Mango Rash by Pokerwinski Nan Sanders;

Author:Pokerwinski, Nan Sanders;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: memoir, coming of age, teen rebellion, life in 1960 American Samoa
Publisher: Behler Publications, LLC
Published: 2019-10-22T07:00:00+00:00

Like I said, attachment can get sticky. Sometimes, though, you can’t resist. Case in point: New Year’s Eve.

Carlson had the limo and Tuke’s services for the entire day and night and recruited a gang of us to party with him. After swimming at Larsen’s Beach and stopping for ice cream and Cokes at the Governor’s house, we piled back into the car and headed for a party in Tafuna, where Peki, Dick, and others waited.

The mood at the party was flirty and convivial, everyone exchanging New Years’ kisses like dime-store hearts on Valentine’s Day. After giving and receiving a few, I turned to Peki, who stood in his usual spot beside me.

“You’d better get busy. A lot of girls are waiting for your kisses.” I gestured toward the floor where Marnie, Suzi, Kathi, and a few others sat in a circle, smiling in his direction.

Peki looked at his feet, spilling over the sides of his flip-flops. “No. I’ll only kiss you,” he said.

“Have it your way.” I flounced to a sofa in the next room, where Val sat with Dick.

“Peki’s missing out on all the fun,” I told Val. “Go give him a kiss.” She went off to find him, leaving me alone with Dick.

“Silly boy. Peki says he won’t kiss anyone but me.” I meant to sound playful but realized too late it came off conceited. Dick looked away, then back at me with eyes like small oceans.

“If everything had gone the way I wanted it, I’d be the one saying that.”

His words whirled in the pit of my stomach and set off vibrations as stirring as the Vampires’ music. I gave him a long, appraising look. He hadn’t gotten any better looking. No matter; some deeper appeal kept drawing me back. Was it just the drama of forbidden romance? The self-centered pleasure of knowing he was tormented with unfulfilled desire for me? Or was it something about him—his outrageousness, his motorcycle-fueled sex appeal, his refusal to shape himself into anyone else’s notion of what he ought to be? It was all those things and the way they were mashed up together. And it was also the simplest thing: when he wasn’t spewing profanity or pissing off grown-ups, Dick was a genuinely nice boy who cared about me and treated me with respect.

Also a helluva good kisser.

“Say it anyway.” I pulled him off the sofa and into a corner.

We kissed, and I vowed I’d make it work with Dick this time, parents be damned, Peki be damned, detachment be damned. I didn’t tell him about my intentions; I didn’t see the need. We were attached.

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