Ron Taylor: High school hot pants

"I don't think I understand you, Jill," I said, realization starting to dawn, unwillingly, on me. "Didn't all that – didn't it happen?"

"Oh, you poor child!" Jill said, her eyes enlarging. "So that's why you didn't write to me! You read those letters, and you thought it was all real, and you – you – I bet you felt all left out and jealous! Oh, Didi! Couldn't you tell it was a goof? God, I larded it on so thick I thought you'd know!"

"I didn't," I said blankly. "It sounded real."

"Oh, come off it," Jill taunted. "You know damned well that it was only a scram! What else was I supposed to do when it was raining and drizzling and too cold to go on the beach? I sat on the balcony and made up a story for you. Just like the one you made up for me that day, remember? About you and me and Greg, you nasty-minded child! Of course, mine was longer and better connected. I wonder if I have a future in literature? Jesus, Didi, I thought you'd see through it right from the start. That was why I got mad when you didn't answer my letters. I figured you'd send me a few of your own little fantasies and we could at least share our hot dreams through the mail. God, can you actually see me doing any of those things I wrote about? The only person less likely for it is you, I guess. Let's face it, kid. We're both chicken, no matter how much we think we want it. But pretending doesn't hurt, does it?"

"I guess not," I said.

Jill stood up. "Here we are!" She handed me a rolled-up poster. "Your very own Fonz. See – I'm your pal, kid. I brought you home a man! Or at least the closest to a man we're going to get for quite a while to come."

"You know," she went on, "you really do look funny, Didi. It's your eyes, I think. They don't look quite right. Are you having trouble with them? God, I hope you don't have to get gasses! So anyway, how were things in Albany while I was gone? My letters were probably the only thrill on the market, huh? God, I can't get over how gullible you're turning out to be. Don't go to New York – or, if you do, watch out, because somebody will probably try to sell you the Brooklyn Bridge. Listen to me. I'm doing all the talking, as usual. Say something to me. Share the latest news and gossip, huh? Or has the cat got your tongue?"

She stood rocking on her heels, eyes blue and bright, her smile chipper and innocent, and now I really knew what she had meant by a twist ending. Jill suddenly seemed like a child to me, a winning, ingratiating, lovable child, but a child all the same. She was precisely what I'd feared appearing in her eyes. But I still loved her like a sister, and it I could help her, I'd do it. She had pushed me into becoming a woman, unintentionally, and the least I could do was return the favor. "Jill," I told her, "why don't you sit down again? I have a hell of a lot of news for you, and I'm not entirely sure how you're going to take it. So, if you're ready to listen…"