"How do you know?"
She spoke quietly, as if she were just talking about the weather.
"I’m late," she said simply. "I've never been late before."
He looked down at his hands. They were sun-darkened against the white sand.
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know," she answered.
Her white-blond hair glittered in the sunlight as she turned and looked out at the ocean.
"If nothing happens by tomorrow, I guess I'll have to tell Mother."
"Will you- will you tell her about us?"
"No," she said swiftly, in a low voice. She picked the next question from his lips. "I'll tell her it was Tommy, or Bill, or Joe," she answered, still not looking at him.
Despite himself, he felt a twinge of jealousy.
"Did you- with all of them?" he asked hesitantly.
Her dark eyes fixed on his own now.
"No," she said emphatically. "Of course not. Only with you."
"What if she talks to them? Then she'll know you're lying."
"She won't," Rina said positively. "Especially when I tell her I don't know which one it was."
He stared at her.
In so many ways, she was older than he.
"What do you think she'll do?"
Rina shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. There's not very much she can do, I guess."
He watched her walk down the beach to meet some friends, then rolled over in the sand and placed his head on his arms. He groaned aloud.
It had happened.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he had always known it would.
He remembered the night just a few short weeks ago.
They had come down to the beach that summer as they did every year. But this time, it was going to be different. He had sworn it to himself. And he had told her, too.
"No more," he said.
"It's stupid, it's kid stuff.
You stick to your friends and I’ll stick to mine.
We'll only get in trouble if we keep it up."
She had agreed. Even promised. And he had to admit she had kept her word.
It was he who had broken his vow. And all because of that damned bottle of orange pop.
It had been a rainy afternoon and they were alone in the cottage.
It was hot and humid and the air clung heavily to his body, sheathing it in an invisible choking blanket. His shirt and trousers were wringing with perspiration when he went into the kitchen. He opened the icebox but the usual bottle of orange pop he kept there was gone.
He closed the icebox door angrily.
He went upstairs and past her open door before his mind absorbed what his eyes had seen. He walked back and stood in the open doorway.
She was naked on the bed, half reclining, the bottle of orange pop in her hand.
She was staring at it intently.
He felt the pulse begin to hammer in his head, the perspiration break out anew beneath his clothing.
"What are you doing with my orange pop?" he asked. He knew he sounded stupid, even as he spoke.
She moved her head slightly on the pillow and looked at him.
Her eyes were heavy-lidded and hazy. "Drinking it," she answered huskily, putting it to her mouth. "What do you think?"
The soda overflowed her mouth and ran in orange driblets down her cheeks, across her breasts to the convex of her belly and onto the white sheet.
She smiled at him and held out the bottle.
"Want some?"
As if he were someone else, he saw himself cross the room and lift the bottle to his lips.
It was warm from her touch.
He felt the sweetness of the liquid spill into his mouth. He looked down at her.
She was smiling up at him. 'You're excited," she said softly. "And you said you wouldn't be any more. But you are."
Some of the orange soda spilled down across his shirt as he suddenly realized he had betrayed himself. He turned to go but her hand caught him around the thigh.
He almost screamed with the sudden inflaming agony of her touch.