Perfect. Part 27

He's probably been under lock and key, you know?

Conner Sykes, loose in the head? Yep, that makes sense. But even if it's true, why should I give a s.h.i.t?

I Guess I Don't Unless it means Cara shares whatever craziness gene he's carrying. I mean, maybe she's just a little confused. Maybe she could get help for that, and then there's still hope for us.

But how do I find out for sure? And even if I do, how could I ever suggest to her that her brain chemistry might be in need of adjustment?

Lots to consider. But not today.

Spring break. No school.

No game until Friday. Fresh powder on the mountain, I'm skiing. I've avoided it all season, worried about injuries. But what the f.u.c.k.

Can't live in fear of a fall.

I Don't Want To Ski Alone I called Kendra, but she's busy having an operation. Fixing the little b.u.mp in her nose that makes her face unique.

What's with girls, always trying to fix stuff that doesn't need fixing? Anyway, since she's unavailable, I did the unthinkable and invited Duvall to come along. He's annoying as h.e.l.l, but a fair skier, and for some lame reason, girls are attracted to him. Can't hurt to have him with me. Ski resorts are babe magnets. Maybe I'll hook up with a Cara stand-in.

Just something to play with until I win her back. Still have v.i.a.g.r.a left. Hate to let those little blue pills go to waste.

Rose Has Been Invaded "s.h.i.t. Check out the crowd. Lift lines are going to be impossible.

We should ski the singles line."

I watch three curvy pairs of Lycra ski pants walk by as we put on our boots in the top parking lot. Uh, yeah, agrees Duvall.

Easter week and all. Which means after next weekend this place is closing up shop.

Spring break is traditionally the last week for Mt. Rose, no matter how much snow is left on the slopes. "Too bad. Skiing will be great for a month yet."

Yeah, well, it is baseball season. You ready or what?

We clomp down a slippery road, skis over one shoulder.

Wait in a forever line just to buy our lift tickets. Glad I'm not here for actual exercise, although standing in five-year-old ski boots is kind of a workout.

Finally we're good to go.

"I haven't skied all season.

Lakeview good? I need to warm up." Duvall gives me one of those whatever looks.

Sure, dude. I'd rather ski with a girl anyway. He laughs, slips into his bindings, and trucks off toward the chair. And it takes until I'm snapped into my own skis to realize he just called me a girl. The little (literally) p.r.i.c.k. Under my collar, a warm seep of irritation crawls up my neck, toward my face.

From Here I can choose to go after him, show him how this particular "girl" could mess up a certain guy's face. Or I can forget it.

Try to remember how to ski.

I push off down a gentle slope toward the high-speed chair where Duvall stands, looking put out. Do I have to wait for you all day, or will you pick this up eventually? He's smiling.

Kidding. But I want to smash his freaking dopey smirk right through the back of his skull.

Deep breath. And another.

My blood pressure lifts like mercury in a thermometer.

Time to take a break from the 'roids. When this cycle is over, or I die of a heart attack.

Even The Singles Line Is slow. By the time I slide my b.u.t.t onto a chair beside three kids kicking s...o...b..ards, the bottoms of my feet hurt.

Time for new boots. At least this is a fast chair. It sweeps up the mountain until... thud...

it stops because of a problem above or below. To my right, the old, slow chair keeps on moving at a forty-five-degree angle toward a lower disembark point on the same run this one goes to. It crosses beneath us, and my ears catch the sound of familiar laughter. I scan the line of chairs.

Cara? I think it's her, buddied up with some girl. With a b.u.mp, the chair starts up again. Before I know it, I'm at the top, where Duvall stands off to one side.

I ski right past him. "Coming?

Or will I have to wait for you all day?" Down the short, semi-steep face, onto the flat trail that circles the resort, I reach for whatever speed I can, hoping to catch up to Cara. Duvall is right on my heels. Hey, man! What's the hurry?

Thought you wanted to warm up.

I don't even know why I want to see Cara. She'll only p.i.s.s me off. I've stopped by her house maybe a dozen times, but she won't talk to me, except to keep repeating, It's over, Sean.

Just let it go. I can't let it go.

Can't let her go. Sometimes I drive by her house, just to see if there is anyone there. Anyone else in her life but me. Sometimes I follow her, but the only place she ever goes is to rehearsals.

I know she still loves me, even if she hasn't forgiven me. Time.

There she is, up ahead. G.o.d, she's sleek as a dolphin, surfing snow. Who is that she's boarding with? The two turn down the mountain, and by the time we reach the trail they took, the girls are out of sight. I stop at the cornice's edge, breathing hard. Not sure I want to drop over this. It's d.a.m.n steep.

Duvall, of course, is up for it.

What are you waiting for?

Banzai! I pause for a second or two. But what can I really do, but tail the guy through the trees?

I'm Sure It Isn't Pretty But I manage to stay on my feet and avoid running into any obstacles. There are lots.

Trees. Stumps. Rocks. A few bushes, even, thinking it might be spring. Turn. Turn. Pause.

