They sit against the chain-link fence of the tennis court, waiting for a ride, or for rain. They’re done playing - too hot, too tired, too bored - so they sit. And stretch their legs and compare tans, talk about boys and imagine future happinesses.
- I don’t think he’d be a good boyfriend. Do you?
- Yeah, maybe. A good kisser...
- Are you joking me?!
- What?
- You’re crazy.
- I dunno, why not?
- He’s still a boy, boy-ish. He wouldn’t know what to do.
- That’s ok. There are other things besides experience. Like being cute. And enthusiastic.
- Look at me. Yep, you’re eyes are all sparkly. Busted. You’re in love, for sure.
- Shut up, I can’t believe you...
- Ha, you’re such a princess. I’m teasing. Anyway. How bony are your knees?
She smiles, and rolls her feet on her heels, side to side.
- Pretty bony.
- Where’s your mom? I’m literally melting.
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