Roderick unwrapped Megan's gift, a copy of Sense and Sensibility. Inside the front cover was a note:
Roderick,
Happy Birthday! I hope you like this -- it's my favorite book!
XOXOXOX
Megan
P.S. -- I'm sixteen, too.
Roderick paused to ponder the various aspects of sixteenness which, in his case, did not include the ability to drive Mr. Smith's 1958 Studebaker Commander. Which was OK, since anywhere you want to go in Beauneville is within walking distance, and if you want to go to Stapleton there is usually a parent willing to make the drive. Or you can take Beauneville Latin's bus, which makes the round trip each Friday evening for the weekly "bowling party".
The observant reader may note the use of quotes in that previous sentence. Suffice to say that the headcount of Beauneville youth on the bus headed for Stapleton greatly exceeds the headcount of Beauneville youth you can actually see on the lanes at the Stapleton Bowl-O-Drome. Mr. Snitwood, the bus driver, does not concern himself with the whereabouts of the others since, as you may know, the youth of Beauneville are not sexually active.
At least, most of them are not. Not frequently.
That evening, Roderick met Megan at the corner of Main and Fourteenth, by Zeppelin Drugs, where they boarded the bus. Roderick dressed snazzily, in his customary white button-down shirt, khaki pants and brown loafers. Megan wore a green armless tank top, greenish plaiddish skirt and sandals. Her curly red hair cascaded over her exposed shoulders and upper arms. Roderick noticed that her skin was quite fair and freckly.
He also noticed that Megan is bubbly and buxom.
In Stapleton, Megan and Roderick snuck away from the group and headed for the Riverwalk. "Snuck" is inaccurate -- actually, they just walked away, since Mr. Snitwood generally falls asleep immediately upon arrival in Stapleton, and none of the others cares a whit about the whereabouts of Roderick and Megan, except for those who consider it intensely interesting from a gossipy perspective -- as in "guess who I saw walking toward the Riverwalk with Megan Cupcake". Facebook lit up like a Christmas tree.
On the Riverwalk -- which is something of a misnomer, as it is nowhere near a river -- Roderick and Megan walked and chatted. Roderick learned that Megan's birthday is February 28, and that she is a Pisces. That makes perfect sense, he thought; Pisces: bubbly and buxom. Roderick likes Megan, because she is bubbly, buxom and uncomplicated. Her tastes in Chopin performances are problematic, but bubbliness and buxomness will trump that any day.
Especially buxomness. Roderick felt devilish.
Megan reached into her bag, withdrew a cupcake, and held it next to her face. "Would you care for a cupcake?", she mugged, and they both laughed out loud.
That name, thought Roderick. Awkward.
The Riverwalk is quite dark and secluded, which is why those who choose to separate from the group and head for it are frequently the subject of Facebook comments. Roderick noticed large figures in the shadows, who suddenly appeared before them, menacingly. "Hiya, Megan, why don't you dump your boy and hang out with me?" leered the biggest figure. It was Donny Clapper, together with his entourage.
"I don't think so", said Megan, with a toss of her head. "And kindly stop unbuttoning my shirt".
"C'mon, baby", said Donny. "Every girl wants to get it on with me. I'm the captain of the badminton team".
Roderick had to admit that Donny had a point, that indeed the captaincy of the badminton team bestows considerable prestige on its incumbent. Still, the man has no manners.
Megan reached into her bag -- Roderick expected her to withdraw another cupcake, which would have been simply perplexing -- but instead she withdrew a Glock 36 pistol and held it to Donny's head. "That's a Glock, it's loaded with .45 ACP rounds, and I know how to shoot. Unhand my bosom or your feeble and inadequate brains will be on the sidewalk"
Donny reluctantly withdrew his hand and slunk away. "Ice Queen!", he hissed.
"Creep!" Megan hissed back. She gestured with the Glock. Donny and his entourage scattered.
Roderick was impressed.
Megan returned the gun to her bag and snuggled up against him. "Isn't it a lovely night?", she cooed.
Meanwhile, Molly, who had declined Roderick's invitation to go to Stapleton that night, worked feverishly on the twenty-forth variation of the Diabelli. She paused when Mary approached.
Mary whispered: "Roderick went to the Riverwalk with Megan Cupcake tonight!" she whispered.
"Well, I hope he has a good time!" said Molly.
"You're not mad?"
"Why should I be mad? I turned him down. I'm working". And with that, the attacked the twenty-forth variation yet again. It continued to elude her.
In her studio, Natasha sketched Henry Witherspoon. Atlas? she thought. Hercules? No -- Adonis.
They paused for a break. Henry approached Natasha's easel. "OK, Natasha, let's switch now. You know...artist's courtesy".
Natasha wasn't familiar with artist's courtesy.
Henry explained. "Artist's courtesy is the unwritten rule of the arts community. I pose for you, you pose for me. That's how it works. C'mon Natasha, I posed for you, it's only fair".
Natasha blushed and clutched her shirt. "I..I..can't", she stammered.
Henry was upset. "What do you mean, you can't? I posed for you".
Natasha looked down. Her azure eyes welled up, as if she were about to cry. "I can't tell you!" she blurted, as she bolted from the studio and ran to the house, leaving Henry standing naked and bewildered in the studio.
Indeed, Natasha has a secret, a secret so dark she cannot tell Henry.
Shh, don't tell anyone, it's a secret.
