should feel sorry for her, but she can't help but feel relieved. She's been on her own for a while, too.
Instead, they talk about music, books, games they played when they were young. Debbie wants to know everything about her, but she'll settle for her favorite flavor of milkshake (strawberry) and what kind of comics she likes (all of them, but especially Batman), and what kinds of things she does in her free time.
"Well," Lou says, sounding like she's picking her words carefully. She's leaning back on her elbows in the grass, squinting her eyes against the sun, and Debbie hopes she can't see just how intently she's watching the way Lou's lips press together when she's thinking. "Back at home…I spent a lot of time working on bikes."
Debbie blinks. "You mean…riding your bike?"
"Not exactly," Lou says. "Fixing them up. Building them."
"Wow," Debbie says. "I've never met a girl who could patch a tire, much less build a bicycle."
"Not bicycles," Lou says, and oh, there's the flush in her cheeks again. Debbie doesn't think it's just from the high noon heat. "Motorcycles."
"You can build a motorcycle?"
Lou sits up and begins pulling at the grass fitfully. "Yeah. Weird, right?"
"Impressive," Debbie says, leaning forward to press her hand against Lou's. "That's really impressive."
Lou stares down at their hands, and Debbie quickly takes hers away, afraid as always of alienating her by being too friendly, too intimate, too much. She feels the place where she touched her like a burn. A pleasant burn.
"Where did you learn to do that? Work on motorcycles, I mean?" Debbie asks.
"Some of the neighborhood guys taught me," Lou says. "They gave me the jacket, too."
"That's really nice of them," Debbie says. A thought occurs to her, and she doesn't want to ask but her blood is up suddenly and she has to know. "Is one of them—I mean, was one of them your boyfriend? Since—if you're wearing someone's—"
"No," Lou says, and she's still staring at the ground, and if possible she's even more flushed. "I don't have a boyfriend."
"Oh," Debbie says. "Okay."
There's silence for a few moments. It's awkward in a way that Debbie can't quite place. Not a bad awkward or anything. More—expectant. Tense, in a ripe kind of way, like a berry so full to bursting that it'll explode if she doesn't bite into it soon.
"I tried to get into the shop class here, instead of Home Ec," Lou blurts out suddenly. "Because I'm really good with tools, and building things, and all. But they wouldn't let me."
"Girls aren't allowed to take shop," Debbie explains. "It's silly, but—there it is."
"Because you're all training to be housewives?"
Debbie laughs, even though it's not funny. "I guess."
"Do you?" The question is hurried, as if Lou didn't mean to let it out.
"Do I what?"
"Have a boyfriend?"
"No," Debbie says. She's flushing a little bit, too. It's not embarrassment, exactly—she could have a boyfriend if she wanted. She supposes it's just funny to talk about it like this. Girls at school talk about boys and dating, of course, but it's usually more gossipy, talking about crushes when the boys are out of earshot. She's not used to someone being so direct about it.
"Why not?" Lou says, leaning back until she's lying flat on the ground and throwing an arm over her eyes. Her blouse rides up slightly, untucking from her trousers, and Debbie doesn't bother stopping herself from admiring the smooth skin, the curve of her hipbone, the gentle roundness of her belly.
If she could, Debbie thinks, she'd lie down on her side next to Lou, propping up her head in her hand, and she'd stroke that patch of skin with just her fingertips, back and forth. The way a river caresses a rock until it's soft and pliant.
"I don't know," Debbie says. "I don't really like any of the boys here."
"Here at school, or…"
Debbie shrugs. "As I'm sure you've noticed, this town isn't very big. Not a lot of options."
"Yeah," Lou says. She hesitates. "Becker seems to like you, though."
"Oh, him," Debbie says. "He's—persistent. But I don't want to go out with him."
"Why not?" Lou says again. "He's got money, doesn't he? And he's the football captain."
Lou sounds bitter, and Debbie wonders what for. Lou's family has money too, if they can afford to uproot and move to a whole new country; and she's seen Lou's shoes, her watch. They're not cheap.
Maybe it's the motorcycle. Claude has one, a shiny, noisy thing that he rides to school even though he lives only a mile away. He likes to pretend to be a bad boy, even though he bought it with his parents' money and he makes sure to never get grease on his nice white pants. Debbie's always thought he looked stupid riding it around town.
