Mimi nodded, and folded her end on a diagonal so that it made a triangle, then folded it again and again, getting closer with each fold. Ian held the end close to his chest so that she had to come right up to him. When she was about a foot away, ready to make the last fold, Ian tugged the flag so that she fell into him, the triangle squashed between them as he lunged for her mouth. Their teeth clattered together, and Mimi flinched, but she couldn’t step back or the flag would fall to the ground.
Her braces hurt his mouth, but Ian recovered and, placing his lips firmly on hers, began to suck. After a moment Mimi responded, sucking back so that they created a vacuum and a lot of spit, though she kept her mouth too tight for him to insert his tongue. She’s done this before, Ian realized—a thought he did not like much. He pulled away, though he had been enjoying himself and had begun to feel something, which he suspected she’d noticed. Taking the flag from her, he made the last fold and tucked the leftover cloth into two folds so that it held tight together, like the paper triangles kids made to flick across the table surface for table football. “You shouldn’t be doing that with others,” he said.
Mimi looked a little dazed, even frightened. “I haven’t.”
“You’re not a very good liar. You’ve kissed other boys—Philip, Charlie, Duncan, even Casper.” Ian was making intelligent guesses, and at least one struck home, though he didn’t know which. Mimi hung her head; it was starting to rain harder, spotting her face so that it looked as if she were crying.
“If you’re gonna go with me, you better not even look at those boys. Will you go with me?”
Mimi nodded.
“Then open your mouth when we kiss so I can stick my tongue in.”
“The girls will be coming from Mr. Brabant’s class—they’ll see us.”
“Nah. I’ve watched—they take forever to get out here. The flag always gets wet and Dee has to take it home to put it in the dryer. Come on.”
He put his mouth back on hers. When she opened up, Ian thrust his tongue deep into her, backing her up against the flagpole so he could probe her teeth, her cheeks, her tongue, pumping in and out. He pushed his hips into hers to make sure that this time she definitely felt him.
When they pulled apart, they were both breathless. Kissing her made him feel light-headed and, for once, free. The rope was dangling in the rain. Ian took hold of it, glanced around, then handed the flag triangle to Mimi. “Stand back. I’m gonna show you something.” Wrapping the end of the rope around his hand, he began to run, leaning out from the flagpole so that the rope was taut. Then he leaped, and swooped off the ground and out around the pole, then back in. He ran onto the ground again and then out and up—going around and around the pole. The rain fell away, Mimi, the school; all he felt was the sensation of flying.
When he lost momentum and came back down, Mimi was watching him, the flag hugged against her chest. Ian felt so good he decided to be generous. “Do you want to? Go on, it’s fun.” He took the flag back and handed her the rope. “Run fast, then jump.”
She hesitated. “Mrs. Duke might see me. Or the teachers. We’ll get caught.”
Ian snorted. “No one’s watching. They’re too busy learning about triangles. Don’t you want to?”
Mimi seemed to reach a decision, and suddenly ran and flung herself into the air, leaning away from the pole to swing around it, laughing as her feet left the ground. Ian had never seen her happier. He smiled, a quick, rare thing. When she stopped he kissed her again, this time more gently. They pulled apart just as Dee and Blanca appeared in the school entrance, to take down the flag. Dee gave them a funny look, clearly surprised to see them together, though Ian wasn’t sure she had seen the kiss. It didn’t matter. “You girls are way too slow,” he declared, sauntering past them with the folded flag tucked under his arm. Mimi followed, her face bright red.
Unfortunately Ian had been too slow as well, for the flag was wet, which he had gone out to make sure didn’t happen. Miss Lode squeezed the cloth triangle he left on her desk and frowned.
“Is that an isosceles triangle, Miss Lode?” he asked, hoping to divert her.
“Oh!” His teacher squinted at the flag. “I don’t know. But that’s—Jennifer, take it to Mr. Brabant’s class.”
“I can look after it,” Ian interjected. “I can put it back up when the rain stops, and take it down at the end of the day.”
“I would rather the responsibility remain with Mr. Brabant’s class. Now, go and sit down, Ian. That’s enough disruption for today.”
Ian kicked himself for taking the time to swing on the rope. That sensation had cost him his opportunity to gain another privilege—though he suspected that Miss Lode would always have deferred to Mr. Brabant.
—
The first bell rang on the playground and Ian grabbed at the bars of the merry-go-round to slow it. One of the boys riding was looking sick. Ian smirked and tugged a bar to speed it up again. “Ten cents to stop it,” he called to the boy, who nodded miserably. Ian dug his feet in so that the merry-go-round came to a sudden halt. The other boys ran off toward the class lines forming at the door, relieved not to be the focus of Ian’s attention this time. The unfortunate boy left behind stood still, shoulders rounded, head down.
“You pay me now,” Ian said.
The boy shrugged, eyes fastened to the ground. “Don’t have any money.”
“You should’ve thought of that when you were on the merry-go-round.” Ian stepped close to him. “Get back on. I’ll spin you till you’re sick.”
“I—I’ll pay you tomorrow. Promise.”
“Tomorrow’s no good. Now is better. What else do you have? You got any candy?”
The boy shook his head.
“Baseball cards?”
Another shake.
“Well, what do you have?”
Another shrug.
Ian riffled through the knowledge he had absorbed by watching and noting all that went on around him. “Give me the Hot Wheels you’ve got—the red Camaro.”
He struck home, for the boy began to search his pockets. “I’ve got a nickel. I can give you that now, and the rest tomorrow—or after lunch. I can go home at lunchtime and get five more cents.”
But Ian was already reaching for the canvas book bag the boy had flung next to the fence a few innocent minutes before, back when riding a merry-go-round seemed like something fun to do before school. Ian extracted a low red sports car with fat wheels that fit perfectly in the palm of his hand. It was still gleaming: clearly a recent acquisition. As he pocketed the car, he heard the boy mutter, “Chump.”