Page 74 of Something in Between

“What’s up?” Royce asks.

“My friend Millie told me that recently. That I need to build a support group. I can’t do it alone.”

“Great minds think alike,” he says. Royce hasn’t met Millie, but he’s heard all about her.

“You know what though? If I’m only going to be here for a little while longer, I want to make it count. Live it up a little,” I say, an idea dawning. Royce is back in LA, and we’re back together. We’re eighteen years old—what are we doing in this stuffy restaurant?

“Live it up? You? I can’t believe what I’m hearing.” Now he’s the one teasing me.

“Let’s get out of here. Take me somewhere.” I lean over and look into his eyes. I reach for his hand and slowly scratch a nail under his palm in a seductive gesture I never realized I was capable of making. Maybe it’s because I waited so long to kiss a boy, or maybe it’s just because it’s him. I think it’s because it’s him. Like Royce, I know what I want.

His face turns bright red, and he throws the napkin down on the table along with enough cash to cover the meal. No need for dessert.

Royce stands up. “Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know. How fast can you drive?”

* * *

Royce grins as I’m hanging on to the side of the car door for dear life. We’re going top-down in the Carrera. I’ve never been more attracted to him. This is it, I tell myself. Speed. The edge. Roaring curves. Mulholland Drive. This is a metaphor for life, and I’m completely trusting Royce with mine.

I embrace every turn, every leap of my stomach. Royce tells me not to worry—he’s had speed-driving lessons. I didn’t even know you could get those, but apparently you can if you’re rich enough.

“I can’t believe you’ve never driven fast on Mulholland,” he says. “This is me taking it easy!”

“Don’t take it easy,” I say, loving the wicked, dangerous thrill. “Go as fast as you can.”

“Oh, I will,” he says. I love the way he focuses. Eyes on the road. Carefully shifting and downshifting on the curves, then hitting the gears again so we’re really soaring. We’re going faster now. Faster. The car roars; it was made for this.

When he turns to me, his handsome face is full of joy. He’s totally lost in the moment, not caring about anything but the speed, the ride, wind in his hair and the speakers blasting Kanye’s “All of the Lights.” My heart is bursting for him. This is exactly what I wanted tonight.

The curves come faster, harder. If my parents were here, I’d never see Royce again. The car screeches on a turn and I scream at him to slow down. In my defense, I want to live.

He laughs and shakes his head. “No way! This is what you wanted!”

Damn, he’s right. Through the howl of the wind, I manage to squeak out a few words. “The city is so beautiful from here!”

He laughs again. “You want me to watch the lights or the road?”

I laugh nervously and nearly throw up.

“You don’t look scared enough!” he yells. “Maybe I should go faster!”

He’d better be joking, or I’ll kill him before he kills me, but I stay quiet, gripping the edge of my seat, taking in the dangerous, iridescent beauty of Los Angeles. Below us are cascades of city lights like swirling jellyfish in a sea of bioluminescence. I’m above the darkness and the lights on the swells of this road. I’m a little carsick, but I don’t tell Royce.

Somehow I know I need to feel scared. Somehow I know, that tonight, I need to feel everything.

* * *

He parks the car at a secluded spot, high on the hill, where we can see the whole city. We don’t say a word to each other. We don’t have to; we know exactly what we’re about to do. He’s breathing heavily and so am I, and as soon as he cuts the engine I literally leap into his arms, scooting over from my side of the seat to get nearer to his. With the top down on the car, I should be cold, but he’s so warm, and pressed against him like this, so am I.

We’re kissing now, our arms wrapped around each other, as if we can’t get close enough to each other, and we want—weneedto be closer. I tug at his shirt, run my hands underneath, so I can feel his skin, and I notice he’s trembling.

“What?” I whisper.

“I want you so much,” he says.

“Let’s do it,” I say, feeling so powerfully feminine at the moment, and my hand goes to his belt, and he tugs down on the straps of my dress, and I think, this is it, I want this. I want him. I want thiswith him.

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