Lou, on the other hand. Debbie is absolutely positive that Lou looks good on a bike. The way her jacket would pull taut over her shoulders, her choppy hair blowing in the wind…
"Yeah, he's rich," Debbie says. "But I bet he can't build a motorcycle. I bet he doesn't even know how to fix one."
Lou remains perfectly still for a moment. Then she takes her arm away, looks up at Debbie, and smiles, a bright, sparkling thing that fills up her whole face.
It's the first time she's really smiled since being here, and Debbie hasn't ever seen a smile like hers. All the air leaves her lungs. She can feel herself blushing bright red, and her heart pounding in her ears.
It's so unlike her, she's startled. She's a straight-A student, a cheerleader, head of her class; and her family may not be willing to include her in their business, but she learned strategy and secrecy from the best. And yet, she meets this new girl and is ready to faint at anything. What is happening to her?
To prevent Lou from noticing or asking more questions, she throws herself down next to her. They look up at the blue sky together for a while. Debbie counts clouds silently, wonders if it'll rain later.
"For what it's worth," Debbie says after a while, when she's sure her cheeks are back to normal, "I'm glad you ended up in Home Ec."
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Lou turn her head to look at her.
And then she feels it: Lou's warm hand finding hers in the grass, linking their fingers together, and squeezing.
A month later, they're walking out in the meadows at twilight. They've developed a habit of meeting up after dinner, when their parents are watching TV, and exploring the edges of the town together. The parts where no one else goes. Where they can be alone.
They haven't had much time to talk recently—now that football is back in season, Debbie has cheerleading practice and games to attend, and the squad usually sits together at lunch. She doesn't have to join them, but if she didn't, people—well, people would talk. And Debbie Ocean doesn't care much for gossip, but she's all too aware of the power of reputation. She's staked too much on hers to be careless with it.
She's eighteen. A senior in high school, graduating with a 4.0 and a bright future ahead. If only she knew exactly what it looked like. Or what she wanted it to look like.
Her father made his decision long ago, and now Danny has, too. They're criminals, and they're good at what they do, and their empire extends—she's not sure how far, but at least a few states over. Her parents managed to build a stable existence, and she's sure that even if the police were to get close to catching them, they'd come up smelling like roses.
Debbie has no issue with any of that. What she does have an issue with is her father's reluctance to include her in his business. He won't admit to not thinking her capable, but she knows he'd far rather use her as a pawn, a bargaining chip that he can use to court potential alliances, maybe even marry into one. He's proud of her grades, but there's a reason he insisted she take Home Ec all four years. He does, in fact, want her trained as a housewife.
But Debbie has many interests, and marriage is not one of them. Or at least it's not the most important one. First she's going to get out of this town, and then she'll see what happens.
The whole thing is stressful, though, and she's grateful for these opportunities to get away with Lou, to walk and breathe the night air. Sometimes she feels like she's only really herself when she's with Lou. Everything else falls away, and there she is: the truth of her heartbeat pounding against her ribs, skipping a beat every time Lou's twinkling eyes meet hers.
They're walking up a steep hill lined with pines, admiring the small flowers that have bloomed only recently, white and yellow and blue; and Lou is pointing out constellations in the wide, starry sky.
"Where did you learn all this?" Debbie asks finally, pausing to lean against a tree and catch her breath.
Lou's quiet for a moment before answering. "My mother taught me," she says. "When I was little."
"That's nice," Debbie says. "When I was little, my mom taught me how to sweep because she was so sick of doing it herself."
Lou laughs, her loose, relaxed laugh, and Debbie sees her opportunity.
"Hey," Debbie says, choosing her words carefully, aware that she may only get one chance to ask. "You've never talked about your parents much. What are they like?"
"Um…they're fine. Strict. Kind of boring."
"Yeah?"
Lou gives her a look. "What else do you want to know?"
"Are you close to them?"
"Nope. You?"
"Not really. They don't, ah. I don't think they really want to know who I am. Deep down. You know?"
"Yeah," Lou says, and her voice is steady, but Debbie thinks she can detect something vulnerable and soft in it. "I know the feeling."
Before Debbie can ask any more questions, Lou looks around, spotting an overlook.
"Come on," she says, grabbing Debbie's elbow. "Let's go sit."
