Sara speaks again, so softly I can barely hear her over the music. “You know, the crazy thing is not just that I can’t figure out why they do it, but I can’t even decide what’s worse. To be so misunderstood that they don’t know we’re sexual? To be thought so pitiful as to need this kind of therapy? Or to be exploited for their kicks? Can you tell me what’s worse?”

I shrug. How can I know, when Sara, who has an answer, an analysis, for everything, doesn’t know? I stare at Sara’s feet dangling in dusty sandals.

The music stops, and the ceiling lights flash off and on. I look up to see Sue at the light switch, holding the door open. “Look out, everyone! She’s here, all dolled up.” Through the door comes Dolly, with Carole behind her pushing. I had forgotten all about them, but now I’m almost ill.

“WHO’S GONNA DANCE WITH ME FIRST?” Dolly squeals at the rafters. They’ve dressed her in a maxi skirt, slit up to the hip. Her drawn-up legs stick out of the slit entirely, leaving the skirt flapping limp behind them. High-heeled shoes are taped to her feet. I can smell perfume across the room.

“There, you see?” Sara says icily, “The impossible dreamer. That’s what they really want from us.”

Boy counselors crowd around her.

Hello, Dolly.

“Now that Dolly’s here,” Sue says, “none of us girls will get any attention!” Carole adjusts Dolly’s thin peasant blouse that has fallen off one shoulder. Three strings of love beads hang lopsided around the opposite breast. She’s wearing green eye shadow, lots of blush, and frosted pink lipstick that’s already smeared. Again the blouse falls off Dolly’s shoulder. Again Carole reaches for it, but then holds back, maybe realizing that her efforts may be not only futile but also unwanted.

The boy counselors try to outdo one another in outrageous flattery.

“Look at that sexpot!”

“Man, she’s really hot!”

“I can’t stand it! Yow!”

I search for a hint of sarcasm but find none.

One sweaty guy crouches beside Dolly and whispers in her ear. Long sentences. He whispers until she howls, and, as she howls, she writhes against the belts that hold her in her chair. I’m sure I am blushing. It looks like she’s having sex all by herself, with no touching required. Maybe this is what they want. They’re certainly encouraging it.

I need something to do. I have to stop watching. I am afraid the surfer guy will get into the scene around Dolly, and that would make me crazy. When a walkie-talkie guy asks me to dance, I nod yes right away, without even sizing him up. I jerk and jerk to rock ’n’ roll. CP makes it easy. I clench my fists. I don’t want this guy to take my hand. I don’t want him to touch me. I don’t want any of them to touch me right now.