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smoker?” Frank asks.
    Only Fred and Shirley
, I think, but I'm sure that's not what he means. Frank takes my chin in his hand and moves my head so I have to look directly into his eyes, but he doesn't hurt me or anything. I've never kissed a guy before, period, but I'm certainly not going to tell him that.
    “Like kissing an ashtray,” he says.
    Gross
, I think.
Thanks for the warning.
I wait, but Frank doesn't kiss me; he just lowers his face so close to mine I almost stop breathing. We stare at each other hard again, the way we did in the car, and now I can see he's looking for something, but what? Fear? I'm not afraid. Desire? He's the one who wants something. Frank is so close I can see a tiny version of my whole face reflected in his beautiful brown eyes: a little me in his right eye and a little me in his left eye. The last thing I want to see right now is myself, so I shut my eyes to wait. I don't wait long.
    “This your boyfriend's jacket?” Frank asks as he starts to unsnap it. Each snap opens with a little pop.
    “My brother's,” I say. “I don't have a boyfriend.” I spit out the word
boyfriend
like a gulp of milk gone sour in my mouth.
    Frank doesn't respond to this, just lays open the sides of Mike's jacket carefully, like he's unwrapping a birthday present. Then he unbuttons my sweater slowly, like we have all the time in the world, and that makes me want to scream. I'm wearing a black cardigan over a black T-shirt and when all my buttons are finallyunbuttoned, Frank folds back both sides of my sweater gently, as if they're two pieces of tissue paper covering something delicate. I keep my eyes closed while he's doing all this, but I can see him by looking out from underneath my eyelids.
    Frank is kneeling now and staring at me. I feel pretty ridiculous just lying here half undressed but I can tell that even though I'm right in front of him, he's not really seeing me. His eyes are blank, like he's thinking about something or remembering something or trying to make up his mind about something, but I have no idea what. I wonder if I should do something—I mean, what would a girl really named Vanessa do?—but I don't move. I just wait. The back of me is warm against the floor but the front of me is cold, and it's a strange feeling. Like sitting with your back to a warm campfire on a chilly night at the end of August on the last day of sleep-away camp.
    Finally Frank shakes his head a little, like he's coming back to life, and then he lifts up my T-shirt. I have to arch my back so it doesn't get stuck and then it's all bunched up under my chin and armpits so my breasts are exposed. Ta-dah. There they are. Under my JCPenney bra, of course.
    Frank doesn't touch me and I wonder how long he's going to just stare at me. I suck in my stomach while he studies me. I think he kind of likes me. I hope so, anyway. He seems totally mesmerized by my hooters, which is a good sign. I wonder if he wants me to take off my bra. I mean, am I supposed to be doing something here or what? Just as I'm about to ask, Frank leans down anddoes the strangest thing. He runs the tip of his finger from my right armpit to my left hip bone and then from my left armpit to my right hip bone, making a big X across my front. Like X marks the spot. And that's it.
    I keep lying there waiting for him to do something else, but he doesn't. And then after a minute, Frank gets up. He doesn't say anything, so I just stay where I am with my eyes half closed, still waiting. Then I hear the strike of a match and smell a cigarette, so I guess he's done with me.
    I sit up and pull my T-shirt down, button my sweater, and snap my jacket, doing everything Frank did, only in reverse. I still don't know what to do and I'm kind of disappointed. Is that it? Maybe Frank wanted to do more but once he got a good look at me, he didn't like what he saw. Maybe he likes his women skinny instead of flabby like me.
    “C'mere.” Frank's staring out the window and I get