The overlook is rocky, with a small flat patch, and they squeeze in, thighs pressed together. Lou loops an arm around her waist for balance, and Debbie takes a breath before wrapping her arm around Lou's shoulders. They sit like that for a few minutes, just looking out.
"It's beautiful up here," Debbie breathes. "Well-spotted."
"Thank you," Lou replies, voice easy and quiet. In moments like these, it's easy to forget the tense, angry, frightened Miss Miller that Debbie met that first day, and she revels in the fact that she's managed to draw Lou out of her shell. She has a feeling that few people have managed it, and she treasures the honor of seeing her like this.
Debbie glances at her out of the corner of her eye. The moonlight catches her sparkling eyes, her elegant profile, and Debbie thinks she's never been more beautiful.
"Lou," she says. "What do you want to be when you grow up?"
Lou shrugs. "Not sure."
"You have to have some idea. Think."
"Not a housewife."
"Fair enough. Where do you want to live?" A horrible thought strikes Debbie. "Do you want to go back to Australia?"
"Truthfully, I don't know," Lou says. "I thought I did, but…I don't know if it'd be any better than here."
"Probably worse," Debbie says. "After all, I'm not there."
Lou laughs. "You make an excellent point."
She squeezes Debbie's waist, and Debbie looks at her, only to find Lou looking right back into her eyes. She hadn't realized just how close they were—pressed at the hip and shoulder, arms wrapped around each other, their faces are only inches apart.
Her eyes drop to Lou's lips automatically, the way they always seem to do, and she has just enough time to register how enticing they look in the moonlight before she realizes what she's doing and drags her eyes back to Lou's, only to find that Lou's staring at her lips, too, and then Lou looks up at her again, and her eyes are soft, just like they were that first day.
"Debbie," Lou says. Her voice is raspy. She clears it, as if trying to shake something away. "And you? What—what do you want to be when you grow up?"
Before she has time to talk herself out of it, Debbie brings her hand up to caress Lou's jaw, breathes, "Yours," and leans in and kisses her.
Lou's lips are as soft and warm as she imagined them, trembling slightly as Lou makes a noise in the back of her throat and pulls Debbie closer with the arm around her waist, placing her other hand in Debbie's hair and tilting her head to kiss Debbie more deeply, and Debbie can barely think, her whole body as light as a feather, as if Lou is the only thing tethering her to earth.
They kiss for a long time, stopping only to breathe and press their foreheads together for a moment, or to adjust their positions. By the time their lips are swollen and tender, they're lying down, Debbie half on top of Lou, and Lou shifts and passes her hand across Debbie's back to encourage her to rest her head on her chest. Debbie nestles her face into Lou's neck, pressing kisses to her collarbone.
"Lou," she says, because she doesn't know what else to say. Because Lou's name is the most beautiful thing in the world, and she wants to say it over and over again for the rest of her life.
"Yes," Lou murmurs, fingers carding through Debbie's hair.
"I like you," Debbie whispers, feeling juvenile, but it has to be said, Lou has to know. "I really like you a lot."
She can feel Lou's smile against her hair.
"I really like you a lot too," Lou replies, soft and sweet.
Soon, Debbie knows, they'll have to return home, brushing dirt off their clothes and coming up with a reasonable explanation for why they were out so late. But for now, she smiles, closes her eyes, listens to Lou breathe, in and out; and feels happier than she's ever been.
Football season ends and debutante season begins. Debbie considers it marginally better because at least she gets to spend her afternoons with Lou, even if debutante rehearsal isn't exactly their idea of a good time.
Like so many other things in her small town, it's not mandatory but customary; and the week before rehearsals start, Lou pretends to need convincing to participate.
"I don't know," she says, tapping her fingers together. "How do I know you're not just making this up to embarrass me? What if this isn't really a tradition at all?"
And Debbie kisses her silly, kisses her until they're both breathless and Debbie's almost straddling her, not quite but almost, and she can't think, can't see anything but Lou, and God, she wants—doesn't even know what she wants. Wants Lou so badly.
At rehearsal, they learn to walk elegantly down the stairs with a book balanced on their heads, how to curtsy deeply and apply lipstick perfectly, how to pin their hair up and smile graciously at their adoring crowds. Obviously Debbie has no interest in being declared eligible for marriage, but she secretly kind of enjoys the lessons. One day, they try their dresses on with full makeup and everything, and she feels like a princess. All the more so with Lou staring at her, mouth slightly agape, across the dressing room.
