The memory had a nice second part, when Dean had mentioned that even the brief wearing of the jeans had turned his legs and underwear red. His best friends and I had been there as he’d recounted how concerned he’d been before realizing, and how the redness on his underwear had been worse where it pressed against the jeans, especially at the front. He’d described it as a clown-nose smudge on the front and his friends had been nearly falling out of their seats.

Even now, it put a smile on my face.

There were other memories too. Some from the same trip, others from other dates. He’d tried on a lot of jeans and to this day I could remember a pair where he had looked perfect: in profile, in the narrow waist and hips, the broad shoulders, the pert butt. He’d lifted up his shirt so I could see the fit, and I’d seen the thin trail of body hair leading up to his navel, his flat stomach, and the bones of his hips just above the jeans. Already warmed up by my laughing fit earlier, I’d worked myself up into a tizzy, the best words for it, and I’d maintained the tizzyness until twenty minutes later when we were cutting through the parking lot to the bus stop. I’d pulled him aside for a make out session.

I missed him so much it hurt, but the memories were happy ones and they were a good buffer against the bad night’s sleep. I kept my t-shirt and underwear on from yesterday and I went without a bra, pulling on a white sweater with too-long sleeves and a wide collar that left my shoulders bare.

The fit was snuggly and enveloping, as if the sweater itself was giving me a hug; kind of what I was shooting for when a not-insignificant part of me felt like I was five years old again, scared and wanting to crawl into bed with my mom and dad.

Set on putting the nightmare and the associated feelings behind me, I got some socks, underwear, sports bra, and a camisole top, stowing them in my bag where I already had my wallet. I pulled on some sneakers, sans socks, and headed to the balcony door. I eyed the clock in the kitchen as I passed it. Fifteen minutes to five.

I flew toward Cedar Point.

⊙

“You’re not wrong,” Jessica Yamada said.

I stared out over the water. There was something sinister at play with the team.

Crystal was out at the water’s edge now, leaning over the railing. Forcefields made a kind of table or tray for her to set her food down on. It drew the attention of bystanders, in a ‘look at that, how cool’ way.

“Double agent? Someone under the influence of another?” I asked.