I felt like I’d been kicked. “Figures. What did he promise you?”

“Doesn’t matter. The point is, I like you. I’m glad I did.”

“I don’t need Paul to get me dates.”

“No, you don’t. I was blind. Paul opened my eyes.”

It is just warm enough to be outside, so Ron pops the trunk, extracting a blanket and a six-pack. We lie back on our elbows, drinking the beer, pretending to be fascinated with the stars. The beer isn’t cold and tastes like metallic water, but I sip from the can as if I enjoy it. A shooting star streaks across the sky.

“Oh! Look at that. Make a wish!” I point skyward, wishing my own wish.

Ronnie pats my knee, then rubs my back.

My star wish was that he’d kiss me. When he doesn’t, I kiss him.

*   *   *

I will always admit that I made the first move. But Ronnie Markham took things too far.

Ron Markham, not Ronnie, leans close to my ear now. The impression of softness disappears. “Did you know that your father came to me? Privately.”

“No.”

“Your father was a pretty big guy back then. I was taller, but he got me by the shirt and slammed me into a wall and told me in no uncertain terms that I’d better stay away from you. I told him the truth, that nothing had happened.”

“What do you mean, nothing happened? Something did happen. You wouldn’t stop when I asked you to.”

“I did stop before anything happened. But I was turned on and didn’t behave like a gentleman. I took advantage of your age, but your brother said…”

“What?”

“That you would. You know. Once I realized you wouldn’t, I stopped. Don’t you remember?”

I remember the feel of his mouth all over me, the weight of his hands on my skin after he’d managed to pull my shirt off. I remember tugging at my clothes, desperate to cover myself, the damp night air chilling me, and then walking to his car with his arm around my shoulder as if I needed help. I have zeroed out the rest.

I sat that night in the kitchen. I was sobbing. “Paul set me up.” Paul had slunk off as soon as I walked in the door, my artfully arranged hair tangled and my Flashdance top stretched askew, my mascara streaked. He’d taken one look at what he’d done and fled.

*   *   *

“He told Ronnie he could have me.”

“Shut up.” Adele stalks over to me. “He did nothing of the sort. You dress like a tramp, you get treated like a tramp.”

“I’ll have a talk with the boy.” My father stands in the archway of the dining room. “With Ronnie.”

“You will not.” Adele grabs the back of my head, twisting my face toward my father. “Are you willing to sacrifice your job for her?”

*   *   *