It's different for Lou, though, she thinks. Lou learns to do her makeup and hair same as the rest of them, and Debbie thinks she looks gorgeous, but she looks so uncomfortable in her dress and heels. She's always the first to get changed, wiping the lipstick off like it burns her.
And there's something else—the way Lou eyes the boys' tuxedos hanging on the rack, the way her eyes went wide when she saw them on their owners for the first time. The other girls teased Lou and asked who she had a crush on, but Debbie, lips still swollen from stolen kisses, knew better.
She asks Lou about it one day while they're walking.
"Hey," she says, brushing her fingers against Lou's arm, trailing them down to her palm, grabbing her hand for just a moment before letting it drop. It's still daylight, after all.
"Hey," Lou says, amused. "What's up?"
"You don't like dresses too much, do you?" She can feel Lou tense up, and she wraps an arm around her waist, pressing a kiss to her cheek quickly. "It's okay. I'm just wondering."
"No," Lou says. "I don't."
"Have you ever tried—something else?"
"Like what?"
"You know. A suit?"
"No," Lou says, a note of wistfulness in her voice. "I haven't."
"I bet it'd look good on you," Debbie says, and Lou gives her a look—sly, tender, heated. The one she usually only uses in private, because she knows how impossible it is for Debbie to refuse her when she looks at her like that.
Debbie withdraws her arm and deliberately moves a few steps away, careful to restrain herself before she does something too bold. "Minx," she grumbles under her breath, and Lou laughs, low and husky, and lord, how Debbie wants her. Wants all of her.
She doesn't know what that might look like, exactly. But she's eager to find out.
She pushes the memory away, now, forcing herself to return to the ballroom where she and Lou and the rest of the girls are standing opposite a group of equally uncomfortable-looking teenage boys. Today is a dance rehearsal. They already know how to do a basic waltz, but they've never actually practiced with partners.
"All right, young ladies and gentlemen," Mrs. Brown announces. "Find a partner, and find an empty space. Don't be shy!"
Debbie and Lou share a look, and Debbie taps her fingers against Lou's wrist before pulling away and stepping forward hesitantly. People pair up slowly, and Debbie loses track of Lou quickly as they both get swept up in the crowd.
"Miss Ocean," she hears, and turns. Claude stands in front of her, smiling, showing just a little bit of teeth. "May I have this dance?"
Debbie looks around, but doesn't see Lou. Almost everyone is already paired up, and she doesn't want to indulge Claude, but she does need a partner. For this one dance.
"Sure," she says. Claude grins wider and offers her his hand.
"Everyone ready? Good!" Mrs. Brown calls. "And a one-two-three, one-two-three…"
They move easily into the dance. Claude may be annoying, but at least he doesn't step on her toes, and for a few minutes, they rotate together.
Debbie begins to relax, figuring it'll be over soon, when she feels his hand on her back creep just a bit lower, resting just above her backside. Her eyes snap up to his, and he smiles, easy as pie.
"So, Miss Ocean," he says. "How are you enjoying the debutante rehearsals?"
"They could be better," she says tersely, temper rising.
"Oh?" he says courteously, as his hand continues down and rests on the curve of her bottom. "In what way?"
"Hands. Off," she grits out, jaw clenched.
He winks at her and keeps his hand where it is. Debbie narrows her eyes at him. So that's how it's going to be.
She brushes the hand currently resting on his shoulder over to his neck until she can press her thumb against his throat and leans in just close enough to whisper in his ear.
"Hands off, or I will knee you so hard that your balls will retreat into your stomach, never to be seen again." To drive the point home, she pinches her fingers hard against his neck, and he yelps quietly.
He gulps, and says, "Okay, okay," quickly putting his hand back up almost to her ribs. Debbie moves her hand back to his shoulder, still glaring daggers at him.
"…and one-two-three, one-two-three…done. Now, bow to your partners, please." Mrs. Brown moves among them, correcting bows and curtsies. Debbie dips low in a perfect curtsy, then stands, looking for Lou.
