All Out: The No-Longer-Secret Stories Of Queer Teens Throughout The Ages. Saundra Mitchell

from several mouths as Dee skidded off the rink floor.

      The sounds followed her like the bays of disgruntled spectators from the box seats, robbed of a show. An older, smarter girl would have been more inconspicuous, and then perhaps everything would be all right now. Dee could only wish to have that level of charm and sophistication.

      She wished she could be like Elizabeth Bennet. Her English class read Pride and Prejudice last semester. She’d loved the book so much she’d bought her own secondhand copy that she’d found in the Salvation Army store. She told Vince all about it, about how headstrong and clever Lizzie Bennet was, but Vince didn’t really care about old-timey English literature. Dee liked how independent and gracious Lizzie was. She liked the reserved and distinguished Mr. Darcy. She liked that their romance was driven by intellect, conversation and art.

      She liked that there was no kissing.

      She had never seen the appeal of kissing, not after MaryAnn had kissed her first boyfriend at the end of sixth grade and told half the block about it, not when Dee had had her first kiss freshman year, at one of Nadia Boone’s weekend basement parties full of beer and disco.

      That had been a whole year before Vince moved to town. Kevin Campbell was sweet, but the kiss had been messy and wet and Dee had been very miserably aware of every second of it. It had gone on forever, and not in a good way.

      Dee had giggled with Lori much too loudly about it not ten minutes later. She’d locked eyes with Kevin standing just a few feet away, realized he’d heard every word and she didn’t even feel bad about it.

      Boys had tried to kiss her after that. When they stopped her to chat in the halls, or leaned into her at parties, she always found some excuse to slide away and go hide between her girlfriends. None of them seemed to care that she’d laughed about kissing Kevin right in his face—not even Kevin. He’d even invited her to go to the carnival with him a few months later. They went together with their friends, watched other couples laughing hand in hand, arm in arm, and Dee had never felt so outside of her own skin.

      Lori and MaryAnn were into trashy romance novels. They devoured them like penny candy. They’d loaned a couple to Dee but Dee always cringed when it got to the steamy parts—or worse, she laughed. Those moments always took her right out of the story—and considering they were the story, she got taken out pretty quick.

      Was this what romance was supposed to be? Was this all there was? And if that was the case, why didn’t Dee want the same kind of romance as Lori and MaryAnn—and pretty much every other girl she knew? They were seventeen and already MaryAnn and Lori seemed to know so much more about sex than she did.

      One time MaryAnn had shown her and Lori a porno. They’d watched it at MaryAnn’s house late one night while her mother was working at the hospital and her dad was passed out in the living room with a couple of beers and the news still playing. They’d watched it in MaryAnn’s room with the volume turned low.

      Lori and MaryAnn had giggled and laughed and gasped, while Dee squirmed. Halfway through she’d got up to go to the bathroom. Instead she’d sat down with MaryAnn’s dad and watched NBC’s Saturday Night.

      She wondered if Lizzie Bennet would suffer through a porno. She couldn’t imagine it. She also couldn’t imagine Lizzie laughing about kissing Kevin Campbell (well, maybe she would) or leaving Vince Ramirez alone in the middle of the rink.

      Lori had suggested that maybe Dee wasn’t into guys. Lori wasn’t, and sometimes she linked fingers with other girls at the rink. Dee didn’t think it was about boys and girls. She didn’t know how to explain that she preferred to have no preference at all, and so she said nothing.

      “What’s with you, Dee?” Beverly Henderson had once asked her. “Don’t you like anybody?”

      Sure, she did. Dee liked plenty of folks, but she knew that’s not what Beverly was really asking. What was with her, dodging away from perfectly good boys in school hallways, grinning at them under the rink’s colorful lights and then skating away? Teasing them with full lips and long legs when she could be kissing them? Dee grimaced at the very thought.

      Later, she’d caught Beverly calling her a prude once in the east stairwell, but Dee didn’t mind. Maybe that was what she was. She didn’t know what else to call it. Maybe there was no word for the way she felt.

      Sometimes Dee tried to force herself to get used to the idea. She’d picture herself fooling around with Vince, kissing, letting their hands roam over one another. And she didn’t care. Weren’t you supposed to care? Weren’t you supposed to want it? Why have sex if you didn’t want to?

      It wasn’t just about Vince—it wasn’t really about him at all. It was about Dee. She was pretty sure she liked Vince—pretty sure she really liked him, but what did that mean?

      Why had she let go of Vince’s hand? Because she wasn’t ready for whatever was coming next. Because what if he wanted more? And what if she wasn’t interested in giving it? Because letting go of his hand had seemed like a better option than him letting go of hers—because that was what would happen. The future—their future—loomed in front of her like an insurmountable wall, and she wasn’t sure there was any way over it.

      As she made another lap, Dee looked across the rink to the low wall on the other side. Roger was off the floor again; a few more of his buddies had just arrived. She didn’t recognize all of them, but she recognized the one with a mop of curly dark hair, slim legs in corduroy bell-bottoms and a sports jacket he could practically swim in.

      He turned his head, and she felt it like a lightning strike when their eyes met. Lori and MaryAnn were at her side not five seconds later, and she had to commend their response time.

      “He’s not supposed to be here,” said MaryAnn. “I told Rodge—”

      But Roger looked just as surprised and embarrassed as her friends did now. “We didn’t know, Dee,” said Lori. “I swear!”

      Dee leaned away, and with the scrape of wheel on wood, she left them behind.

      She could leave. But she’d have to squeeze by Vince to do it. Then...she could wait, just until he hit the floor and then she’d skate off, grab her shoes and be out the door before he’d made his first lap.

      But she had left him that way once already. Her palm tingled at the memory. She had a feeling taking off that way again would sever whatever connection they still had. She’d be turning her back on the past year forever.

      She wheeled toward the lockers. Vince was doing a poor attempt at pretending he was talking to his boys. He was still watching and saw the look she gave him. And then he was separating from his friends and hurrying to put on his skates.

      Both her hands were tingling now. No, they were sweaty. Her body was warmed up from the lights and countless laps around the rink. “Jazzman” was blasting from the speakers, one of her favorite songs to skate to. As Vince crept up beside her, she used the familiar upbeat rhythm and Carole King’s soulful voice to give her strength.

      “Hey,” said Vince, so quietly under the music that it was easy to miss. Dee said hi in return.

      And then, silence...well, save the music from the speakers, and the sound of dozens of small plastic wheels turning around the polished hardwood floor, and laughter and chatter from every other person in the building. She had to say something, but every time she gathered up the words to speak, she felt the silence pressing closer and let the words go. The truth was, she just didn’t know what to say.

      “I should’ve said this sooner,” said Vince suddenly. “I just didn’t know how, and I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me. But I’m sorry.”

      “For what?”

      “For, you know, last time. For taking your hand. I should’ve asked first, asked if...if you were okay with it.”

      Yeah, darn right you should’ve, thought Dee, but she felt a pang of guilt, as well. The truth was, she couldn’t remember who’d grabbed whose hand first. And she couldn’t