It was Wednesday afternoon. Which only distinguished itself by being closer to the next Saturday than it was to the last one. Corinne used to love Wednesdays, because Wednesday was one of the only days with no built-in church. But now that meant less built-in Enoch. She’d exhausted herself today, staring at him during study hall. Watching him so hard, she felt a little sick from it. Like he was a glass of water she drank too fast.
Corinne was walking out of school with a friend. Not a real friend—a school friend. Lisa. The worldly girl who she walked partway home with, most days. But when Corinne walked out today, Enoch was waiting for her by the flagpole. Watching for her. He met her eyes, from across the courtyard. Time slowed down. It stopped.
“I’m getting a ride home,” Corinne said, and the other girl waved and walked away.
Enoch Miller was waiting for Corinne. He probably wanted to talk to her—she knew what he was going to say, she’d been waiting for it, since the first time he touched her. He was going to tell her why they had to stop. He didn’t even have to say it. Corinne already knew. All the reasons, every one. She didn’t need the corrective, the scriptures. There were so many scriptures. They’d be here all day, with their Bibles open, if they were going to cover resisting temptation and keeping yourself clean for the Lord.
How could Corinne skip this next part? Maybe she could just shout at him. First Corinthians six-eighteen! Matthew five-twenty-eight! I know! I knew all along, and I don’t regret it! She could shout that from here. I don’t regret it! But I know, and you don’t have to say it. Don’t say it, Enoch.
She met him under the flag.
“We got back from Construction early,” Enoch said. “I thought I’d wait for you.”
Corinne nodded.
He looked over her head. “You normally walk home with Lisa?”
“Yeah. Do you know her?”
“Not really. We’ve been in school together since kindergarten. But … you know.”
“She’s all right,” Corinne said. “It’s better than walking alone.” Romans, chapter thirteen, she thought, verses thirteen and fourteen. I know.
Enoch started walking, his backpack over one shoulder, his hands deep in his jeans pockets. His jeans were the wrong color of blue. He looked like his mom shopped for him, she probably did, and he didn’t seem to care.
“Do you get graded for Construction?” Corinne asked.
“It’s more of a pass-fail situation.”
“And you’re building a house?”
“Yeah, for a charity.”
“I don’t think I’d want to live in a house built by high school students…”
“We have supervision.”
“Yeah but you’re doing the wiring? I wouldn’t want a high school guy doing my wiring … All jacked up on whip-its and listening to Mötley Crüe. That’s a fire hazard.”
Enoch was frowning. “I only get to do the preliminary stuff. It’s a lot of running around, carrying equipment for the licensed electricians…”
“I guess that makes it a little more reassuring.”
“… but you’re already living in a house wired by a high school student. My dad let me hook up most of the basement when we redid it.”
“That doesn’t seem legal.”
He rolled his eyes. “File a complaint.”
Corinne looked up at him. It felt safe to look up at him, if he was never going to look back. “Do you have to go to more school? To be an electrician?”
“No. It’s all work experience. I’ve already got a job—with Brother Williams—when I graduate.”
“That’s nice,” Corinne said. It was nice. For Enoch. To have everything all lined up.
He turned at the corner. They were supposed to go straight. Corinne followed him. They were walking between two hills. In the low point. There was a little park here. Hardly a park—a clearing, tucked into some trees. With a merry-go-round. And some broken swings. A tornado slide.
Enoch took her hand.
He pulled her into the park, across it, over to the slide. He started climbing the metal stairs.
“You’re too big for that,” she said.
“Come up,” Enoch said in his I’m sitting right next to you voice. But he wasn’t sitting next to her. He was up at the top of the slide. She followed him. There was a platform at the top, with metal walls to keep kids from falling off while they were climbing into the tunnel. Enoch sat backwards on the platform. There wasn’t really room for Corinne anywhere. Maybe beside him. Maybe standing on the steps between his thighs. She got to the top, and he pulled her down, half on the platform next to him, half in his lap. “Corinne,” he said, and kissed her.
It was awkward. She felt like she was crushing him. And like she was going to fall. Enoch held her waist even tighter than usual. She held on to his neck like he was carrying her. He kissed her, and she still wasn’t sure whether it felt good (it was just pushing), but she wanted it. She hugged him so tight, the back of her T-shirt pulled up. His arms touched her back, and he groaned. He spread out his hands. He was touching her skin, and she wanted it. His big, square hands. His thick fingers. She leaned into him, and he fell back against the tornado part of the slide. His head hit the roof. He groaned again, but it was because of her, not the pain; she knew it. He touched her back. Her bra strap. She pushed into his mouth, nodding her head yes. She knew she wasn’t good at this, she knew she didn’t know how to do it—but she’d let him have what he wanted. She’d take it, she’d take it, she wanted it. Enoch broke their kiss to breathe hard on her neck. To kiss her there. She held on to him. He rubbed his face in her shoulder, like he’d just realized he could. He could. He was rocking her against him, against the metal wall. The slide creaked. Her legs slid out of his lap, and he caught them. “Corinne.” He kept kissing her, and catching her, and keeping them both from falling too far forward or too far back.
Then there were kids there.
The elementary schools got out forty-five minutes later than the high schools.
There were kids shouting and making noises on the swings.
Enoch pulled his head away and let it rest back, against the roof of the slide. There were patches of red on his cheeks. His mouth looked more swollen than ever. His hair hung in his eyes. Corinne soaked it in. She packed it away.
“Do you want to go down the slide?” he asked. Quietly.
“No,” Corinne whispered. “I’ll get stuck.”
“You won’t get stuck.”
She sat up and used the wall to climb off of him. She reached one leg down to the steps. Enoch held her steady. She walked down backwards. There were kids on the merry-go-round and the swings. Shawn would never come to this park—he’d go straight home.
“Are you coming?” she called up to Enoch.
“You go ahead.”
Corinne nodded. He was already looking away from her. He’d hardly looked at her, this whole time. Did Enoch even know what she looked like?
It was just as well … Corinne was a mess. Her ponytail was hanging, tangled, at the bottom of her neck. She felt flushed and sweaty, and her underwear were slick. There were scriptures about this. About being defiled. Letting yourself be defiled. About letting the fire burn in you and feeding it. Apostle Paul had a lot to say about it. He’d put it in all of his letters. “Do you not know that your bodies are members of Christ?” Corinne knew, she knew.
She got home before Enoch. She went down to the basement and stayed there. She slept in his brother’s sleeping bag and listened to the electricity humming in the walls, and knew that Enoch had put it there.