She finds her staring in her and Claude's direction, eyes lit with fury, and knows immediately that she saw what happened. She feels a shock of worry—what if Lou thought she was allowing Claude to touch her like that? But then Lou lifts her eyes to meet Debbie's and the expression in them changes to a protective distress, and Debbie knows that Lou understands.
Mrs. Brown finishes up her end-of-rehearsal speech with, "Thank you for another beautiful day!" and they're free to go. Debbie grabs her purse and books it, knowing that Lou is right behind her.
They don't talk for a few minutes, preferring to wait until they're out of earshot. They walk quickly, and Debbie finds herself leading them to a spot she hasn't shown Lou yet. A place she hasn't been in a long time, actually. But it's an especially warm day at the beginning of May. Perfect for new adventures.
Lou finally speaks once they arrive.
"Is this a swimming hole?" she asks, looking at the still water below them, and the waterfalls trickling in and out of the pool.
"Yeah," Debbie says. "My own private swimming hole."
"You own it?"
"No. I've just never seen anyone else here. I don't think anyone else knows about it. I found it when I was about seven, and I didn't tell anyone—not even Danny. It's my secret."
Lou steps up beside her and places one hand on her waist, stroking her jaw with the other. "Thank you for sharing it with me," she whispers, and then kisses Debbie for a long, long while.
When they finally separate, Debbie sighs and leans her forehead against Lou's, nudging their noses together. "I'm sorry," she murmurs.
"What are you apologizing for?"
"For—you know."
"That was his fault only," Lou says sharply. "You had nothing to do with it."
"I know, but—"
"No buts. He had no right to touch you like that."
Debbie traces her nose down across Lou's cheek, her jaw, before burying it in Lou's hair. They stand there for a while, just holding each other.
"Lou," Debbie whispers.
"Yes, honey?"
"I want you to touch me like that."
Lou inhales sharply. "Are you—sure?"
"Like that, and more. A lot more, I think," Debbie says, and gives her a hard, open-mouthed kiss to seal her answer. When she lets her go, she's gratified to find that Lou is already panting.
"Okay," Lou says. "Yes. I want that, too. Just—let me know if I ever do something you don't like, or if—"
"I will," Debbie says, stealing another kiss. "And you will too?"
"Yes," Lou breathes against her lips.
This time, when Debbie kisses her, Lou lets one hand slide down to rest on her backside, then squeezes. Debbie moans against her lips, and slips her hands up Lou's blouse just beside her breasts, and she can feel Lou's heart pounding against her.
"I was thinking—" Lou's hands come up to fumble with her bra clasp, and then she's cupping Debbie's breasts, and Debbie gasps.
"Yes?" It's like she can actually hear Lou smirking. She retaliates by slipping one hand into Lou's trousers to squeeze her hip and one into her bra to thumb at a nipple, and delights in the low moan Lou lets out.
"I was thinking…maybe we could go swimming."
Lou gapes at her for all of two seconds, and then she's undressing Debbie hurriedly but with a trail of kisses placed on each inch of newly bared skin, and Debbie is ripping her clothes off with equal fervor. Once they're naked, it's somehow both thrilling and overwhelming to be able to see all of Lou—beautiful, handsome, gorgeous Lou—and to have Lou's eyes on her, so Debbie steps into the pool, hissing slightly at the cool water.
She dives under, luxuriating in the feeling of the river flowing across all of her. She's never done this before, and she feels exposed but peaceful, at one with the world around her. She surfaces, then turns around to see Lou sitting on the bank, legs in the water.
"Come here," Debbie says, moving up to stand between her thighs, and Lou slides into her arms.
If she lives to be one hundred years old, Debbie thinks, she will never forget this. The way it feels to have Lou's body against her, real and honest and true. The sounds Lou makes when Debbie takes a pebbled nipple in her mouth, and when she lets her fingers dip further down to where Lou is warm and wet from something other than the river. The way Lou clings to her shoulders and begs her to touch her more and harder and deeper, and the way Lou looks when she comes: head arching back, cheeks flushed, soft lips parted to let out Debbie's name.
They explore each other for hours, until the sun is setting and the crickets are beginning to chirp. After Lou has caught her breath, she makes Debbie lose hers, first pressing her against the dirt wall of the swimming hole and nipping at her breasts while Debbie grinds down helplessly against Lou's thigh, then opening her up with two fingers and kissing her throat when she throws her head back, Lou's name echoing back through the forest. Then Debbie hoists Lou up on the bank and spreads her thighs, pressing a kiss to the juncture between Lou's legs, learning to lick and suck and dip her tongue inside of her until Lou is positively writhing, getting grass stains all over her skin. The water heats and cools, splashing erratically, as they christen the swimming hole, make it their own.
