The not-so-pretty girls were dancing with one another, or they sat waiting to be asked to dance. I noticed that no one asked the overweight ones, and the heavier of them were disinclined to dance with one another; maybe they thought dancing together would just call attention to how big they were. I saw Sally sitting by herself. Even when she was sitting down, I could see how big her boobs were and how tall she was. I knew I would come up only to her collarbones.

Our first dance was a slow one. I was slow-dancing at eye level to Sally’s boobs to “Old Shep” or “How’s the World Treating You?”—’56 was a big year for Elvis. A few of the cooler couples were quick to laugh at us.

“They’re laughing at us because I’m small,” I said to Sally.

“They’re laughing at us because I’m fat,” Sally told me, without hesitation.

“I don’t think you’re fat, but I know I’m small,” I told her.

“I know how to shut ’em up,” Sally said, pulling my head to her breasts and holding me there. This was when I got the idea of making out with her in my attic bedroom; this was also when the disc jockey decided to switch from slow Elvis to fast Elvis.

First my face was pressed against Sally’s boobs, and we were dancing to a dead-dog dirge; then Elvis was singing “Blue Suede Shoes” or “I Got a Woman,” and I was trying to hang on.

Fast-dancing with Sally was an exercise in staying out of her way. I soon realized Sally was intent on doing damage to the couple who’d laughed at us the quickest and the loudest. Sally hit the couple hard, mid-twirl, hipping them across the gym floor, where they fell together in a tangled heap. “Oops!” Sally said, twirling back to me. I realized she was more agile than she looked.

I liked her so much, I even introduced her to my mother and the little snowshoer—this was in the fall, before the ski season, of course. But there was nowhere Sally and I could have made out in Mr. Barlow’s faculty apartment; it was a small apartment in one of the academy dormitories. I would have had to bring Sally into the dorm, where all the Exeter boys could get a look at her. I was afraid of the comments one of those cruel boys might have made. I was brand new, as both a faculty brat and an academy student. Many of those Exeter boys were smarter and more sophisticated than I was. I felt I was an outsider among them.