Vivian looked down at the slinky tank dress that sheathed her. "Yeah. Why not?"
"Don't you think it's a bit small?"
"It's supposed to fit like this." The soft yellow dress clung to every curve as she crossed the dining room. Vivian smiled wickedly at the fleeting glimpse of her leggy reflection in the glass front of the curio cabinet. "Anyhow, it's hot out."
"It damn well will be, with you wearing that," Esmé said. "I don't want you giving that boy ideas - not a meat-boy."
"And you never give anyone ideas, do you?" Vivian answered.
Esmé looked as if she was about to grow claws but instead she asked, "Where did you get that ridiculous dress?"
"Your closet, Mom." Vivian grabbed her tiny best purse from the hall table. "I'm waiting outside."
She swept out the door and slammed it behind her. She imagined with pleasure her mother inside, fuming. Esmé wouldn't follow her, Vivian knew. She'd pretend that Vivian hadn't bothered her in the least.
Vivian waited on the sidewalk at the edge of the lawn. What if he'd changed his mind? What if he'd decided he didn't want to go out with her after all? She glanced down the road. What did he drive?
A blue sports car tore down the street, speakers blaring nightmare tom-toms at a thousand decibels. It didn't stop. Well, that figured. She couldn't see Aiden Teague in a Corvette, somehow.
Two other cars came down the road in the next seven minutes, and each time her breath caught in her throat, but each time they drove on by.
She began to have second thoughts. What if I can't act normal with one of them? What if he tries to kiss me and I bite him? But she couldn't go back in the house and face Esmé's smug looks.
Finally, an oddity made a left turn from Madison and chugged along the street, a giant yellow bug that squeaked to a halt in front of her house. Aiden removed his sunglasses and smiled lazily out the window at her. She consumed the beauty of him. He sported another outrageous shirt and looked rumpled and warm, as if he had just woken up. The thought of him in bed made her flesh heat and her fears dissolve.
"Like it?" he asked, patting the side of the car.
"Like it?" she said. "I'm not even sure what it is."
"Volkswagen Beetle," he answered. "Circa 1972. It sends my father right up the wall - not only is it imported, but it's the sort of car 'those damn hippies' used to drive."
She nodded in sympathy. "I like the dragon on the door," she said.
"Yeah, Jem did it for me." His eyes widened. "Hey, maybe you could paint something, too. You're an artist."
She stroked her lower lip and watched him watching her do it. "Maybe."
He grinned. "Hop in, we'll be late."
The curtain on her front door window dropped when she looked over. Nosy, nosy, she thought smirking, and walked casually around the front of the car to the passenger side.
The car smelled of banana and old plastic. There was a book called Witchcraft for Tomorrow on the floor. The seat groaned as it swallowed her, and her dress rode high. She wondered how she would ever get out gracefully when the time came. The look on Aiden's face as he gazed dreamily at her legs made her realize he hoped she didn't figure out how. Touch me, she thought.
"Are we leaving?" she asked, smoothing her hands down her thighs.
He blinked and paid attention to the wheel once more. "We've got to pick up Quince," he said as he ground the gears and the car jerked away from the curb. He cranked up the radio and she relaxed, happy to enjoy the sweet sweat of him, the light fur of his legs, and the way he flashed her smiles like heat lightning.
Quince lived in a brick rambler near the university. Vivian had to get out so he could jam himself past the folded-down seat and into the back. She swallowed a chuckle when he actually blushed at her leggy exit, but she wished she didn't have to share Aiden with him. She listened to Aiden and Quince yelling back and forth above the rumble of the engine and the roar of the music - who was going to the concert, who wouldn't be there - and tried to picture what was in store for her this afternoon.
The parking lots at the university were packed. Aiden finally parked on a field that had been roped off into temporary aisles. He took her hand, pretending to be casual, although she could smell in his sweat that he wasn't calm; then they followed the noise of the warm-up band until they found the outdoor arena. They wound their way around the patchwork of body-strewn, multicolored blankets laid on a gently sloping lawn, down to a semicircle of tiered stone seats that faced a stage laden with a confusing melodrama of scaffolding, wires, lights, and amps.
"There's Kelly," Quince yelled over the music, pointing to their left. "Keh-LEY!" he boomed, waving his arms above his head.
The small, dark-haired girl who'd been with Aiden at school waved back, and two other girls camped out with her on the top tier cheered. Vivian and the boys picked their way around the perimeter of the theater, trying not to step on hands or knock over bottles.
"Women!" Quince yelled, and flung himself upon the two nameless girls, biting necks and squeezing as they exploded in giggles.
"You remember Vivian, don't you?" Aiden asked Kelly.