“I’m all right,” he said. “Though, you know, you don’t hit like a girl.”

As soon as we got out of there, before we reached Lee’s van, I punched him in the upper arm. Maybe a bit harder than I had intended.

He staggered in a half circle. “Ow,” he said, rubbing the spot.

“Don’t ever spring a surprise like that on me again!“ I said, trying to be stern. The expression on Lee’s face made that hard. He looked startled and a bit guilty, like when I caught Wug chewing on some mail one day. And it wasn’t our mail!

“S-sorry,” he stammered. “Mom told me not to warn you. I thought it was kind of chickenshit, and I really wanted to say something.”

I rolled my eyes at him, but I knew for a fact that Mrs. Frick could be very persuasive. It was hard to resist her plans.

Lee opened the passenger door of his van for me and asked. “How mad are you?”

I held my hand up, thumb and index about an inch apart. Then when I saw him start to grin, I widened the gap.

He laughed as I climbed into the seat, and he stood there for a moment, grinning at me like a goof, before closing the door and starting around to the driver’s side.

I debated whether I should lean over and lock the door before he reached it, but he already had his keys in his hand, so I concentrated on not grinning myself and wondering if I really was as mad at him as I had every right to be.

He clambered into his seat with only a little awkwardness because of his leg.

I guess I may have looked concerned, because he paused in the ritual of starting the van to look at me and smile. “I’m all right,” he said. “Though, you know, you don’t hit like a girl.”

‘I hope not!” I said, my eyes getting a bit wide.

He rubbed the injury, still smiling. “That punch came from your hips, not your shoulder.”

He started the engine while I worked at not blushing… and failed.

“The only other person I’ve seen you punch like that is Jake,” he commented, putting the van in gear to pull through the circular drive back out on the street.

I blinked… because he was right. I did sometimes punch Jake in the shoulder, when he was being obtuse or thoughtless. Usually, hard enough to make him say, “Ow,” too. Why did thinking about that make me want to giggle?

Lee looked both ways before pulling out, then turned left to work his way out of the maze of country club streets around the golf course and lake, back toward the highway. He looked over at me when he finished the turn and said, “I thought maybe you were announcing that you wanted me for your boyfriend now.”

I frowned at him. “Next time, I’ll punch you in the ear!” I warned.

He laughed.

“I’m serious,” I said. “Punching people is not communication. That’s not how it works.”

He looked away, watching the road, but I could see the corner of his grin. “It isn’t?” he asked, as innocent as a four-year-old with a chocolate milk mustache.

“No, it’s not,” I insisted.

“You stopped punching Jake when you started dating Megan,” he pointed out.

I swallowed a gasp and started watching the road myself. Had everyone known Megan and I were dating? Well, I guess so. We hadn’t tried to hide it. Did everyone think we were lesbians now?

Wait….
“You didn’t punch Megan in the arm, did you?” Lee asked, as if it were a totally natural question.

“Well, no,” I admitted. “Uh, she punched me.” Well, she had, once or twice over the last few months. But not in the last two weeks….

“But you two aren’t together anymore?”

“No,” I said, my voice feeling small.

Lee reached across the center console and took my hand in his. He squeezed gently, and I guess I squeezed back. “And now, you’ve punched me. Tag, I’m it.”

I looked at him through my eyelashes. “You’re a big goof,” I announced.

“But, apparently,” he said with a goofy grin, “I’m your goof, if you want me to be.”

“It’s only one date to go to the movies,” I protested. Oh, shit, it was a date, wasn’t it?

“For now,” said Lee. “It’s enough for now.”

“Better be,” I muttered. “Or you will be getting one upside your ear.”

He laughed out loud, and I felt him squeeze my hand.

I squeezed back just to keep from giggling. “You’re supposed to be shy!” I complained.

“That? Oh, that’s just an act,” he said.

I wanted to punch him again, but he was driving.

*

We meandered off the highland around the artificial lake down to the highway, and Lee surprised me by turning left.

