Hoodie (27 page)

“I promise it won’t take long,” he cooed into her ear.

“For you or for me?” she asked.

“Well, I ain’t no expert lover yet, so prolly me,” he said truthfully, laughing lightly. “I ain’t even gonna lie. It’s hard sometimes holdin’ out with you.”

“I think you’re a fantastic lover,” she replied, pulling on his shoulder until he bent down. She kissed him on the cheek.

“A’ight then. Let’s go,” he said, tugging on her arm.

“I cannot be late for my rehearsal, Anton,” she said.

“Emma, I promise you won’t be late for yo’ rehearsal,” he said.

He looked at her in desperation. He had to have her or he would die. He could think of nothing else, the image of her naked body consuming him ever since their first time. And he knew she wanted him too. He could sense it in the way her body moved, how it responded to him when he stood close to her. It cried out to him silently, and he was determined to heed the call.

“Okay, but you promise,” she said.

He pulled her along with force pushing people aside who got in his way. He heard them curse at him, and he didn’t care. He had to get out of the building, get home to where he could do with her as he wanted. The urge intensified the closer they got to her car. He grabbed the keys from her hand and opened the door for her nearly shoving her in. He was on a mission with no time to delay. He drove them to his house perhaps faster than he should. And once there, he grabbed her arm, pulled her out of the vehicle, and forced her up the stairs to his apartment. She stumbled on the steps, but he held her up, gripping her tightly as though afraid she might run away.

There was no prelude. There were just his hands all over her, stripping her down to nothing, pushing her onto his bed. He told her to be quiet when she tried to speak. He didn’t want to talk. He wanted to fuck her quickly. And he wasted no time taking her hard, letting her squirm in discomfort as he took for himself. It was self-seeking and uncontrolled and terse. And he didn’t care.

He rolled off of her and breathed deeply. He noticed he did not even sweat. It had taken so little time. He felt like a typical teenage boy, inexpert and selfish. She had gotten nothing out of it, he knew. She was just the instrument he used to get off. He exploited her so blatantly and was bothered that he didn’t care.

He heard her giggle.

“What?” he asked, looking at her.

“Nothing.”

“No, you can’t do that. Just tell me,” he said.

“Did you get what you needed?” she asked. “I just want to make sure you got everything you needed.”

He grinned. “I’m sorry, okay? I told you it wouldn’t take long.”

“Could you be any more selfish?” she asked smiling.

“Again, I’m sorry. But I’m eighteen. What you expect?” he asked.

She shrugged getting out of the bed and dressing. He watched her.

“I know I was selfish right then. I know. I won’t be selfish the next time,” he promised.

“Next time?” she asked, buttoning her shorts.

“Oh, you funny. You know you can’t get enough of me,” he said stretching his arms overhead and then flexing his muscles. He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows at her. She rolled her eyes and grabbed her bag.

“You goin’ that quick?” he asked. “You don’t wanna cuddle or nothin’?”

She laughed brightly. “Cuddle?”

“Yeah, cuddle. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. You’re just weird. You drag me here all the way from school, rip my clothes off, tell me to be quiet, fuck me for two minutes, and now you want to cuddle?”

“Yeah,” Anton replied. He reached his arms out to her.

“Well, you’ll just have to cuddle with yourself because I’ve got to go,” Emma replied.

She leaned over and kissed his lips, fighting his attempt to wrap her up in his arms.

“Emma?” he said as she stood in the bedroom doorway.

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“I know you do,” she said smiling, and walked out the door.

***

She danced with complete abandon. She never felt so light and free. She could stretch her arms forever, touch the heavens and pull down the stars. She would give him the stars to keep in his pocket, she thought. They would bring him good luck. She jumped and laughed and drew giggles from some of the other girls. She felt high, though she never before experienced a drug high. But then what was she thinking? He was her drug, and she felt high on the dark, rich honey. Honey that matched the color of his eyes. She could drink him to overflowing and never be satisfied. She was filled with the honey even now; it coursed through her limbs—a powerful, exotic, demanding potion that ordered her to dance. And so she did. She danced.

CHAPTER 18

SATURDAY, MAY 8

His mama wanted to come too. At first he was hesitant, certain that she had some ulterior motive. She wanted to meet Emma’s parents, he thought, and that simply couldn’t happen. They had no idea Emma was dating him. And he was just fine with that. In fact, he was fine with Emma never telling them, at least not until they got married and had their first child. He figured that with a child, they couldn’t get rid of him then. But his mama promised that she only wanted to go to see the dancing. It was as simple as that.

“Since when you like ballet, Mama?” Anton asked, standing in front of her as she straightened his tie.

“I’ve always liked dance, Anton,” his mother replied. “Just ‘cause I never shared that with you doesn’t mean it ain’t true.”

Anton grunted.

“And I want to know her better,” his mother added quietly.

“I told you everything already,” Anton said.

