Page 123 of Playworld

“This is teenage stuff,” she said. “We should be doing this in a bed.”

My solution was so obvious I couldn’t believe I hadn’t suggested it sooner: “My apartment’s only a block from here.”

At this, she knocked her palm to her forehead and, in imitation of me, said, “I could’ve had a V8.”

She took her time, when we arrived, to consider the place, Dad’s black-and-white photographs, his signed scores fromThe Fisher Kingand Jacques Brel. I took her out onto the terrace, told her how Oren and I liked to throw eggs at people at night. “Boys will be boys,” Naomi said. A pigeon landed on the railing, considered us for a moment, and then flew off. I asked her if she wanted to see the roof and she replied, “It sounds romantic. Maybe later, sure.” She opened a cabinet in the kitchen, surveyed its supplies of dry and canned goods, in case, I figured, we might have to ride out a nuclear winter here. She considered her appearance in the dining room mirrors and, when I stood next to her, smiled.

“Look how cute we are together,” she said.

“Want to see where I study?” I asked.

When I opened the door to my closet, she leaned into the space withher arms crossed, as if it were a clifftop’s overlook and I might push her over its edge. I clicked off the light and led her to the room I shared with Oren. She considered my Farrah Fawcett and Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders poster. “I have the top bunk,” I explained, but when I indicated she should climb the ladder she said, “Uh-uh.” So I continued to my parents’ room.

Taking a seat on their bed, Naomi asked, “Is this all of it?” I assumed she meant the apartment, and I nodded. She considered my mother’s bookshelves. She turned to look at the window, facing the river. “Oh,” she said, “that street there leads to where we park.”

Later, on my knees, glancing between my mother’s books and the underside of Naomi’s chin, spying our single body, now and again, in the blackened reflection of the TV’s screen, feeling her feel my tongue’s tiniest touch, its tip’s tensile adherence to her skin, like a starfish’s feet, send shudders through her stomach, I heard the front door bang shut. Naomi rolled away from me, scooped up her clothes, and disappeared into my parents’ bathroom.

It was Oren.

“Hello?” he said.

I dove under the covers and pretended to be asleep. I could hear him open and close several drawers in our room, and then he peeked into Mom and Dad’s door.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, and entered.

I did my best groggy-disoriented groan and, after a big stretch, moaned, “I could ask you the same thing.”

Oren wasn’t buying it. He held up a plastic bag from Zabar’s. “I came to get some underwear,” he said.

I sucked my teeth. “I must’ve fallen asleep.”

“Naked?” he said. Then he glanced at the closed bathroom door before looking back at me.

I shook my head as if to say,Don’t even think about it.While I was certain he wouldn’t disobey me, I was so scared I could barely keep my voice from cracking.

Oren snorted, and with a delivery that was a little too loud, that cruelly increased my discomfort, said, “Some summer, huh?”

“You’re telling me.”

“How’s living with the Shahs? You get to ride around in Sam’s Ferrari?”

“Every day,” I said. “I’m working at his company too.”

Oren’s expression darkened. “What do you mean?”

“I’m answering the phones. It’s the best way to learn the business.”

Oren was enraged. “You alreadyhavea job.”

“It’s just part-time.”

“That should’ve beenmyjob,” Oren said.

“What are you talking about?”

He swung the bag at my head and I blocked it.

“Why are you always so mad at me?” I shouted.