...providing.

In a manner reminiscent of that which angry lovers use
when spitting words towards one another,
she ingested them as she sang - intertwining music and melody with the simplest of phrases (yet ensuring they were coated in passion).
It's a shame those lacking the obscene abundance of talent
willingly on display before them,
chose not to acknowledge its presence.
But hey -- drinks are cheap, and girls cheaper.

Doing the whole chapter was tiresome.

IT is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single woman in possession of a great dress must be in want of a dancing partner.

Comedic break appears in Act IV: In Which Rainy Mornings & Maternal Wake-Up Calls are Equally Unforgiving.

Act I: In Which Our Antagonist Just Needs a Good Fuck

very quickly gives way to

Act VI: In Which Our Lost Little Girl Needs Loves, Not Lovers.

Sorry, sir.

Just because you surround yourself with remarkable women - possessing them for a time, taking what brilliant bits they offer, wearing the pieces you take from them like badges - does not mean you are at all remarkable.

Our young protagonists grow older without us.

At the annual Christmas dance - chaperoned by their teachers, who would put tape on the inner and outer sides of the changeroom doors (the gym being the only appropriately sized venue for prepubescent dancing at their disposal), thus ensuring that should some mischievous pair decide to sneak off (indeed, an ill-founded concern, considering it was a relatively infrequent occurrence) the faculty would certainly know about it, albeit after the fact when they went about to check their tapey handiwork - he snuck in a joint.

Unsure of what might happen next, thrilled by the possibility, she followed his lead. Squeezing through the doors, they burst outside. Together they took off towards the back, down a small hill and into the forbidden trees bordering the basketball court. She would giggle nervously, tweetering on the edge of something, learning she loved the adrenaline that comes with the possibility of getting caught, of being bad publicly. He would watch her reaction, relishing his ability to show her something new, something with the potential for great.

They'd smoke, inhaling improperly and not feeling the effects, killing them by over analyzing every thought, every feeling, every smell and sound.

Several spritzes of cheap body spray later (the kind young girls carry around in their purses when they are trying to act beyond their years, aging themselves prematurely but without enough floating dollars to do so properly. They always settled for the drug store name brand, which inevitably leaves 40+ girls smelling the the same.) they would return to the dance, catching one another's eye and bursting into that secret, special laughter of partners in crime, reveling in rebellion.

It would become habit, something to keep them close together at an age where feelings were peach fuzz and awkwardness ruled. Saved by this, an activity to fill the time left empty by conversation. Their mutual dependancy waning, she would practice naïveté in all matters drug, leaning on him, loving to watch him play teacher, knowing he appreciated her feigned innocence. It was in this manner that they would escalate. Him wanting to impress, her craving the ride.

...to get yer lyin, yella, no good keister off my property...

I've not the slightest inclination who had the audacity to disrupt my shower, but I am quite certain I hate them with a passion which can only be mustered from a small, partially damp, barely-Irish woman. The kind of scorn a lady usually reserves for Sega. My sins were barely wet, never mind scrubbed off.

"Don't threaten me with a good time."

The change was not dramatic. Rather, it was keenly subtle.
Bodies turned that extra degree towards one another,
eye contact held a few extra seconds. That goddamn eyebrow raising itself suggestively.
The jokes, the easy familiarity, the easier confidence, all remained the same.
Playing off one another, they questioned (inwardly) the arrival of new possibilities.
Pop culture references break up the lingering brushes of fingers that pass joints.
Giggles and changes in couch arrangements.
The braver (or hornier) of the two remains a vague mystery, though the onus falls to him.
Quiet heavy breathing, they get reacquainted.
Arm in arm, yet barely touching, mischievous and anticipatory smiles are all they wear.