“I’m sure you didn’t,” his mother replied, and he chuckled.

“I can tell she important to you,” Ms. Robinson said. “So is it alright that I get to know her a little more? Is that alright with you?”

“Yes, Mama,” he said. She pinched his cheek and he drew back rubbing his face.

“Why you always gotta do that?”

“‘Cause I love you,” she replied.

Anton grinned and grabbed the car keys off the kitchen counter.

“Does she know you goin’ to see her dance?” Ms. Robinson asked suddenly.

“Um, not exactly,” Anton replied.

“Baby, how you know she even want you there?”

“Well, I don’t know. But Mama I’m curious. I can’t help it. Her parents be talkin’ ‘bout how she so amazin’.”

“So lemme get this straight. You blowin’ off your friends on a Saturday night to see Emma dance when you don’t even know if she wants you there?” Ms. Robinson asked.

“Pretty much,” Anton replied.

“Well, you really do like her then, don’t you?” she asked smiling.

Anton paused for a moment before responding.

“I think I love her, Mama,” he said quietly.

“Baby, I already knew that.”

They left the tiny apartment for the community cultural center on the other side of town.

***

“You look beautiful!” Emma’s mother said. “How do you feel?”

“Nervous,” Emma responded. She scanned the dressing room.

Everyone was scurrying around, putting last-minute touches on their costumes, securing their hair with pins, darkening their eyes with kohl eye liner. A haze of hairspray permeated the room, and Emma’s mother coughed as a fresh wave assaulted her face.

“You better go now,” Emma said. Curtain call was in fifteen minutes. She was in the first and last numbers, as was tradition for the senior class.

Her mother leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek.

“Good luck, honey,” she said, and disappeared out the door.

Emma never felt nervous before a recital. But this one was different. Anton had discovered the show time information in her bedroom; he confessed when she asked him how a large smiley face appeared on the front of the pamphlet. And now she was panicked that he might actually show up. She tried to reason with herself. It was Saturday night after all. Surely he had plans with his friends. But he did say he wanted to see her dance. He was insistent until she made him promise he wouldn’t come. Surely he wouldn’t break his promise to her.

She could stand it no longer. She made her way to the side stage entrance and peered out into the audience. The lights had not yet dimmed. She scanned the auditorium, her heartbeat beginning to slow until she spotted him. With his mother! She felt the rapid increase of her pulse, certain that her heart would burst, and then she wouldn’t have to worry about performing for anyone. How could he do this?

“Psst! Emma!” called a fellow dancer. “Back here. It’s time.”

Emma moved into place, vowing to get a grip on her emotions. She would not let him distract her. She would not make a mistake. She took a long breath, listened for the music cue, and then burst onto the stage with the rest of her class. It was a lively dance—a jig—and as she moved, gracefully bouncing about the stage, she forgot all about Anton. She was performing this dance for herself.

Anton found her immediately. He leaned over to his mother and pointed her out amidst the sea of dancers. They were moving so fast, up down, up down on their toes. He remembered she called them pointe shoes. Her arms were so graceful, he thought. Her body sinewy and light. He observed her costume. She looked like a little Irish maid, he thought, then wondered how he even knew what an Irish maid looked like.

He could have watched her forever, and was sorry to see her exit the stage as fast as she entered it. The audience exploded in applause. Apparently everyone had been swept up in the dance. There was energy emitting from all around him, and he wondered how a dance could be so powerful.

He looked down at the program and realized he would not see her again until the end of the show. He felt he’d been teased, been given a small taste, and now he would have to wait an eternity to taste it again, taste her again. He hadn’t realized ballet was so sexy, or perhaps it was just her.

Anton’s mother whispered comments to him throughout the program. She seemed enraptured. These girls danced like professionals, she said. He was bored. The only ballet he wanted to watch was Emma’s, and he still had a dozen dances to sit through until she came out again. He closed his eyes and listened to the music, mostly classical. It was perfect to sleep to, he thought, the strings lulling him into a contented slumber.

He was nudged hard sometime later. He woke with a start. How long had he slept? Did he miss her?

“Anton, Emma’s number is coming up,” his mother whispered.

He straightened up immediately, rubbing his face roughly to wake up completely.

A low, mournful sound of a violin pierced the auditorium. The curtain rose gradually, and he saw dozens of girls lying on the floor. Their bodies rose slowly, arms lifting high overhead, reaching. Reaching for God, he thought. They were wearing all black, and as they stood slowly, Anton could see that their skirts hung to the floor, barely brushing it. They were barefoot.

He found Emma easily. She was in the front, long and lean as she stretched her arms high, her body so taut that he was sure he could count every rib. When he thought that she would die from stretching herself so thin, she let her arms fall to her sides, always graceful, always controlled. The girls moved in circles, following one another one by one like a funeral procession. They were the saddest people he had ever seen, he thought. These girls, rich enough to afford ballet lessons at the most expensive studio. How could they look so sad, he wondered?