Turn. Turn. Pause. I think I used to be better at this.

Where the h.e.l.l did Duvall go? He can't be more talented at something than I am, can he?

Because that just isn't right.

Of course, if I didn't have to be so cautious, I could kick his a.s.s, on or off skis. Since I don't want broken bones right now, however, I'll pick my way to the bottom of this pine tree slalom course.

Finally it intersects a long beginner run where I can pick up enough speed to catch Duvall.

It isn't hard, considering he's waiting for me at the fringe of a small stand of cedars. He waves rather frantically for me to join him. Check it out, he says, pointing into the trees. Jesus, O'Connell, you turned her, like, gay. What's he talking about?

I lift my goggles, look hard at where his finger is aimed.

Two girls on s...o...b..ards...

wait. What the f.u.c.k? It's Cara, for sure. She's with that girl, the one with spiky hair, now frosted blue. They are chest to chest, and they are kissing. Not just kissing like friends do. Kissing like people who are in love do.

Andre

People Who Are In Love Expect certain things.

Time together, to learn all there is to know about each other. Falling in love can happen to complete strangers. Staying in love requires being best friends and that means accepting the person beneath the veneer. What complicates things is s.e.x.

Loveless, it's easy. Insert Tab A into Slot B. Enjoy what happens naturally. But under love's influence, the directions aren't quite so straightforward.

It is then, striving for perfection, you realize that all Slot Bs are not interchangeable.

When It Comes To s.e.x I was kind of a late bloomer. Not that I didn't know what it was, or think about maybe having it one day. At eleven or twelve, I started having all the problems young guys do, waking up sticky and sometimes turning into walking wood, wrong place, wrong time. Embarra.s.sing stuff. My first actual encounter was with an Oakland girl-one of Gramps's neighbors.

She was a couple of years older than me. Every guy should have an older woman for his first. She taught me every move in the Big Book of s.e.x. Guess she liked playing teacher.

I was fifteen. After that, I kind of got a taste for it, and let me just say, private school girls aren't exactly all prudes.

But none of them can come close to Jenna when it comes to doing the dirty. Part of it is because I love her, and love really does put a whole different spin on getting naked together. But Jenna knows more than that Oakland girl and my preppie lays all rolled up into one.

Without carrying a single iota of shame.

I have no idea where she learned what she knows. To tell the truth, I really don't want the details.

Enough to have her for my own, doing those things to me.

Hopefully, we'll be doing them tonight.

This Afternoon, Though I'm helping Liana teach a dance workshop for a bunch of underprivileged kids. Some of them are really young-like four.

First, I want you to see how the body is meant to move, Liana tells the group, who are sitting on the floor beneath the barre. Andre, will you please dance the jazz routine-the one to Coltrane.

She fires up "While My Lady Sleeps," superb cla.s.sic sax from one of the greatest jazz musicians of all time.

Beat comes first, and it remains steady under the sad song of the saxophone.

The music closes around me, and I draw it inside, a flowing current that my muscles float upon. Contract. Release.

I am the music, and the music is my body.

And when it stops, I come out of the trance that is jazz dance. If there is a G.o.d, he listens to John Coltrane.

The sound of clapping hands pulls me back into the studio. Lots of little hands. And some bigger ones too.

Shantell has appeared, like a backlit cloud reflected on still water. The look on her face is hard to read.

But then she smiles as Liana says, Okay, kids. Let's break up into groups. Shantell, Andre, help divide them up, and each of you take a group of ten or so.

Today is all about movement.

Let the music tell you what to do, like Andre did.

Awesome Day The kids are amazing, so eager to learn.

I never thought about teaching before, but I really love working with them. It makes me feel like I've got something to give, and I'm sorry it has to end. Guess we all have places to go, though. There's a chorus of thank yous as they leave, and when the studio has emptied, Shantell comes over. I really hate to say this, and have it go to your head and all, but you are an incredible dancer.

How long have you been training? She waits for an answer she probably doesn't want to hear.

"A little over a year. I started after we moved here to Reno."

As I suspected, she reacts with a scowl.

That's it? What made you decide to take lessons, then? Did you, like, wake up from a dream, doing plies?

G.o.d she's funny. "Not exactly. Actually, it was that TV show- So You Think You Can Dance. I've always liked street dancing. Used to do it some when we lived in the Bay Area. I saw this b-boy picking up ballroom and thought maybe if he could, I could.

I found Liana online, and that was straight from heaven.

She tapped something inside me I might not ever have found without her. That's my story. The end."

But She's Not Quite Finished With me. So what are you going to do with all that talent?

Go pro? You could, you know. There are- I stop her with a shake of my head. "No way my parents are going to let their only son make a living onstage some place. It was always just for fun. Dancers don't make the kind of money I need to be comfortable."

Now she looks totally disgusted. Money?

You can't be serious.

Dance isn't about money. It's about heart.

If it isn't, you d.a.m.n well don't deserve the gift G.o.d gave you.