But sex gets you what you want, Jane would say.
See, thing is, I go back to him, all … well, Jane, and I’ll be out shopping tomorrow for another host. It could get really old, really quick. Besides, what I want is to know the creature under the man with riotous sandy hair and seductive blue eyes.
Across the pit a small female voice, beside Jake, draws my attention.
“Jake wouldn’t do that,” she says, as the Indian girl sits down and snuggles up to a guy with bleached out swimmer’s hair.
“Why?” a creamy-skinned redhead asks. Her green eyes sparkle. Ringlets of curls cascade over her shoulders and almost reach her waist.
Her white skin pops in the darkness outside the circle of firelight. She’s beautiful, delicate, as surrealistic as a fairy—too dreamlike.
I ripple over the grass behind her like a smoke shadow billowing through a ray of firelight. Circling, I’m making my way toward that soft meek voice.
I’m rewarded when, barely heard over the crackle of the fire, she whispers, “Because we’re just friends.”
“Wake up, Hope!” says the guy who’d helped saucy-chick carry the cooler. “You’re going to be spending your birthday with Jake at a cabin in Ocala, with no electricity. That means no gaming. Satellite sucks and most of Ocala’s in a friggin’ dead zone, so no phones.” He looks at Jake. “And no phone means you can’t Hot Spot your iPad, bro.” He turns back to Hope. “So, tell me he doesn’t have it bad for you. No guy spends a week with a girl in a mosquito-infested forest in Florida, in August, even with electricity, unless they think they’re gettin’ some.”
Titters of excitement-driven tension erupt from the girls around the fire, and the guys beam with inexperienced knowledge. Their antics amuse me, but Hope entices me, and I move closer.
“Well, he’s not,” Hope softly says and blinks at Jake who pulls the collar of his tee up and into his mouth. “No one is, Jake. Not until I’m old enough to decide who I want to marry.”
“Hey, don’t look at me.” Jake’s words are muffled by his tee. “I get it.”
But the look in his eyes says he clearly does not. I feel my doppelganger mouth grin all the way up and into my horrid red eyes.
Everyone around the campfire snickers, hoots, or laughs, and comments fly.
“She’s the last virgin in tenth grade!” a kid with freckles and dark auburn hair says.
“Nobody waits until they get married, not even our parents did,” says a large boy with black hair and a small shadow of peach fuzz above his upper lip.
“How do you know?” the girl with dark hair asks.
“Gimmie a break,” the auburn-haired kid answers.
“I bet Jake is a virgin too!” a boy guffaws, and tosses a stick into the fire.
“Well, I’m not!” Jake howls, damp collar hanging limp around his neck.
I’m so close I can see the blush on Hope’s cheeks before she lowers her head and sandy hair falls across her face.
Hope whispers, “Jake, you know we’re only going together because our parents are taking us, right?”
“Sure,” Jake says as the circle of kids watch. “We’ve always just been friends, Hope. Always.”
“All right you guys, I’m going to pretend I did not just hear the word virgin … several times,” a woman says from the shadows.
Every teenager around the fire pit jumps at least two inches.
The woman with the motherly voice is standing just outside of the campfire’s light. As she moves closer, the natural beauty she carries reflects health and fitness. Her waist-length brown hair bounces over her dark tank top and reaches the waistline of a pair of jean shorts. They are fitted well, not skin tight, but short enough to show off a set of long firm legs and bare feet.
The woman looks pointedly at Jake, and says, “Or who professes to be, or not to be, a virgin.”
“Mom!” Hope croaks.
Hope’s mother doesn’t acknowledge her and, instead, turns to the large boy with the black hair and twelve o’clock shadow above his upper lip. “And just to clarify, Chester, I waited until I was married to Hope’s father, and should I ever find someone as special as he was, I would do the same.”
Her brown hair and green eyes catch firelight when Hope’s mom smiles down at Jake. She steps by him to enter the center of the circle.
She strolls casually in the direction of the cooler. “It’s nine o’clock. I promised your mothers I’d break this up early enough to give all of you plenty of time to walk home before the eleven o’clock curfew, and—” She bounces a finger at the group as she moves closer to the ice chest. “—I will be calling to let each of them know you will be on your way home at ten-thirty.” She glides over the grass, firelight shadowing her calf and thigh muscles, and stops directly beside the cooler. Leaning down, she flips opens the lid.