Lane watched him walk away, the wind mussing his dark hair and making his shirt cling to his back. She gazed at his broad shoulders, the curves of his shoulder blades, the way his shirt tapered down to his waist. Today he didn't have the wallet in the back pocket of his slacks.

The fabric was tight against his rear. The mounds of his buttocks took turns flexing as he walked. I notice things, too, she thought.

Then Mr. Kramer stepped behind a parked car.

Lane slid her key into the ignition.

Thirty-one

Lane knocked, opened the door, and leaned into her father's office.

"Jim'll be here any minute," she said. "Do you want to come out and harass him?"

"I'll give the kid a break tonight," he said, pushing a key to make his computer screen go blank as she stepped into the room.

"Writing more dirty stuff?"

"Yep."

Lane lowered a finger toward the "page down" button on his keyboard.

"Ah-ah!" He swatted her hand away.

"Aw, come on. I'm a big girl."

He looked up at her, smiling. Then his smile slipped away. "You'll be careful, won't you?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"I mean it. I'm not at all sure you should be going out tonight, what with this Benson character and everything."

"This isn't one of your books, you know."

"I know. It's real life, and that's worse. Look what happened to that Jessica girl."

"Riley Benson didn't do that."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Well, the cops let him go."

"Cops have been known to make mistakes, honey. And even if he had nothing to do with it, he showed himself to be violent in class today. And he threatened you. So don't pretend there's nothing wrong.

I want you to be very careful."

"I will be. And it's not as if I'll be alone. Nobody is going to attack me with Betty around."

Dad laughed. "Nasty."

"Inherited it from you, along with my allergies."

She heard the door bell ring. "He's here," she said. Bending down, she kissed her father. "See you later."

"Have fun. And I mean it, keep your eyes open."

"Righto," she said, turning away. "Adios."

She pulled the door shut and hurried into the living room. Jim was talking to her mother. He smiled at her. He looked handsome in his tan chamois shirt, corduroy pants, and sneakers. She realized she was glad to see him in spite of their frequent quarrels.

"Hi ho," she said.

"Lane," he said. A red hue colored his face. She wondered what had brought that on. Jim wasn't a guy who often blushed. "You look very nice," he said. She said, "Thanks." If he was disappointed, it didn't show. But Lane knew he couldn't be very happy that she'd worn tight blue jeans instead of a skirt, and a thick vee-neck sweater over her blouse.

She kissed her mother.

"Have a good time, you two," Mom said. "And don't stay out too late."

"We will and we won't," Lane told her.

Mom shook her head, rolled her eyes upward.

"Have a nice evening, Mrs. Dunbar," Jim said.

She thanked him. As they walked across the yard, Lane heard the front door bump shut. She glanced back. The porch light came on, lighting the entrance with a yellow glow.

Jim's car was parked at the curb. He opened its passenger door for Lane, then strode around the front of the car and climbed in behind the steering wheel. He inserted the ignition key but didn't start the engine.

He turned to Lane. "You really do look terrific," he said.

"I figured it's too cold for a skirt."

"That's okay." He was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Are you wearing it?"

"Wearing what?"

"You know."

Lane grinned. "Aren't you the guy who can spot that sort of thing a mile away?"

"Yeah. But the sweater." He reached out. His hand curled around the back of Lane's neck. She scooted across the seat, turned to Jim, kissed him. The hand on her neck slid upward, fingers pushing into her hair and easing her head forward, pressing her lips harder against his open mouth. His other hand closed on her right breast. "Yeah," he said into her mouth.

"Happy?"

"Yeah."

It was nothing like the gentle, accidental touch of Mr. Kramer's hand. Jim rubbed her breast hard through the sweater and blouse. His tongue thrust into her mouth. He squeezed her nipple. The pain made her squirm. She forced his hand away and freed her mouth.

"That's enough," she whispered. "Come on. We've got to pick up the others."

"Yeah, okay. Shit."

"You promised to be nice," she reminded him.

"I know. Just watch. I'll be great. I love you so much, Lane."

"Or at least my boobs, huh?"

A mean thing to say, she realized. Jim couldn't help it if they turned him into a sex maniac. After all, she thought, he's just a horny teenager.

"I love everything about you," he said, not sounding offended by her remark. "And I'd like to kiss you everywhere."

"Oh, man. Cool off, huh?"

"I'm cool, I'm cool," he said, and started the car.

Lane scooted across the seat and fastened her safety harness. As he drove, she gave him directions to Betty's house. "Henry'll be there, too," she added.

"I can hardly wait."

"You promised."

"I'm a man of my word," he said. "Do we have to sit with them at the movies?"

"Yep."

"God, the things I do for you."

"I'm worth it, right?"

"You know it." He reached over and squeezed her thigh. His hand stayed there, rubbing her through the denim. It felt good. But when he moved it higher, she guided the hand down to her knee.

"Behave," she said. "And make a left."

He made the turn onto Betty's street, and Lane saw her two friends standing together in front of the mobile home.

"Here goes nothing," Jim muttered. He stopped.

Lane twisted around in her seat and unlocked the back door for them. "Greetings, good folks," Henry said as he scurried in. "James, Lane. Sounds like a picturesque London Road. James Lane."

"Hiya, guys," Betty said, squeezing into the car.

"Hello," Jim said. He sounded pleasant enough.

"How's it going?" Lane asked, looking back at them.

"We're fine," Betty said. "What about you?"

"Great."

"Really?"

"Yeah," she insisted.

"Why wouldn't she be?" Jim asked, sounding a little annoyed as he made a U-turn.

"Oh, I don't know. Unless maybe it has a tad to do with a certain Riley Benson."

Lane felt her skin go hot.

"What about Benson?" Jim asked.

"Oh, nothing. Just that he jerked Lane out of her seat in English class today and hocked on her face."

"What?" Jim blurted.

"Christ, Betty."

"That's what Heidi told me, and she was there."

"Did he really spit on you?" Henry asked. He sounded concerned.

"Yeah." "Benson spit on you?"

"It's no big deal," Lane said. She had realized everyone would find out about it, sooner or later. But she wished it hadn't happened this soon.

"I'll kill the cocksucker!"

"I'll help," Henry said.

"Mr. Kramer already punched him out," Lane explained. "And he's being sent to Pratt."

"I'll send the fucker to Hell."

"Take it easy, Jim. Okay? My God, his girlfriend was just murdered.

He's having a tough time."

"It'll get a lot tougher..."

"It's no reason to take it out on you," Henry told her. "That guy's such a rectum. He always has been."

"That's right," Betty said. "He was a shit chute long before Jessica got her ticket canceled."