Snapshots by Pamela Browning

suspicions, and if either of them woke up and found Martine soused, both of us would be grounded for weeks.
    â€œNot a bad idea,” I agreed.
    I preceded Rick into the kitchen, switching out lights as we went. Rick walked to the door, and I followed him onto the porch. A sweet breeze whispered through the dogwoods, trembling the blossoms on their stems. A mist of petals drifted through the air, sinking to join those that already blanketed the grass. The moon was a pale crescent floating through the night. The sky seemed not only alive with stars but with possibilities, promise and the excitement of being. I shivered, but not from a chill.
    Rick grinned down at me, and I recalled how we had danced and how being held in his arms had touched something magical inside me.
    â€œQuite a night, huh?” he said.
    â€œIt was supposed to be one of the happiest nights of our lives,” I replied wistfully.
    â€œThat’s the usual PR on proms.”
    â€œIt’s all hype,” I retorted.
    â€œAt least this one will be memorable.”
    â€œUnfortunately. Rick, thanks for what you did at the hotel. It was awful. I—I was scared. If it hadn’t been for you—” I stopped, tears filling my eyes.
    â€œAll for one and one for all,” he reminded me. His eyes were dark, his face silvered in moonlight.
    The three of us had an unwritten rule that we didn’t make moves on one another, but without realizing it, I’d been leaning toward him. Suddenly, I felt a kind of magnetic pull. A tug, an impetus so strong that I couldn’t resist, and as if he read my mind, Rick swayed toward me. My arms went around him, embracing bare skin. His enfolded me, and, as I had back in the hotel room, I felt protected by their strength.
    It was as if a dam broke inside me then, releasing all the terror I’d felt when Hugh had tried to rape me. I’m not sure what emotion was uppermost in my mind as I gave vent to my tears—grief for the loss of innocence? A new and inescapable knowledge of my own vulnerability in the adult world that I’d been so eager to join?
    â€œTris?” Rick said uncertainly, touching my face. “Trista?” His hand dropped away and he stared down at his damp fingers. I lowered my head and sobbed against his bare chest.
    His embrace tightened around me, and I clung to him, drawing on his strength, his support, his caring. Afterward, I couldn’t name the moment when my misery turned from pain to pleasure, when his comforting caresses became sexual in nature. I remember Rick’s heart beating beneath my palms, the roughness of his cheek against my temple, my astonishment at my own arousal. As my sobs stilled, my head angled back, and when my eyes met Rick’s, all the world was concentrated in his gaze.
    Our lips met tentatively at first, gentle, soft, tender, flavored by the salt of my tears. I’d kissed a lot of boys, but never one who awakened a longing in me. Kissing was just kissing, done for kissing’s sake, but not this time. Not with Rick. When our kisses deepened, when I realized that I wanted him to touch me in a way that no other boy ever had, I was truly shaken. But not shaken enough to call a halt.
    Instead, I moved even closer, pressing my hips against his, feeling his erection against the front of my dress. It was so different than with Hugh. That had disgusted me, but the sheer unexpected pleasure of this made up for that ugly scene in the hotel room. Being held by Rick cleansed me of any lingering distaste for an act that I knew in my heart should be beautiful, and in those moments, I wanted to make love with him. Wanted Rick to be the first. Wanted, more than anything, to give him something that I’d never given anyone else.
    His hand molded my cheek. Slowly, I raised my own and laid it over his, threading our fingers together. Then I guided his hand down along the curve of my throat to the warm hollow just above my