Almost Perfect - Brian Katcher [63]
Around me people swam, shouted “Marco Polo,” and attempted to feel each other up underwater. I just gazed at Sage. Could they be fake, press-on boobs? She wouldn’t dare swim with those on. They must be real. That bikini left little to the imagination, and besides, her headlights were on.
Maybe she had implants. But her parents never would have allowed that. I thought about asking her to talk in private, but there was nowhere we could go where she’d feel safe discussing this.
I floated in six feet of water, rotating to follow Sage like a navigational buoy. They jiggled like the real thing. She had love handles, but not the paunchy gut of a guy. When you didn’t take her height into consideration, she was well proportioned.
Tim attempted to get me to join in a game of water volleyball, but I ignored him. Cindy, the class president, tried to talk to me, but I blew her off. All I could think of was Sage’s sudden womanhood.
I didn’t approach her. The temptation to ask would have been too great. I saw her look in my direction several times, but she never came near. Finally, when she’d joined the other girls in the locker room, I started to leave the pool. It was then I realized I was sporting an erection, and I had to stare at Tim until it went away.
Tim played it cool until we had dried off, dressed, and climbed into his car. Then he hauled off and jabbed me in the ribs.
“Ouch! Christ, Tim, what did you do that for?” Tim wasn’t one for displays of anger. He’d usually debilitate an opponent with sarcasm.
“To knock some damn tact into you, Logan. Jesus.”
“What?” I couldn’t face him. I knew what he was talking about.
“Sage! If you’d glued your face to her cleavage, you’d have been less obvious. Lots of people noticed.”
I tried to pass it off as normal horniness. “C’mon, you’ve never sneaked a peek?” At a male friend’s breasts?
“Yes! Sneaked a peek! You were drooling over her like she was a garlic steak, cooked medium rare, with creamed spinach on the side. …”
“Yeah …”
“And some of those little potatoes, you know the kind, with butter and sour cream. …”
“Tim!”
“Sorry. Look, buddy, there’s no shame in looking. And I’m glad you’ve gotten over Brenda. But you know better than to gawk like that.” He started the car and pulled out of the lot.
“Yeah.” I couldn’t explain that I hadn’t been staring out of lust, but out of shock.
“One more thing. I know you freak out whenever we mention it, but why not just admit you like Sage?”
“Because I don’t!” I growled.
“Well, I’m driving, so you can’t hit me for saying this. You’re full of shit, Logan.”
I tried to ignore Tim. I rolled down the window, but it was too cold on my wet hair, so I rolled it back up.
“I don’t like Sage.” Why did I sound like I was saying I don’t have a drinking problem?
“What’s the big deal, Logan? Are you still hoping it’s going to work out with Brenda? It’s not.”
“I know that.” I wasn’t lying, either. In fact, I’d been kind of relieved when Brenda hadn’t shown up today. I didn’t want to talk to her.
“Then what? Embarrassed that Sage is so much taller than you? Get over yourself.”
“Tim, I’m going to say this, and then we’re going to drop it. Forever. Sage and I are friends, and nothing more. I guess when I saw her body today, I was kind of … surprised, but nothing’s changed.”
We were silent for the half-hour drive back to Boyer. I waited until Tim’s dust trail had disappeared before grabbing my bike and speeding off to Sage’s house.
Since Sage and I had become friends again, I used her condition as an excuse not to think of her as a real girl. Every time I noticed her smile, her legs, or her hair, I’d remind myself what was under her clothes. I’d mentally constructed a torso that would shame Bigfoot: covered with hair from neck to navel, muscular and scarred, brawny and macho. True, I’d actually seen Sage’s lower back and shoulders before, but I didn’t let that affect the picture in my head. I’d tell myself over and over that under those wild dresses and loud shirts lay the masculine, male body of a man, and that it was pure sickness to