“Where the heck are we going?” I asked after grabbing the handhold above the window when the van leaned in the opposite direction to the one I expected. “The drive-in is north of town.”

“We’d be way too early. The feature doesn’t start until after sundown,” he pointed out. “And Mom gave us a gift certificate to The Roosevelt.”

“Holy shit,” I said, caught by surprise. The Roosevelt Inn was a fancy boutique hotel and restaurant built as a lodge for some president, I forget which one. It was above another man-made lake named after the same guy, and I had almost driven out to it just this morning, U-turning around right at the crossroad while I was wasting time trying to think. Lost cause.

“They have better things on the menu,” Lee said, proving my point.

“Huh?” I almost yelped. “Wait, wait! That’s a fancy place, and I’m just wearing denim jeans!”

Lee laughed. “You wanna go home and change first? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a skirt.”

“You haven’t!” I assured him.

“Eighth-grade graduation?” he suggested. “All the girls wore their prettiest dresses then.”

“Not me,” I informed him— but inwardly I wondered. Everyone seemed to have memories of me as a girl. And I couldn’t be sure anymore. What happened to reality? I think I missed my stop.

“But don’t worry,” Lee said. “It’s an old hunting lodge. They don’t expect people to be dressed up.”

“Oh,” I said. I looked out the windows as we climbed out of Star Valley, with its sort of open forest scattered amid stretches of desert scrub and pastures. The road to Roosevelt Lake was more heavily wooded, and the sweet scent of sugar pine and spicy juniper came in through the vents.

Not much traffic on a mid-afternoon Sunday, so we reached the turnoff to the hotel parking lot before I had even tried to reconcile my feelings about Lee taking me to an expensive dinner… even if it was on his mother’s dime.

Lee ignored the valet offering to park the van and drove directly to the handicapped spaces in front of the restaurant. He pulled into a spot and turned off the engine, but before getting out, he faced me. “I’m sorry about piling another surprise on you like this. I should have asked….” He sort of trailed off, looking embarrassed.

I patted his wrist. “It’s okay. Believe me, I’ve had much worse surprises.” I even laughed.

Reassured, Lee got out and started round the van, but one of the hotel people was already opening my door and offering to help me down. “Thank you,” I told the valet, who gave me a beaming, if slightly fatuous smile.

“Welcome to the Roosevelt, miss,” he enthused before handing my fingers off to Lee, coming around the front of the van.

I have no idea what expression I was showing, but Lee laughed when I glanced a bit suspiciously at the valet’s back.

The massive timbers of the hotel and restaurant loomed above us and coarse cinder paving crunched under our feet when we advanced toward the entrance. “I’m kind of glad I am wearing sneakers,” I commented.

Lee laughed again. “I guess I’ve never seen you in high heels, either?”

“Uh, no,” I agreed, though I had been thinking about trying to walk across that stuff in football shoes. You’d get the sizable chunks stuck in your cleats.

The October afternoon had turned a bit cool, and the warmth coming out of the restaurant’s huge open doors felt pleasant, besides carrying the smells of charred meat, roasted potatoes and wine. We wouldn’t be having any of the last since we were both only eighteen, but it did add to the richness of the aroma.

“I’ve never eaten here,” I remarked to Lee while we waited at the reservations desk. Somehow, we were still holding hands.

“I don’t eat here a lot,” Lee admitted. “But it’s kind of where Mom takes out-of-town visitors for a bit of swank.”

God help me; I don’t know why I giggled at that. I know Lee saw me blushing because he grinned.

A greeter came to lead us to a small two-person table almost directly under a set of elk antlers mounted on the wall. Then Lee moved quickly to hold my chair while I sat, possibly frustrating the greeter, who looked disappointed at having missed the opportunity.

I wondered what that was about as Lee took his own seat and beamed at me. I suppressed another invitation to giggle at the odd interchange. At least we’re not holding hands anymore.

Then I looked up and saw Lee, his blond hair shining in a stray beam of sunlight, contrasting with the deep browns and blacks of wood and hunting gear displayed on the wall behind him.

Had he always been so handsome?

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