A geography test early the next morning forced Tara to bow out of TV night prematurely, leaving Dawn and Jenny alone on the sofa. They lounged for a little while, watching the first few minutes of the Monday night news. Onscreen, the silver haired anchorman teased a story about a major drug bust before jumping to commercial.
The screen disappeared with an abrupt flash.
Jenny had commandeered the remote. "What's going on with you?" she asked. Dawn failed to immediately answer. "Don't try lying. I know there's something going on. The way Jeff looked at you was so...weird."
"He just--he knows how to get under my skin sometimes."
And under my clothes
.
"It's more than that." Dawn and her plump, freckled best friend were so much alike; trying to hide her troubles was foolish. "When I told you about Jeff having sex with me you looked like you did when your hamster died."
"He's my brother and you're my best friend. Picturing the two of you together is more than a little
weird
." Dawn pictured them anyway. The sofa felt sweaty beneath her thighs. "What was it like?" The queer look with which Jenny responded made Dawn's cheeks burn. "Was he gentle or rough?"
Jenny's own cheeks went red. "Both," she confessed. "He was so big down there. Not huge, like dirty magazine huge or anything, but big enough." She giggled like a little girl. "It was so good, Dawn. So good I can't describe it. I would do anything to be with him again."
Jenny was no virgin; nevertheless, giving such detail was decidedly out of character for the plump girl. "God, you're starting to sound like Tara," Dawn said, adding a nervous laugh.
"You're starting to act like her." Jenny's brow furrowed, shrinking a set of eyes that were already too small for her face. "I saw you." The words stopped Dawn's heart. Why had she been so careless. Kissing her own brother was bad enough but doing it in the kitchen while her best friends were in the very next room was insane. "Who was she?"
She
? Jenny had seen her kiss Liza and not Jeff.
Is that better or worse
?
"Do you love her or something?" Jenny sounded more confused than concerned. "Are you a lesbian?"
"No," Dawn said. "God no. I like guys. She's just a friend."
"A friend? Is that what you and Tara do when I'm not around." Dawn grabbed a pillow and smacked Jenny's plump chest. That Jenny could still tease was a good sign. Her friend would not pry further.
TV night was resumed long enough to finish the news, then it was Jenny's turn to retire. Working at her mother's bakery had transformed her from a notoriously late riser. As she was fond of saying, "blueberry muffins won't bake themselves."
With her friends gone, all that remained was the cleanup. Dawn quietly climbed the stairs. She padded to Jeff's bedroom, her bare feet leaving small prints in the creamy shag carpet. She tapped on the door and waited. She heard him move around, shifting papers. The door unlocked with a
click clack
.
He smirked when he saw her. "Couldn't keep away?" He was tall and handsome and so hard to ignore, somehow she did, stepping inside without a word. The dinner plate, encrusted with dried pasta sauce, teetered on the edge of the computer desk; the dirty fork rested on the mouse pad.
This is all I came for
, she told herself,
just the dishes
. She pitched an empty soda can in the waste basket.
"You don't need to clean up for me, Mom." She hated it when he talked to her in his arrogant quarterback voice.
"I hope the spaghetti wasn't too awful." She tapped the fork against the plate, freeing red flakes of dried tomato sauce.
He quickly responded. "Actually, it was great. You're great--a great cook, I mean." The flattery was unwarranted; her cooking skills were extremely limited. Still, it was an uncharacteristically sweet thing for him to say.
Sitting at the desk, Jeff thumbed through a stack of crumpled papers. He squinted at the flat panel computer screen and tapped the backspace key several times. Dawn sat the plate on the bed and leaned over his shoulder.
"What are these?" she asked, taking one of the papers.
"Notes." He answered as if she'd just asked the stupidest question in the world. She squinted at the paper and saw that the notes were in his own handwriting.
Jeff took notes in class? He never takes notes
. "What is this word?" he asked, handing her a second page, "I smudged it with my pen."
The marks looked more like cat scratches than letters but she recognized the word. "Emancipation. You spelled it wrong, though. There should only be one M."
"Oh." Jeff reclaimed the page and resumed typing. "I guess spell check was invented for dummies like me."
"You're not dumb." While handing the paper back she touched his arm, causing them both to flinch. His skin was almost amber. She had forgotten how bruised Saturday's game had left him. "Let me get you your Tylenol."