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"I'm not worried about them," I said. "And I'm not a stupid kid."

He laughed and put his arm around my shoulders just before we entered the house.

The sight of us seemed to stop people in midsentence, or mid-laugh, or even in the middle of a kiss. There was a pause and then some cheers.

The girls gathered around me when Craig went to talk to his teammates, everyone talking at once. Suddenly, everyone wanted to be my friend, to give me advice about dating, about clothes and about boys in general. I felt like a foreign exchange student who was finally being accepted. With an amused smile painted on my lips, I listened and nodded but said little. One girl, Marlene Ross, either jealous of the attention I was getting or simply frustrated by my noncommittal nods and smiles, burst out with, "So why don't you tell us what finally brought you into the twenty-first century?"

Everyone was quiet, waiting for my response.

"Probably the same thing that brought you, Marlene, the union of a sperm and an egg. Don't you know about that stuff yet?"

There was a pause, as if everyone had and was still holding her breath, and then a roar of laughter that sent Marlene and her red face off to pout. Craig and his friends heard the commotion, and he came hurrying back to me.

"What's up?"

"Nothing. Just girl chatter," I said, suddenly full of self-confidence.

He raised his eyebrows, glanced at the other girls and then put his arm around my waist.

"Let's get something to eat and drink," he said.

A few dozen assorted pizzas had been delivered, and everyone flocked to the table. The boys were drinking beer mostly, but some had harder alcohol and the party began to expand out of the house, to the backyard where the Lesmans had their pool, now all lit. It wasn't really warm enough to swim, but I could see that before the night ended, a few would be pushed in or even jump in. There was already some horseplay going on with just that purpose in mind.

Craig and I stayed off to the side to watch, as if we had been sent by some newspaper to report on the behavior of some primitive tribe. The music was piped out to the backyard, too, so that the partygoers were dancing on the patio, I was nervous aga

in when Craig asked me to dance. By myself, sometimes up in the attic, I played tapes and danced in front of the mirror there, but I wasn't confident about my moves and rhythm. I knew we were still the center of attention, me especially, and it was impossible not to be selfconscious.

"You need to relax, Alice," he told me. "You're too stiff, uptight."

He suggested I drink some vodka and orange juice that had been prepared.

"Just a little can't hurt us," he said. "They're called screwdrivers. There's nothing like a nice buzz."

Except for the glasses of wine 1 had at dinner with my grandparents from time to time, my experience with alcohol was nonexistent. My grandfather urged my grandmother to let me taste the wine so I would learn my own boundaries in the house, rather than on the streets, as he put it, and she agreed. I enjoyed some of it but far from craved it.

The vodka was so well disguised in the orange juice that I was actually disappointed. Fooled, I drank more, and, after a while, I did loosen up, laughed more and. got into the music. I remember thinking, I'm having fun. Finally, I'm having fun.

When the first boy was heaved into the pool, Craig looked at me and whispered, "Maybe we should make a graceful, quiet exit. The natives are getting restless."

A part of me wanted to stay and see the silly behavior, but I knew he was being responsible and protective. I nodded, and we slowly slipped around the now boisterous crowd of partygoers and through a side door that led us out of the house. He took my hand, and we hurried through the shadows down to his car.

"Are you all right to drive?" I asked him. I was feeling a little dizzy, and I thought he had drunk the same number of glasses of vodka and orange juice that I had.

"Sure. I'm fine," he said. "The drinks weren't really that strong. I'm not that crazy about drinking too much anyway. I hate hangovers, don't you?"

"I never had one," I said. "I hope I don't have one tomorrow either."

"I doubt it. You didn't drink that much," he assured me.

We drove off. It wasn't that late yet, but even though my grandfather hadn't set down a specific time for me to be home, I knew he and my grandmother would be waiting up for me.

"Are you taking me home?"

"This early? It's not even eleven-thirty," he said. "Besides, I want to show you one of my favorite places," he added, making a turn and then speeding up. A little while after that, he turned into a driveway in the woods and we bounced over a dirt road.

"Where are we going?" I cried, laughing.

"Just a little bit farther," he said, and we came out on the edge of a lake. The sliver of moonlight from a quarter moon threaded through some clouds and sliced the top of the still water, drawing a gold line from one side of the lake to the other. He shut off the engine and nodded at the scene. "Well? Am I right or am I right?"