"You planning on wearing your hair like that?" Clark says to George, with a slight chuckle as if the idea is more comical than anything else.

"Anything could happen," George says.

"How much time do you think that takes, for that length?"

"Depends how quickly it grows."

"Well, we like you just the way you are."

"Dad," Robin says, "how about making room for some expansion."

"Fair enough," Clark says. "Fair enough."

Robin tugs George on the arm. "George is staying over," he announces, and they move toward the stairs.

On the TV, Buckaroo Banzai is saying, "Wherever you go, there you are."

Ruby makes a sarcastic click with her mouth. "Profound," she says.

Robin looks to her, and she glances toward George, making his ascent. Without a sound, she mouths the words, "Sweet dreams."

They stand together inside the garish bedroom, the silver vertical lines making a kind of cage around them. George is staring at the single bed. "So, we flip a coin to see who gets the floor? Or should I just sleep on the couch downstairs?"

Robin takes him by the shoulders and pushes him backward. They fall one then the other onto the blanket. Robin drapes himself across George, feeling how solid he is, and how warm, and how the smell of his body is strong and familiar. Robin lowers his face, close enough to kiss. But George unexpectedly turns his head.

"What?" Robin asks.

"There's something else I didn't tell you," George says. "Yesterday at work, before I left early, that guy Matthias called the restaurant. He wanted me to come over again."

"Did you tell him you found someone better to have s.e.x with?" He makes sure George can see that he's smiling, though in fact he feels something like jealousy.

"I told him I was busy busy. Then I felt bad for not speaking up for myself. Because I wanted to say, 'I'm not interested in being s.e.xually colonized.'"

"They sure teach you a lot of big words at that Ivy League school."

George frowns, "You don't think I'm serious?"

"Of course you're serious. You're always serious. serious." Robin rolls off George, finding room alongside him on the bed. "Look, if a guy says something idiotic to you, sometimes you gotta just laugh it off. A guy like Matthias-just tell him he's an idiot. And that he's not much of a lover."

George seems to take this in. "I think it's more complicated than that."

Robin waits another moment and says, "At the risk of saying the wrong thing for like the ten-thousandth time this weekend-"

"Why hold back now?"

"You need to know, George, that you're turning into a babe. All those push-ups you're doing are working."

"Shut up. I'm a short black guy with gla.s.ses and no fashion sense."

"No, you you shut up. I'm telling you, you're gonna get a lot more attention. And some of the guys are going to be jerks. Racial stuff is part of it. But s.e.x is just like that. The way people treat each other, it's not always about respect. You should trust me on this one." shut up. I'm telling you, you're gonna get a lot more attention. And some of the guys are going to be jerks. Racial stuff is part of it. But s.e.x is just like that. The way people treat each other, it's not always about respect. You should trust me on this one."

"Well..."

"Well, what?'

George is quiet for a while, so Robin prods him to speak. "OK," George starts, pushing up his gla.s.ses. "Last night, you went back to your bed."

"What are you talking about?"

"We fell asleep together, but you snuck out and then you sort of tried to avoid the subject."

So that's it. "Your bed was too small," he tries. But George is waiting for more. "I didn't know that would bother you." "Your bed was too small," he tries. But George is waiting for more. "I didn't know that would bother you."

"It didn't seem very respectful."

Looking into the soft brown of George's eyes, Robin admits, "Last night stirred up a lot of feelings for me."

"So s.e.x has an emotional component for you," George says.

"Doesn't it for you? Doesn't it for everyone?"

"Even casual s.e.x?"

"That wasn't casual! casual!"

"Oh."

"If it was, you wouldn't be mad that I left your bed."

"I guess you're right," George says. "That's what makes it so baffling."

Robin realizes that he's starting to get worked up, that this is moving in a direction that scares him. He just wants everything to be all right. More than all right. He wants this to move forward, not to stop. He feels his heart thumping against his skin where he's pressed up against the bed. He feels like he might implode for all the churning in his blood.

Perhaps George picks up on this, because at last he moves closer, and rests his body against Robin's. Robin feels himself begin to calm immediately.

"If we keep having s.e.x," George says, "we can't let it ruin our friendship."

"Definitely not."

"Because what I want, is for s.e.x to make our friendship better."

"Me too," Robin says. He thinks: Better, yes. But it won't be the same. And we won't know what that means until we get there.

Later that night, the room dark except for last slanting ray of moonlight, Robin lies on his side, his arms wrapped around a sleeping George, replaying their words, realizing he's just had s.e.x, for the first time ever, in this bed, in this house. With George Lincoln. His friend, roommate, coworker, lover. Tomorrow they rise early and head back to Philadelphia, so Robin can get to work, can save his job. Can stay with George, for a while. The summer only lasts two more months, which seems like nothing and like forever, because they're on the verge of everything new. It's impossible to predict what might change during this next short window of time, impossible not not to imagine that everything could turn over, all over again. Right now there is just this: George sleeping trustfully against him. There is the security of that. to imagine that everything could turn over, all over again. Right now there is just this: George sleeping trustfully against him. There is the security of that.

For the first time in a long time, Robin falls asleep thinking, You're going to be OK.

The last thing he hears is the sound of the television clicking off downstairs. He hears his sister's heavy footsteps climbing the stairs. He listens as she pauses at the entrance to her bedroom, and right before the door clicks shut behind her, he hears that she is crying.

Acknowledgments.

A writer needs time and s.p.a.ce to create. For the gift of peace and quiet, and a table where I could set down my laptop and get to work, I thank these gracious hosts: Christine Murray and John Rossell; Vince Constabileo and Peter Howells; Lawrence Mendenhall and Rich Horan; Paul Festa and James Harker; and Maria Maggenti. And for allowing me to spend hours nursing coffee while I wrote, I send my appreciation to a long list of baristas in San Francisco, in particular Sal Flores at Jumpin' Java and Kevin Cheeseman at Maxfield's.

Various parts of this novel required research to come alive. For help with this, I thank Pat Kuchon, who gave me an insider's tour of Seaside Heights; Ricky Paul, for sharing stories of Philadelphia; as well as Joe Elwin, Monique Jenkinson, and Blake Woodhull, whose memories illuminated my characters and settings.

David Booth, Catherine Brady, Elizabeth Costello, and John Vlahides encouraged me through a difficult period of doubt, for which I can't say "thank you" forcefully enough; their attentiveness to my earliest drafts made all the difference. My grat.i.tude also to these friends and colleagues who read this book in ma.n.u.script form and responded quickly, with generosity and intelligence: Kevin Clarke, Rose Haynes, Dave Hickey, PJ Jones, Christine Murray, Will Rountree, and Sonia Stamm. A special thanks to Liam Pa.s.smore, for knowing just when and how to ping ping. I'm happy also to acknowledge my father, Karl, and my sisters, Karen and Kim, for a lifetime of enthusiasm.

My collaborative relationships with Jandy Nelson at Ma.n.u.s & a.s.sociates Literary Agency and John Scognamiglio at Kensington Books have been the foundation of my writing life for a decade. I offer my enduring grat.i.tude, respect, and admiration.

Finally, to Kevin: I don't know what I did to deserve you. You lived this along with me. All acknowledgment leads back to you.