When they're finally sated and exhausted, they lay out on the grass to dry off, wrapped up in each other and grateful for the unseasonal heat. Lou strokes Debbie's back, and Debbie tangles her fingers in Lou's hair, nuzzling her neck.
"Lou," Debbie whispers, just as she has every other time something important needs to be said.
"Yes, my love," Lou murmurs back, and Debbie smiles like a fool against her skin.
"Will you go away with me?"
Lou shifts a little in surprise, but her hesitation only lasts a moment. "Where?"
"Don't know."
"I thought this was home. For you."
"If it's not your home," Debbie whispers, "it's not mine, either."
Lou kisses her, deep, lingering.
"When?"
"After we graduate. After the ball."
"How? We don't have a car. Or a motorcycle, for that matter."
"No," Debbie says, low. "But we know someone who does."
They make it through their last month of school with barely any time alone. Debbie's parents ground her after she comes home grass-stained and damp, having missed dinner with no notice and little explanation. She sits with the cheerleaders at lunch to avoid raising any suspicion, and afternoons are taken up with final rehearsals for the debutante ball.
To make up for the loss in private time, they hold hands under the table in class.
When it finally happens, the ball isn't as bad as Debbie feared. Lou looks brutally awkward in her fluffy white dress, and Debbie finds herself dancing with Claude at one point, but his obvious fear of her and the memory of what followed their last waltz keep the anger at bay. She checks the clock regularly, conscious of the hours ticking by. If her father has taught her anything, it's that timing is essential when executing a job.
Tonight's the night. The night they escape. The night they'll finally be free.
They decided it would be best to do it during a chaotic time, when their peers would be distracted with their own outfits and romantic entanglements and their parents would be busy getting drunk. Hopefully, they could be gone long before anyone else noticed.
Debbie catches Danny's eye, and he nods. She lets go of her partner and curtsies deeply, just as she was taught, and excuses herself. Then she hustles upstairs to the dressing room.
It had taken some time, but eventually she decided she had to confide in Danny. For one thing, he was supposed to be her chaperone. For another, he was the only person who might be able to convince her parents—and Lou's, though from what Lou's told her, she doubts they'll miss their only daughter—to not come looking for her.
Also, she needed to ask him for a very particular favor.
Lou is already holding it when Debbie arrives upstairs. She looks up, eyes wide and reverent, hands careful on the soft fabric.
"Is this…"
"It's yours."
"How—how did you—"
Debbie smiles at her love, so excited she's almost bouncing on her heels. "It was Danny's, but he outgrew it. Convinced him to give it to me. I took it in, so it should fit."
"Do you think we have enough time—can I—"
"Yeah," Debbie says. "Try it on, baby."
It only takes Lou a minute to shuck off her dress and heels. Debbie helps her with the stiff white shirt and bow tie, then holds out the jacket. Lou shrugs it on, and stares at herself in the mirror.
Debbie places her hands on Lou's elbows, rubbing her arms gently. "You look amazing. How does it feel?"
"Really, really good. A perfect fit. How did you know my measurements?"
Debbie winks at her in the mirror. "Careful observation."
Lou laughs and leans back in her arms. Debbie presses a kiss to her hair, and for a moment they look at themselves in the mirror.
"We make a beautiful couple," Lou says finally, voice a little hoarse.
"Yes, we do," Debbie agrees. "Shall we?"
In a few minutes, Debbie is back in her regular clothes, their things are packed, and their dresses are left on the floor. They stop in the boys' dressing room to swipe Claude's keys and helmet, and then they're outside, breathing the cool night air, watching the sun beginning to set on the horizon.
"Last chance to change your mind," Lou says, when they're balanced on the bike and her foot is on the stand, ready to kick off.
Debbie holds onto her waist tighter. Says, "I'm so in love with you, Lou."
"I love you, too," Lou says, hushed, reverent.
Then she guns the engine, and they're gone.
They've got a map, a couple hundred dollars saved up, and each other.
The rest will follow.